A Thousand Drunken Monkeys Read online

The worst thing about that? The full details of these specialized classes would only be revealed after I picked one.

  This seemed to be a design feature of progression in the Game: Surprises. Free skills popped up, unannounced class branches appeared, and I bet a few unpleasant gotchas were in there as well.

  If I was in an established clan, I could have asked for help. Older clans must keep records of past character choices to guide their new members.

  Not a trivial advantage… but one I’d have to get by without.

  My final progression option was to add an entirely new class, become a so-called multiclass character—Wizard/Spirit Warrior, Thief/Spirit Warrior, and so on. If I worked it right, that extra class would give me skill and stat synergies to potentially leapfrog my effective power.

  The catch?

  There were hundreds of classes to choose from—too many for my perfectionist brain to wrap itself around in a few hours, or even days.

  I looked up from the interface.

  Elmac had stuck his face so close to the assassin’s note, his nose actually touched the words.

  I wondered if he needed glasses.

  Morgana sat cross-legged, deep in a trance. I caught flashes of her aura, gold and green astral energies that undulated like a star’s corona.

  But, back to my own problems.

  There had to be a compromise between my obsessive-compulsive perfectionist tendencies and what would be “good enough” to survive the next encounter. I’d start by roughing out a few choices for my three options. Then, in a pinch, at least I’d just have those to pick from, not dozens, or hundreds of unsettled possibilities.

  I sketched crude spreadsheets on the back of napkins and squeezed every molecule of logic from my gray matter.

  After two hours, this is where I landed.

  If I decided to improve my straight-up Spirit Warrior—I’d drop points into my PERCEPTION and REFLEX stats to increase mana and health. I’d also boost my Spiritual Regeneration to its maximum tier.

  These were good, simple gains. No gambles.

  Next were my specialized Spirit Warrior options. Their descriptions were a bit lacking.

  First was:

  Time Walker

  Spirit Warrior who hones their chi to decrease reaction time and expand mental processes and senses. Masters make their bodies impervious to harm (for a time), travel astrally, become clairvoyant, and are said to be able to stop time.

  Wow… Amazing stuff. I was intrigued by slowing, or even stopping, time (even if those powers manifested only at high levels). It was more spellcaster than fighter, though. If I needed magic, I might be better off multiclassing with a dedicated wizard type. Hmm.

  Next was:

  Spirit Speaker

  Spirit Warrior who summons ancestors for counsel and battle. At higher levels, may call spirits with unique and powerful abilities. A master Spirit Speaker may summon several such spirits at the same time.

  Okay, essentially a “pet” class. It was nice because if you needed a cleric, thief, or fighter—just call your great-great uncle.

  Whose ancestors would I be summoning though? Hector Savage’s from Earth? Or Hektor Saint-Savage, gypsy elf?

  What wouldn’t I give to see my mother and father again?

  But at what cost? Summoning the dead often came with a price tag… and whatever it was, it wasn’t mentioned in the text.

  I chewed my lip as I perused the third specialization:

  Path of the Dragon

  The most difficult Spirit Warrior path. Quests, unraveling Zen koans, and other trials unlock advanced chi and combat skills. Such Spirit Warriors can eventually transform into a custom-created dragon avatar.

  WARNING: Failed quests or questionable morals may cause the player to fail on this path and block ALL further progress as a Spirit Warrior.

  What could be cooler than shapeshifting into a dragon? But along with that grand reward came a commensurate risk: a halt to your advancement in the class. Forever. Yikes. I’d have to think long and hard before I picked this one.

  The last specialization option was:

  Master of Death

  Spirit Warriors dedicated to creating and mastering exotic weapons—such as the Inferno Chain, Flying Guillotine Hat, Möbius Blades, I.L. Sword, and the Meteor Hammer to name a few. Masters of Death learn secret techniques with these instruments to stun, paralyze, or instantly kill.

  This was a fighter on steroids. The plethora of weird, lethal weapons made the kung fu movie junkie in me drool with anticipation.

  Still, the Path of the Dragon spoke to me. Maybe it was the challenge.

  I smoothed over my forearm. Golden scales gleamed and the tattooed reptile seemed to frolic among inked clouds and stars on my skin. I’d showed up in Thera with this. It gave me an odd sense of pride.

  A clue from the Game Master which option I should pick? Maybe.

  Not all dragons were good though. I’d once glimpsed the terrifying Nightmare Dragon who wanted nothing less than the destruction of all Creation. Evil beyond evil.

  Add to that the risk of failing some quest and torpedoing my Spirit Warrior progression? No thanks.

  So, when I did specialize, my top pick was Master of Death.

  I imagined whipping a razor-edged chain sword in a huge arc, slicing and dicing my enemies into sashimi… and oh, Flying Guillotine hats! I smiled.

  A trickle of perspiration snaked down my side. Must be from my intense concentration and the pressure to make the right choice.

  I ignored this and considered the last potential path: the multiclass route.

  I’d skimmed the class descriptions in the game interface before, but had only gotten a fraction of the way through. Still, I’d found a dozen solid possibilities. Two, though, had seemed like an especially good fit.

  First was:

  Battle Psychic

  Warriors who use mental abilities to enchant themselves and their weapons. They are feared for lightning-quick strikes and an uncanny knack to predict their enemy’s next move. At higher levels, entire combats play out in their mind prior to battle that allows them to know the likely outcome and pick the most efficacious strategy.

  EGO was a Battle Psychic’s primary stat. Any investment in EGO would increase my SOUL stat, which in turn, would boost some Spirit Warrior abilities and my pool of SOUL-based mana.

  The downside?

  Battle Psychic was a lot like a Spirit Warrior. “Enchant themselves” sounded like my Perfect Motion buff. Would those abilities stack? Or would I only be able to use one at any given time?

  The other potential class was this:

  Mage of the Line (aka Line Mage, Hand Mage)

  Spellcasters who tap into primordial mana ley lines to create magic. Because a Mage of the Line must reach in between dimensions to touch mana ley lines, high PERCEPTION and REFLEX stats are critical. Mana pool is based on their REFLEX stat.

  NOTE: Mage of the Line is NOT available as a starting class.

  This sounded good, too. I could increase my REFLEX to benefit both my Spirit Warrior class and this one.

  But there could be a drawback if their mana pool was based on REFLEX. Were there consequences if you depleted that pool? Would you become clumsy?

  And why the prohibition against taking this class to start?

  So many details were missing from the descriptions. Normal games lavished players with data about their classes and associated perks. Part of the challenge of this particular game, however, was figuring that stuff out on your own.

  If, however, someone pressed a gun to my head (not that guns worked in Thera, but you get the idea), and made me pick one new class between the two candidates I’d found so far, I’d take Mage of the Line.

  So, I had my three choices—improve my standard Spirit Warrior, go for the Master of Death specialization, or became a Spirit Warrior/Mage of the Line multiclass character.

  I paused because, despite the pressure, I was having a blast figuring this out. I lov
ed making the best character I could—and in this case, it was doubly satisfying as I was making the best version of me in Thera.

  I’d been here many times before, hanging out with friends (in chat rooms or sitting at an actual table with dice and miniatures). We’d talk strategies for leveling up, what our next quest might be, discuss the best gear and how to get it—you know, playing games.

  True, now I was surrounded by real death and danger, but damn if I wasn’t having fun doing it anyway.

  …even if the lack of information was frustrating.

  Ah, Morgana might be able to help me.

  I could ask her if she’d be willing to message her clan with a question or three on my behalf.

  Although, maybe not. It wouldn’t be fair to make her choose between our friendship and her dedication to the Great Pooka and her Trickster clan (technically a clan I was supposed to be competing with).

  All moot. She was already occupied.

  She and Elmac had scooted close—shoulder to shoulder, both grinning—as she read him descriptions of the character stats from her game interface.

  She glanced my way.

  I shot her back an annoyed look, a combination of—Are you trying to recruit the guy I just signed up?—and Not cool to string the old guy along sentiments.

  She must have gotten part of that because her smile faltered and she mouthed, “Later.”

  “So the BODY stat number,” Elmac asked her, “that’s STRENGTH plus…?”

  “REFLEX,” she said.

  “What are you guys up to?” I asked.

  “Oh… just be asking Morgana ’bout the basics ’o the Game,” Elmac said, looking as if he just now recalled I was in the room. “Getting ideas how to be building my character.”

  “Don’t worry, oh mighty Hero of Thera,” she told me. “I already pressed Elmac for details on your mysterious clan. He very nicely told me to shove off and ‘mind me own business.’”

  They shared a sly glance, thick with meaning.

  “But I must say,” Morgana went on, “a lady does fancy a bloke with a few secrets.”

  Elmac blushed.

  “So,” Morgana continued, “different character classes prioritize different stats.”

  “You might want to stick to a basic fighter type,” I said, trying to get involved. “You’d have a head start knowing so much about combat already.”

  Elmac considered—then his smile faded and he sniffed.

  I caught an odor as well, that I’m burning dinner scent.

  And it was warm in here. Definitely not my imagination or simple brain sweat.

  “Best check the oxygen supply,” Elmac said. “Sometimes the valves stick and the air gets a wee stale.”

  He jumped up, went to the far corner, and pressed three bolt heads on the lead-covered wall.

  A concealed panel sprung open.

  Elmac, however, turned away from the panel to face the vault door… and froze.

  “What is it?” I got up.

  Morgana stood as well.

  All three of us approached the vault door.

  I moved a hand over the surface, close but not touching.

  The foot-thick slab of steel radiated heat like a stove.

  “Someone’s taken a bleeding blowtorch to it,” Morgana whispered.

  “Don’t think so,” Elmac whispered back. “A torch’d heat one spot. The whole door be broiling.”

  “I think,” I told them, dreading to speak the obvious, “the Bloody Rooster is on fire.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Just to make sure, I touched the door.

  My fingertips sizzled. Dumb.

  I jerked my hand away and stuffed the offended digits into my mouth. Even with my Spirit Armor, they’d been blistered.

  Elmac set his metal hand on the surface. “’Tis almost six hundred degrees Kelvin,” he told me. “Just ‘bout hot enough to melt lead.”

  Morgana rubbed the back of her neck. “Better cast a few Endure Flames spells then.”

  “If the Rooster be burning” —Elmac’s lips puckered into a scowl— “it’ll ruin me four hundred and thirty-seven bottles of very fine, very expensive liquor in the storeroom too.”

  I wasn’t sure what rattled me more… that we were going to parboil in this metal box, or that Elmac’s treasured stock of booze might blow up and save us from a slow death.

  I’d already escaped one burning building this week. One full of ghost wizards to boot. There had to be a way to wriggle out of this too.

  At the moment, though, I could only think of two lousy options.

  First, we could wait it out and hope Morgana had enough mana to keep us alive with her Endure Flames spell. The heat this vault could absorb, however, might take days to radiate away. And there was the other issue of a small lake’s worth of flammable liquid a dozen feet over our heads.

  So, that left the other option.

  “Morgana, cast your Endure Flames,” I said. “Then we’ll open the door and make a run for it.”

  I imagined the stairs on fire, choked with smoke-filled air… maybe the whole building would collapse on us.

  Morgana frowned, but not having a better idea, slowly nodded in agreement. She cast Endure Flames on herself and pressed her ear against the vault door.

  Elmac cleared his throat. “That plan, quite frankly, sucks. ’Tis most unlikely the Rooster be accidentally burning.”

  “The Syndicate then?” Morgana asked.

  Elmac nodded. “And they’ll just be waiting for us to come out.” He made a throat-slitting gesture.

  I glared at him. “You have a better plan?”

  Elmac smirked.

  “What,” I demanded, “do you know that we don’t, you cantankerous badger?”

  “Shhh,” Morgana said. She had produced a stethoscope from somewhere and held its diaphragm to the vault door. “Think I hear some of the buggers out there.” She wheeled on Elmac. “How can you be so bloody calm?”

  “There be an old dwarf saying,” he whispered. “Never enter a cave with but one exit.”

  Morgana pulled away from the door. “There’s another way out?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  I turned and looked but there was no sign of a handy escape hatch.

  “Just wait, lad,” Elmac told me sotto voce. “We want them to think we be stuck in here.” He pounded the vault door with his metal fist. “HELP!” he screamed. “This blasted door be jammed!” He faked a cough. “Suffocating…” He pounded thrice more, each knock weaker than the last. “Not… much… longer… agguhhhhh.”

  “I thought this place was soundproofed?” I said.

  “’Tis,” Elmac replied. “But any fool would be hearing that banging.”

  He may have been acting, but I sure felt like there was no oxygen left in the room. Every breath I took seemed like I was sucking it through a straw.

  Morgana slapped an Endure Flames spell on me and Elmac.

  The air instantly cooled and freshened.

  “Thanks,” I said with an exhale. “Wait—what about all that whiskey, that highly combustible whiskey, upstairs?”

  “Oh.” Elmac’s features turned to stone. “That be a tragedy, but don’t worry ’bout that lot exploding. The heat’ll ruin it all, but the bottles be enchanted to absorb no heat past the flashpoint ’o ethanol. City ordinance.”

  It might have been nice if he’d mentioned that earlier.

  “So where is this other exit?” I asked him.

  “Hang on.” Morgana scrutinized the room. “Give me fifteen ticks to see if I can find it.” Her eyes narrowed and she tapped her teeth together.

  I looked as well. Lead sheeting covered every surface and had been riveted firmly in place. How long until the stuff started to melt? I crossed to the side opposite the blazing hot door and ran my hands over the welded seams and rivet heads. Apart from the panel that popped open for the air controls, nothing else stood out.

  “Wish I’d used the ladies room upstairs,” Morgana
muttered under her breath.

  We locked eyes and both turned to the crate in the corner: the chamber pot, the one spot no one in their right mind would linger long over… or bother to search for a hidden passage.

  Morgana and I hustled over there and I picked up the crate.

  As promised, there was a clay chamber pot (spattered and stained), a pitcher of water, and miracles of miracles—a roll of real toilet paper.

  I slid these items to one side with my boot.

  Underneath, four hairline seams made a square in the floor.

  I pushed, pulled on the floor—nothing.

  Morgana knelt, squinted, and touched a rivet head a bit shinier than the others.

  A click.

  She poked around the edges with a pick, nodded to me, and handed me a pry bar from her kit.

  I levered the square.

  It came free and revealed—a hole plunging into darkness.

  Elmac left the vault door. “Time to go.” He pushed past me and stepped into the hole. “This’ll be a one-way trip, so grab anything you want to be seeing again.”

  There was a hint of sadness in his voice. He wasn’t talking about coming back to this vault. Elmac meant we wouldn’t be coming back to the Bloody Rooster. Ever.

  I searched for something to say that might console my friend.

  But there was no time for fancy words. We had to move.

  I swept everything off the table into my inventory (even the thermos of coffee and paper cups). Why not?

  When I turned back, Elmac was gone.

  Morgana was already halfway down the hole.

  “Replace the lid when you follow.” She pointed at the chamber pot, pitcher, and toilet paper. “That lot too. And make sure the air freshener is on the crate. Basic rule of concealment: the little details matter.”

  Right. Morgana was the expert after all.

  The temperature jumped like someone had flipped a switch. There was no way her Endure Flames spell had expired already, so something else had to have caused it.

  A spot glowing dull red appeared on the black metal vault door. The air about it smoked and wavered. As I watched, that spot brightened to the color of a sunrise streaming through amber.