Chapter 67: 4.10 – Into Noviel

Khavren was as good as his word, unfortunately. Every day, Robin had to drag himself out of bed at an ungodly early hour, trudge to the guildhall, and have his arse routinely handed to him by Khavren’s ‘training’. It was both painful and humiliating.

And the worst part of it? Robin was getting notifications that the training was actually effective! He’d so far gotten experience point reductions on his Melee Combat, Dodge, and Ranged Combat proficiencies, as well as a free level in Brawl and Concentration.

Brutal but effective, apparently. And incredibly annoying. Oh well. All for the greater good.

Robin was getting a little tired of waiting for the greater good to manifest. It had been nearly a fortnight and there was still no progress on the healer front. Probably because Khavren insisted on leading the search and vetting all of the candidates himself.

Apparently there was room in the party for only ‘one’ stick of deadweight, and according to Khavren, that place was currently occupied by Robin. Not that Robin minded much. It meant he had the rest of the day to himself, away from Khavren’s charming personality. That gave him time to continue working on the tavern.

He’d bribed Rerebos to gather loose slates from other buildings, which he used to mend all the holes in the roof. The place was structurally sound enough, and spotless. Cleaning with [Legerdemain] was faster, more effective, and a lot more fun than doing it by hand.

Robin had figured out that the spatial limitations on the spell were a lot more flexible than he’d assumed. There was an area limitation, yes, but with a lot of practice Robin had managed to spread that area out to cover a much larger surface than the sort of default cube or sphere the effect normally took. Made cleaning walls, floors, and windows a snap.

Literally.

And that insight had led to another. [Visual Phantasm] was a much more powerful effect, so Robin couldn’t spread it out while still keeping to the total area the same way he could with [Legerdemain], but he could more effectively shape an illusion with empty spaces in it. It was a subtle thing, but it made it harder to detect the illusory effect, and thus slightly harder to resist as a spell effect.

Small gains, but ones he could use.

Robin had designed an evening’s entertainment experience around the idea of pop-up events from his own world. Raves in abandoned warehouses, temporary restaurants specialising in a set menu that appeared only for a few weeks, guerrilla theatre designed to be mobile and adaptive to capitalise on decaying urban spaces.

He couldn’t make use of the whole tavern. His powers weren’t that strong. But a smaller room? That he could shroud with an illusion covering just the walls and a few strategic additional effects for atmosphere.

It wasn’t like he was attracting huge crowds yet, anyway. Right now there were perhaps two dozen people in the ruined tavern, not counting the attractive young man and woman he’d hired to serve the (very cheap, very poor quality) drinks he’d bought with his limited funds.

It was dim. Robin had lit the place with only a few cheap reed lights in lanterns. Those he had shrouded with an illusion of a miniature aurora flowing across a starry sky. Said sky being what covered the ugly walls both permanent and temporarily erected to form the boundaries of a space for Robin to work his magic in.

????There’s a star man????waiting in the sky????

Robin loved a theme about as much as he did a chance to perform. He was currently in his Marq persona, working toward building his reputation up (and making a bit of coin in the process). He glanced out over the space, patrons relaxed, enjoying themselves. Not bad for a bit of mummery.

The people were here for three things: the atmosphere, the music, and the legendary ‘Bertha’s Bottle’. Robin was proud of all three, but if he was being honest, the bottle idea was the one that was working out the best.

It was just an ordinary ceramic jug, a bit odd in shape. It looked a little like an amphora, and a little like the cartoon jugs full of moonshine you’d see in old Earth cartoons. It looked completely ordinary, really, but that was part of the trick.

Robin filled it up with the strongest, cheapest booze he could get. Everyone who purchased a regular drink could ask for a shot from ‘Bertha’s Bottle’. Robin himself would carry it around, and dispense the drink. The patron would then drink and loudly proclaim what the alcohol tasted like. It was different every time.

It was just a slightly more refined use of [Lesser Phantasm]. Everyone else would be looking at the patron, so it was a simple thing to slip the gestures in without anyone noticing. Appletini, champagne, cinnamon whiskey, rotgut—Robin pulled out all the stops. Every so often he’d throw in something like beef stew or lemon curd. Once an hour he’d allow himself to replicate something tasting truly vile, like sour milk or stagnant rainwater. That usually resulted in a spit take and always resulted in uproarious laughter.

People really were merry sadists sometimes.

But it was fun. Robin told the story of Bertha—the fictional woman he’d made up who had built this place, her kindness to the fairies, and the resultant mischievous gift of the bottle—once a night as part of the opening ‘ceremonies’. People came for the legend, for the story, and for the experience. He was offering something the other taverns weren’t. And uniqueness sells.

It was certainly paying off in profits! Robin easily doubled his money those first few days before the limitations on how many people he could fit in the place started to kick in. Still, he was making coin hand over fist—and pouring it into fixing up the tavern just as fast.

That, and in funding ways to temporarily boost his powers to cover a wider area. Though that was a far trickier and more dangerous proposition.

There were magic items that could do it that were safe, sure, but they were expensive. So Robin was having to rely on alchemical compounds. Much more dangerous. Too much and he could make himself sick, or find himself with an expensive addiction. That also limited how often he could pull off these theme evenings. He really needed—

‘Very nice,’ a familiar voice cut into his musings.

Robin looked up to find Guildmagister Zahn looming over him. Zahn’s horns were freshly waxed and gleaming, and the harness he wore across his chest was worked with colours in a much more flamboyant pattern than the one Robin had seen him in last.

‘I’m glad you approve,’ Robin said lightly.

‘It’s not really the assignment I gave you,’ Zahn said, turning to look from the surroundings to hold Robin’s gaze.

Robin didn’t falter.

‘It’s not far off,’ he murmured quietly. ‘I now control an entrance to the undercity in the basement, and I’ve assembled a team of four. We’re just looking for our healer and we’ll start hunting.’

‘There are quite a lot of others already looking, already ahead of you,’ Zahn warned. ‘And my goodwill is not a bottomless bottle of booze.’

‘Want a drink? On the house.’ Robin sloshed Bertha’s Bottle at him.

‘No thank you,’ Zahn demurred. ‘My old stomach is a bit delicate for that rotgut.’

The man was no fun.

‘Speaking of your enterprises here, however,’ the Guildmagister continued, ‘you are aware that you need a permit for this sort of thing? The penalties for lacking one are…severe.’

Robin’s heart stuttered for a moment. A permit? No. He hadn’t known. How much did that cost?

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‘They’re quite expensive,’ Zahn continued.

Robin was forced to wonder if Zahn had an item or ability that allowed him to read the surface thoughts of others. As handy as that would be to have, Robin didn’t really fancy it being used on him.

That’d be a fun moral quandary if he ever got the chance to learn such a spell.

‘How much?’ Robin asked.

‘More than you can easily pay, but that’s not going to be a problem for you.’ Zahn smiled.

Uh oh.

‘Because you’ve already secured me one,’ Robin guessed.

‘I have indeed! It’s filed all right and proper in your name, under my auspices.’

In other words, Zahn now had another string tied ‘round Robin.

This was getting ridiculous. Lantha and the others had worked hard to set him up without those ties. Zahn seemed determined to truss him up like a Christmas goose, however.

And without even asking him his safe word first.

It was rude is what it was.

‘I see. I suppose I should thank you for making sure I don’t end up in prison or before the magistrate or whatever the penalty for selling booze without a permit is.’ Robin flashed a smile with no warmth in it.

‘Those would be the good options. The local merchant lordlings do not take kindly to anyone who skirts the rules. If they have to pay, everyone else damn well will as well. Those who bootleg tend to find themselves with two smiles or taking a one-way trip to visit the cool and exotic land of the bottom of the reservoir.’

‘Delightful,’ Robin said. His throat was suddenly very dry.

Without thinking, he took a swig from Bertha’s Bottle. The harsh burn of the alcohol nearly choked him. Robin coughed loudly.

‘Kerosene,’ he croaked to the patrons who had turned to look.

Robin offered up a weak smile and shook his head. There was a ripple of good-natured laughter. If anything, it enhanced the mood. Apparently, seeing that the person in charge was also subject to the vagaries of Bertha’s Bottle made everyone that much more comfortable.

He’d have to remember that.

‘I told you,’ Zahn said. ‘Rotgut. Best be careful you don’t drink yourself into an early grave. I’d hate to have to have you reanimated to recoup my investment.’

He was joking. He had to be joking. Robin looked at him. He didn’t look like he was joking.

‘I don’t think either of us want that,’ he said sincerely.

‘I’ll leave you to your work.’ Zahn smiled and turned to leave. ‘You come up with some very interesting things. I like how your mind works. But remember, you’re also on a clock. We wouldn’t want someone else to beat you to the prize.’

‘No,’ Robin agreed. ‘I’ll step in and make sure we get a healer ASAP.’

‘What a curious word,’ Zahn paused, turning to look Robin in the eye again. ‘I really must hear more about this land you hail from someday.’

Robin was saved by the entrance of Drev and Jhess. They had Khavren in tow. The knight bore an expression of profound skepticism on his face.

‘There’s my party,’ Robin said hurriedly. ‘You should go. I should see if they’ve managed to locate a healer for us.’

Zahn smiled but allowed himself to be shuffled off. In moments, the Guildmagister was gone and Robin—as Marq—was free to resume his hosting duties. He drifted over to the rest of his party, remembering at the last second that Khavren wouldn’t recognise him like this. Drev and Jhess had been by before, on other nights. The knight, not so much.

Robin saw more than enough of him as it was.

‘I’ve an open table over there,’ he said, gesturing. ‘And we can set you up with some basic drinks. I’m about to perform another set, but I’ll be around with Bertha’s Bottle directly after.

‘That will do just fine, thank you,’ Drev said, leading the group over to the indicated table.

Khavren looked sour the whole way.

‘I don’t see how wasting time in this rat-hole could possibly be of any use to anyone,’ the knight muttered as they went.

Robin decided then and there that his next set would include not only ‘The Lusty Young Smith’ (or, with a few alterations, ‘The Lusty Young Knight’), but also ‘The Knight and the Shepherdess’, and maybe a recitation of some pertinent bits of Chaucer.

In honour of his knightly guest.

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