The Antiquity: Chapter 0.5

Chapter 0.5

Sebastian

Seb sat at his computer, the only light in his room coming from the four monitors connected to a hefty PC under his desk. The Antiquity’s WIFI left something to be desired, but he’d always found workarounds. As a result, his space was a mess of black boxes, extension strips, and cables leading every which way. He was the only one who could navigate his room without fear of injury.

He’d been in his room for four days straight, as of today. That wasn’t his record, but it wasn’t bad, either. One of his housekeepers, Vilda, had warned him about something regarding a lack of Vitamin-D, but the job he’d had planned gave him more important things to do than go outside. He’d cracked one of the blinds just a fraction, though, just to appease her. He preferred his room cool and dark – it was the optimal condition for his equipment.

He’d been waiting all day for a telegram back from Castle Weiss, specifically their Guardsman’s Association. Nobody would question the son of a noble family for seeking a magically capable “bodyguard”. That was all the Guardsmen were – combat-ready magic users for hire. Their services could be loaned out to the paying (rich) customer, someone who might be in need of a more specially-skilled assistant than other routes could provide. In his correspondences with the Association, Seb had taken on the persona of a bumbling, self-important noble named Horace Pilsworth, one of many aliases. He only pulled out Pilsworth, who was insufferable, for the most delicate of tasks.

Finding this Guardsman in particular had taken years. You learn, over time, that tracking someone with no digital footprint (no footprint at all, really) was a slow and overall agonizing task. Seb usually “did business” in the digital space of the Modernity; he’d gotten far too used to luxuries like SSN’s, IP Addresses, location services, and satellites. If you’d been integrated into Modern society long enough, you were sure to be attached to something that could be used to discern your whereabouts. Unfortunately, Weiss, and the entirety of the Antiquity apart from the Heights, were one big dead zone. For example, to pay the Guardsman’s Association for their services, you couldn’t just do a wire transfer. Their banks used coins. Coins! They’d invented paper here, but apparently hadn’t gotten around to paper money yet.

Modern Money was worth next to nothing in Weiss, the name of both the kingdom and continent connected to the Modernity via a small rip in the fabric of spacetime, a fact that had sort of just become common knowledge as the years went on. The paper bills used in Modern cities were essentially kindling compared to the gold, silver, and copper Dia used in Weissian transactions. Modern citizens looking to do business in Weiss were treated with contempt during the 1st Connected Era; the Weissians didn’t want their money, and, save for a few exceptions like communication and medicine, their technology, either. They considered most of it dirty, pollution-causing rubbish. There were some nobles who could be bought, though: their land in exchange for a huge chunk of Modern money, which they would then use to start new lives in Metropolita, or anywhere else in the Modernity, with the same level of comfort that they’d had back home. That was how the Heights ended up being built, off the backs of bribes and land-grabbing, and it remained a neutral zone where transactions could be done using both M.D. and Dia. The boat-bound money that Seb had sent had reached Castle Weiss within a week, a telegraphed message having been sent back the same day as confirmation of the received payment.

Seb then heard a knock at his door. It was one of his housekeepers, Keynes, an older man with a jolly face and a sheaf of silver hair combed neatly over his head. He’d knocked, and then opened the door a crack. Keynes always did this; if Seb had headphones on, only seeing the door open would’ve gotten his attention.

“Sebastian, I’ve just received a telegram from Castle Weiss’s Guardsman’s Association. Would you like me to read it to you?” He’d only walked a step into Seb’s room, for previously mentioned, clutter-related reasons.

Seb had been thrilled to hear this, if by thrilled you meant he sat up in his chair and his eyebrows rose slightly. But Keynes could always tell.

Seb spun in his chair to face him. “Go ahead”.

Keynes nodded and began reading the received message.

“Lord Horace Pilsworth, we are pleased to accept your payment of 5,000 Gold Dia in exchange for the services of one ‘Griselda Armesta’ (specifically requested by client; classification: Aegir) as ‘a personal and permanent bodyguard, as requested, until no longer required’. An invoice, for proof of transaction, has been included in this message for your convenience. If you have any questions or issues regarding this transaction or the services provided by our association, please do not hesitate to contact us. Best regards, the Weissian Guardsman’s Association.”

Seb snorted. “It reads just like a Modern email.”

“Would you like me to respond?”

“Don’t bother. I’m not trying to get to friendly with them.” Seb turned back to his keyboard. As far as he was concerned, he was doing business with an institution that used an ‘indentured servitude’ business model. He was 100% sure that the 90% of what he paid wasn’t actually going to the elusive Griselda Armesta. He’d already accounted for that, though, in order to ease his own moral qualms.

“Another thing, Sebastian.”

“Go ahead.”

“The woman you contacted from Metropolita is on her way. She says she’ll be here in three days. And the man from Chelmsrock will be here in two.”

“Lovely.” Seb began typing. “Anything else?”

“Yes, just one more thing. Vilda microwaved your leftover fried chicken. She said, ‘you have to leave your room this time if you want to eat, you little twerp, I didn’t raise a shut-in’.”

Seb rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tell her I’ll be down in ten minutes.” Which actually meant 15 minutes, and would turn into 20, 25, et cetera.

“She said you’d say that,” Keynes responded, “so she told me to tell you, ‘now, unless you want me to feed them to the garbage disposal’.”

Seb eyed Keynes dubiously. He was going to say, ‘well you can tell her that I never liked fried chicken anyway’, but that lie would’ve taken it too far. Instead, he said, “Wow, how talented you are to be able to remember all of that.”

Keynes smiled. “It’s part of the job.” He bowed, then exited the room and clicked the door shut behind him. Seb sighed again, louder this time so that Keynes would hear him from the hall. His housekeepers knew all of his tricks; he would have to get new ones.

Seb stood up and stretched, his body aching from sitting with his knees pressed into his chest all day. He had to admit, this job had been a lot. A lot of sitting and typing and staring into a screen until his eyes were bloodshot. Information was easy to find, as long as it was stored somewhere. If it was stored within a person, you just had to apply the right kind of pressure until they gave it to you. There had been a lot of that in the past few years.

But his needs were about as specific as they got: he needed the best team of thieves that money, magic, or motive could buy. Especially for what he wanted to pull off.

There were two from the Modernity. A woman from Metropolita; she’d been easy, they were already acquainted, and she owed him anyway. He’d still promised her a hefty amount, but due to the nature of the job, she said she’d do it just on personal interest alone, and snag something valuable along the way. She had always been a good sport like that. There was also a man from Chelmsrock, a small port town right outside Metropolita, a Fleshmage whose power spoke for itself. He’d been in some trouble with the law, and Seb had offered him a “lifeline” of sorts in exchange for his services. Digging up his record had taken some time, but was worth it in the end.

He’d already decided that Keynes and Vilda would be coming along, and had made arrangements with them regarding the nature of the job. He’d expected Vilda to be against the idea, but she was surprisingly cooperative. Maybe she was just glad to see him out of the house. The last two were from the Antiquity: an associate of Keynes’ that Seb had called in - a man named Archer - and the real prize of his efforts. Griselda. Her being a top-level Aegir was just a bonus – an excellent one – but a bonus, nonetheless. She had the real motive, the real drive to help him get what he was looking for. At least that was the idea, if he was able to convince her to go along with his plan.

It took a special kind of hubris to attempt to steal a god, after all.