Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) Page 12

  Greetings, Olgerd!

  This is Mine Terminal #22

  Levels: 35 to 85

  Resource: Malachite

  Press Confirm to begin farming.

  “Come on, move it!” voices shouted behind me. “Wretched noob! Quit stalling!”

  I pressed Confirm. Still, the terminal wasn't in a hurry to let me go,

  As of the latest lease agreement between the Stonefoot Clan and the Lord of Shantar, the clan's workers are denied access to the mines' three upper levels. You're welcome to farm resources at levels 4 and 5. Thank you for your consideration.

  I stepped away from the terminal. The crowd heaved a sigh of relief. Yesterday I'd had no idea of any contract. The news had said nothing about it. Having said that, who'd be interested in a level-zero mine? Compared to breaking news of a conflict between the forces of Light and Dark in No-Man’s Lands or a report about the discovery of an ancient artifact in a sleeping god's tomb, a petty lease agreement would look admittedly out of place.

  As for me... I knew of course I was just a nobody but had it really been so difficult to either send me a quick email or post a message on my page, informing me of these changes? I refused to believe I was the only Seasoned Digger working for Shantarsky. But still, as I climbed down the mine, I didn't see any of his employees. Only when I reached Level 4 did I understand why.

  The descent had taken me about ten minutes—which meant that the round trip to the terminal and back would cost me twenty minutes of my time. I could already see that Level 4 wasn't equipped for using trolleys. And I dreaded to even think about Level 5.

  The most I could take out on me would be 70 stones. Farming them would take me about ten minutes. So in theory, that meant 140 stones an hour. Minus queuing time, the stones’ regeneration time and other emergencies. Didn’t leave much. But at least I had a trump card up my sleeve: the Shrewd Operator. Plus my new gear kit which allowed me not to skimp on energy.

  That's it! Enough procrastinating! Time to do some mining!

  When I climbed out with my first dose of Malachite and lined up for the nearest terminal, I couldn't but notice their smirks. A comment reached my ears: He'll burn out by his third delivery and go for a beer.

  Yeah yeah. They could laugh all they wanted. They hadn't seen me back in the agate mine, that's what it was. My new skill, all three points of it, pleased me even more. And this was just the beginning!

  By my fifth trip, the dwarves glanced at me with undisguised curiosity. I must have looked like an idiot. So what? I'd already farmed 350 stones and raised my skill to 11 pt. I didn't even feel any energy loss. After the agate mine, this was a pleasure cruise.

  I kept at it for almost nine hours. Finally, I exited the mine for the sixteenth time. My last trip. My skill was at 53. Shrewd Operator began glitching with a worrying regularity. It was probably some admins' regulation. According to my own count, I should have made much more already. I’d have to discuss this with Dmitry, even though he was unlikely to tell me. Possibly, he didn't even know. I was still pleased with the results. I'd already earned seventy gold. Had it not been for my friends and our outing, I'd have stayed in the mine for a little longer.

  Dwarves cast respectful glances my way. And they hadn't even seen my stats! I waved to the terminal—it had already become a habit—and set off for Leuton.

  My PM box pinged with a message from Rrhorgus.

  We're in the Old Bell tavern. Waiting for you.

  I'm on my way!

  I entered the tavern's name into my satnav. It was within fifteen minutes' brisk walk. Excellent. I strode faster.

  As I walked, I checked my email. Both the bag and the belt had sold. Good. I had a hundred seventy gold in my purse. Tonight we'd party, and tomorrow I'd transfer the extra to the bank. I didn't need so much money in the game.

  I tensed as I checked on Pierrot's ring. Nothing. The ring was gone. Probably, the bidding time was up. That was good news. One trouble less. I was doing perfectly fine without any suspect artifacts. If it all went like this, very soon I'd move on to emeralds. That would allow me to resume my loan negotiations with Shantarsky.

  The Old Bell tavern was a very picturesque place—like everything in Mirror World, really. It sported wide lattice windows made of hundreds of tiny colored glass panes. Red rounded tiles covered the roof. Little bells laced with fancy patterns hung from the roof ridges.

  Virtually every part of the building was marked with a small picture of a bell. Its massive front doors, carved shutters and wrought railings all bore the same logo.

  A system message greeted me at the doors,

  Welcome to the Old Bell Tavern!

  Would you like to download and install our free Menu app?

  I accepted.

  The tavern met me with a cloud of tantalizing aromas and the hubbub of voices. Players were chilling out after another hard day. No one was making trouble. Little wonder: two wardrobe-sized Horruds levels 40-plus kept the room peaceful. This was the first time I saw Greg's fellow counterparts in full combat gear: weapons, armor and all. They looked impressive. Apparently, the tavern owner was on the rise. It must have cost him a pretty penny to hire two such hulks as bouncers. Or was I missing the point?

  I looked around me. The customers were mainly Grinders. Two level-forty men would be well enough to bring any number of trouble-makers to heel. Their service was excellent too: a bunch of petite Alven girls fluttered around the room in their uniforms resembling that of the German national costume: calico aprons embroidered with little bells and navy pinafores with full skirts worn over white wide-sleeved blouses with demure cleavages. Men cast surreptitious glances at the pretty girls but didn't allow themselves anything immoderate. Rrhorgus had chosen a very decent place. I really liked it here. If only I could bring my two girls here one day! We'd have had a lovely evening, the three of us.

  Greg rose from a far table and waved his shovel of an arm at me. I threaded my way between the tables trying not to inconvenience anyone.

  “What took you so long?” Greg thundered.

  I smiled. “Sorry I'm late.”

  Sandra, Greg and Rrhorgus stared at me cheerfully.

  “You don't mess about, Mister Goner, do you?” Sandra said. “We thought we'd have to chip in for a nice little coffin for you—and you’re a Seasoned Motherfucker already! Congrats!”

  “Thanks! As the classic said, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “You like it here?” Rrhorgus asked.

  “Very much. Sort of like Munich away from Munich.”

  “You got it,” Rrhorgus nodded. “The owner is German. He started off as a Grinder too.”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “One day I'm gonna save enough money for a Bronze plan. Then I'll spend some quality time mopping up dungeons until I make enough gold to open something like this. What do you think, Sandy? Would you marry a well-fed sour craft lover? We could make a few baby Horruds, brew beer and live happily ever after.”

  “It's sauerkraut, stupid, not sour craft,” she corrected him. “Making babies and drinking beer, that's all you can think of. You seem to be too content to stick to your hourly wage. Look at our Grinder friend here and try to level your skill up a bit too. You need to start growing otherwise you risk lugging granite around for the rest of your life.”

  “It's all right,” Greg waved her words away. “Every dog has its day.”

  “If you say so,” she murmured. “So do groundhogs.”

  Three girls fluttered out of the kitchen carrying large trays groaning with food. Expertly navigating the room, they headed for our table.

  Noticing their advance, Greg tensed in anticipation.

  “I wish you were as enthusiastic when you saw a slab of rock,” Sandra commented.

  While they exchanged quips, I leafed through the menu. Oh well. It looked very respectable, neat and quite cheap too.

  Rrhorgus smiled at the other two's banter. “We've already ordered while we waited for you.”
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  The table began to fill with various dishes. A deep clay bowl was filled to the brim with sour... er, sauerkraut. An oblong plate heaving with fried sausage of every kind and shape stood next to it. Pig shanks and spare ribs were followed by a few misted pitchers of light beer. The whole caboodle looked and smelled delicious.

  I surveyed the table in bewilderment, then looked at my friends. All three stared at me in anticipation. “What?”

  “Just waiting for you to try,” Rrhorgus said. “As far as I understand, this is your first meal in Mirror World.”

  “Ah yeah,” I forked the nearest sausage. “That's good. Why? What's wrong?”

  “Good? Is that all you can say?” Sandra couldn't conceal her disappointment.

  “Our Olgerd must be so used to his virtual body now he can't even understand what we expect from him,” Rrhorgus explained.

  “Honestly, I can't,” I admitted. “What's all this about?”

  “It's about you sitting here eating virtual food. And the fact that you can smell and taste it,” Sandra couldn't help herself.

  “Ah. I see.”

  Rrhorgus smiled and sent a piece of bread tumbling into his mouth. “It's just that your reaction is unusual,” he said. “One might think you've been a gamer for at least a couple of years.”

  “I remember the shock I had the first time,” Greg confirmed, necking down some pork and potatoes.

  I shrugged. “I never looked at it that way.”

  “It's all right,” Sandra summarized. “What difference does it make? The main thing is, he's enjoying it.”

  Rrhorgus swigged some beer from his mug. “What have you done over there at the malachite mine?”

  I didn't understand the question. “What have I done?”

  “While I was waiting, I got a message from Flint, one of the Seasoned players, a nice guy. He told me about a certain Olgerd who apparently got one over on the dwarves. The guy walked in, checked in as if it was the most natural thing in the world, went down to Level 4 without as much as breaking into a sweat, delivered a very decent turnover, finished his work and left without saying a word.”

  I could have done more had it not been for this particular appointment, I wanted to say but kept it to myself. I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

  “Flint?” Sandra said. “I know him. Nice guy, a Dwand. His group are all nice.”

  Greg nodded. “I know him too.”

  I shrugged and said what I'd been thinking, “After the agate mine doing malachite is a walk in the park. Not even to mention my gear.”

  “You see?” Sandra turned to Greg. “That's the attitude!”

  “Flint would like to see you tomorrow,” Rrhorgus said.

  “Why?”

  “He's the permanent leader of the Dungeon Busters group.”

  “But there have always been four of them,” Sandra sounded surprised.

  “Apparently, he was sufficiently impressed by the escapades of our Seasoned friend.”

  Mechanically Greg raised his enormous paw to slap my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. My jacket's Durability was about to take some damage. Still, he stopped himself just in time.

  “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I won't do it again.”

  “Please don't,” Sandra giggled. “Our dear Olgerd still has a few years' life in him.”

  Rrhorgus paused and went on. “Flint knows about your instance application. The guild included it in the newsletter it sends out to all group leaders. It's basically just a lucky coincidence. For my part I can say that both Flint and his guys are very correct.”

  Sandra and Greg nodded their agreement.

  “I'm all for it,” I said. “I was quite prepared to join any group at all.”

  “Excellent,” Rrhorgus said. “I want you to come over to see me tomorrow. I'll introduce you.”

  “That calls for a toast,” Greg announced. “To the future dungeon buster!”

  Our clay mugs thudded their fat sides in unison.

  “That's not all,” Rrhorgus continued once we'd drunk the toast. “We have a gift for you. You're a Seasoned Digger now, after all.”

  “What kind of gift?” I asked.

  Greg grinned. “It's a surprise!”

  “Come on, give it to him already!” Sandra opened her eyes wide in anticipation.

  What were they up to? Judging by their hyped attitude, it must have been something interesting.

  “Here, take it,” Rrhorgus said.

  Rrhorgus would like to give you a Surprise Gift.

  Accept: Yes/No

  I smiled. This was an easy choice.

  You've received a Surprise Gift!

  Would you like to open it?

  “Come on, open it already!”

  “Go ahead, dude!”

  “You're like children, really,” still smiling, I opened the gift.

  You've opened a Surprise Gift!

  You've received the Truth Will Out Ring!

  Chapter Fourteen

  “That little shit!” Dmitry fumed, pacing his office. “You wait till I get my hands on him! I'll rip his head off!”

  He looked the spitting image of our father now: the same brisk walk, the same large hands clenched into sledge-hammer fists. This one could rip the head off anyone. I had no doubts about it.

  “But what's he up to, d'you think?” I reached for my glasses and wiped them mechanically.

  “Do I know? Does anyone know? The guy is a nutcase!” he finally slumped into his chair opposite the small couch by the window where I was sitting.

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “He might have his reasons.”

  Dmitry waved my argument away. “Please. He was always slightly off his trolley. I could never understand him.”

  “Your not understanding him doesn't make him, as you call it, slightly off his trolley.”

  “Personally, I know very little about him. He's from a foster family. I've never seen him with a girl. Not that I'm surprised, but then again, who knows. I'm pretty sure that those at HQ could tell you much more about this loon and his private life.”

  “Is that it? How about a few character traits? Apart from him being a “loon” and “off his trolley”—I heard you perfectly well the first time.”

  He smiled sarcastically and shook his head.

  “What, nothing at all?” I insisted.

  He shrugged. “His workmates used to say he was very greedy. He would count every penny, whether it was his or somebody else's.”

  “Well, I have to count every penny too.”

  “You have a good reason,” Dmitry dismissed my argument.

  “How do you know? He too might have a reason.”

  He shook his head. “Not him. The guy is seriously deranged. He is a true penny pincher, literally. Either he's a control freak or deluded, one of the two. Then again, he used to spend all his paycheck on himself and his favorite gadgets.”

  “Why, was he supposed to share his earnings with anyone who asked?” I quipped.

  “I didn't say that. Still, he could walk over to you and remind you you'd borrowed five rubles from him a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Right,” I shrugged. “Anything else?”

  “He couldn't take criticism. None at all. You couldn't tell him anything.”

  “Do you mean he expected everyone to praise him?”

  “Not necessarily. I don't think he cared about it that much. I saw him once when the boss praised him. Zero reaction. Judging by his expression, he considered it his due.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Haven’t you had enough?”

  “Personally, I don't think I have. I'm trying to work out his motives.”

  “His motives are to damage the company, that's what I think. Imagine an army of Ennans rapidly leveling up their respective skills. That might crash the market!”

  “Then how do you explain the disappearance of my second skill? I'm pretty sure this was a premeditated trick, not just something he willed to happen! And now t
his ring... Didn't you say the admins were on it?”

  “I just don't know what to think any more. All I know is that Pierrot is an expert. Just look how he keeps showering you with surprises.”

  I winced. “How does he do that?”

  Dmitry shrugged. “I'm not a programmer. I'm good at other things. The game is still developing. They keep fine-tuning it all the time. You should expect some problems and errors.”

  “Talking about problems. Have they identified the auction vendor?”

  He flinched. “Yes and no. Torreip is Pierrot's old char he used at the testing stage. He created it when the game was only just starting out. He hadn't used it for ages. Until recently, that is. I'll tell you more: God only knows how many toons he's got. The guys kindly checked the logs for me. They say that Torreip discovered the stash containing this ring a few months ago. He then lay low for a while until a week ago when he began showing up in the game on a daily basis. Guess what he was doing?”

  I shrugged, then offered something that had occurred to me on my very first day in the game, “Monitoring the auction.”

  “Exactly. As soon as you began putting up your stuff, he put up the ring. And there was only one ring of this kind at the auction. Which meant he initially targeted the first Ennan who'd made Seasoned Digger. Had there been more of them, one of them would have bought it anyway.”

  “So if I understand correctly, if even one Ennan laid his or her hands on this ring, it would affect the whole race?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” Dmitry muttered. “What a shame we failed to ID him. He must have his own jailbroken capsule, I think. But my guys are still working on it. I'm pretty sure they'll dig something up.”

  “Shit.”

  “What did I say? You should have changed race when you still could.”

  “Yeah, but you also said that my skill points were safe.”

  “That's true. Even Pierrot can't get to them.”

  “In that case, I don't have to worry about it.”