Chapter 16

I was still picking uncomfortably at my sleeves when we boarded the plane. We went ‘wheels-up’ a few minutes later.

‘Major Leander Lennox’ (Mace) had me into the barbershop and out in 20 min for both a shave and a haircut. I honestly feared for my life (or at least my ears) at one point, the barber was moving that fast. Following that, I was fitted for what was apparently a ‘Service Dress’ uniform. I was scowled at by the older man fitting me the entire time. ‘At least you ain’t fat’ was the closest thing he had to being friendly. Pinning on two golden bars onto either lapel he muttered ‘and at least they’ll just ignore you’. I could only hope.

As I hung my new uniform up in a garment bag I couldn’t help but think how much the ladies love a man in uniform

Another ‘butter-bar’ lieutenant was acting as the Steward for the flight and I caught the side profile of the countries diminutive Deputy PM a few rows ahead of me. We were apparently now part of a diplomatic mission.

“You are a paperwork carrier, nothing more. If they speak to you in French, pretend you don’t speak it”. Mace whispered. “Our government is officially sending an envoy in condolence of the loss of their countries top Portal team. Those six were killed in an ambush in a high-end hotel three days ago and it’s put the French in a bind. They apparently had a deal to share a Gold Box with Portugal. They brought the key, and the Portuguese had the box. The Portuguese are calling it off though and want to make the same deal with Germany. The French are desperate at this point, they just lost their best team, and if they don’t get access to the box they’ll fall even further behind.”

I blinked silently. Holy shit, this was getting real!

“We are going to pay our respects. You are going to get the key, then We are going to offer them ‘A’ gold key that we recently found for a whole shit-tonne of political concessions involving the east-coast fishing industry.”

I sat there stunned. 12 hours ago I was a fucking janitor, and now I was the lynchpin for a political maneuver involving three countries.

“How do I get in range?” I whispered back after an awkwardly long silence during which I regretted my recent impulsive decisions.

“Formal viewing at a Catholic cathedral, you’d best be quick. You Catholic?” I shook my head. “Ok, listen up and memorize this...” Mace then drilled me on holy communion, and the procedures in church. It took me about 10 min to memorize a few lines in Latin. I must be getting old.

I thought of asking for a nightcap, but the admonition to keep my mouth shut and out of sight had me thinking differently. As I dozed, an image of me passing six open coffins, stuffing my pockets with watches, and rings, and necklaces I stole from the corpses. I woke with a start, and nudged Mace awake “I don’t have room for 6 guys worth of inventory” I whispered to his barely awake shadow.

“I don’t care, all we need is the one key. Surely you have one spot open.” He yawned.

“They’re supposed to be high level and the countries top team. I’ll bet they have a whole bunch of great gear that was just given to them by their military.” I nudged. The spoils go to the victor, and I was going to win this one. “If they had a gold key, what else might they have?”

“Shit, how many slots do you have left?” He grunted lowly

“53” I whispered

“Fucking hell! You have 47 items?” He hissed

“No, I have 59 items, keys of the same colour stack and so do healing potions and coloured stones.” I replied evenly. He had enough space in his inventory for all my stuff, but I couldn’t let a few of the weapons out and honestly I might be the only person that can actually store someone else’s weapon. Still, if he could ‘hold the bag’ for a while, we could make this work. “Here, take some of this stuff” I whispered and started off by passing him the five ‘broken’ items I’d picked up earlier today. We were sitting next to each other, so my hand was below his, and he drew them into inventory as toon as I pulled them out, still we couldn’t help the odd ‘clink’ or ‘clank’ as we moved material.

I thought about keeping back anything I figured he didn’t need to know about, or might be able to ‘use up’ but he seemed a straight-up guy so far; besides, I could always steal it back as long as he was in range.

I hadn’t gone into a portal since getting all this Silver, so I still had things that were unidentified. Some of them were still from my first runs. The other thing I could do at the Store, was sell items. I figured that I was already rid of the convicts weapons (since the only way they wouldn’t get them back, was for me to sell them at the portal Store). I’d only got a single Silver for them, but then again I couldn’t use them for anything else unless that convict died (and this country didn’t have Capital Punishment). So In the end I had 83 spots available, and the agent beside me had his eyes closed, looking over ‘his’ new inventory.

“How the fuck do you have three healing potions and two Silver keys” he moaned. I decided that was a rhetorical question. I may have been the worst tomb robber, but as far as we knew, I was the only one around. “I want armour” he nudged me. “I’ll carry all your shit and cover your dumb ass, but you get me some fuckin’ awesome armour ok?”

“Sure ... and don’t even think of using that brass key”. He had his own brass box in storage in his inventory but no key (of his own).

I dozed in and out before waking as the plane descended towards ‘Orly’ airport just south of Paris. After a simple inspection by some bored looking French Gendarmerie, Mace and I exited through a different door than the Deputy PM did. We were ushered into a separate waiting room too while she made all the correct political pomp and circumstance.

“There are Weapons all over the frickin’ place!” I nudged Mace. There were two others currently in range, and three more had passed through my range just during our walk from the plane to the gate.

“Just shut your mouth and behave yourself.” He admonished me tightly.

I kept my eyes (and Skill) open to what was around me, but kept my fingers off the goodies. Gods damn it, it was hard! The guard just to my right had a transferrable Necklace of Skill, granting him one weapon proficiency level for Any Weapon while he was wearing it. The guy on my left had a level three skill book labeled ‘lockbreaker’.

I must have looked twitchy, because Mace turned towards me and frowned silently.

The eventual caffeine and breakfast (tiny cups of espresso and croissants) arrived shortly thereafter and I dug in, partly to quell my hunger, partly to keep me awake, and partly to distract myself from all the shiny goodies around me.

The breakfast trough emptied out fairly quickly, but I’d snagged a few extras for later, much to the disapproval of Mace who handed me a nice looking leather briefcase “It’s got some fancy pens, and copies of the agreements we hope to get when we get this done.” He grumbled. “It’s not irreplaceable, but it does give you a reason to be here. Try not to lose it” he got in just before we were approached by some guards in suits.

My French wasn’t all that bad ... for an English speaking guy with a Highschool diploma, but the speed at which this guy spoke was unreal. I wasn’t going to have to pretend very hard that I didn’t understand them if they asked me anything.

We ended up walking to some black Mercedes vans that whisked us away to the hotel. The funeral was tomorrow, but the viewing was today.

“These guys are ‘lying in state’ in the West End, current evidence points to an assassination by the Chinese, but the jury is still officially out. The politicos are rattling the sabres and riling up public sentiment for their next election run. In reality, all six were French Foreign Legionnaires from North and Central Africa, and some real bad actors. Theory has it that they were level 6...” Mace and I were rooming together in a tiny hotel room with two single beds. Government spending overruns didn’t extend to private rooms for lowlifes like us.

I pulled out the suitcase rack and opened up my case; shelving or hanging up my clothes.

“You’ve done this before, Dancer? Band? Triple A?” He guessed.

“Double A. Don’t blow smoke, you know everything about me already”. I huffed. “Since we’re playing ‘let’s get to know each other’ Major, how about telling me your name?”. I knew it already, I was just trying to goad him.

“Mace is fine, besides Albio, fake names are all the rage these days” he quipped, way too chipper for the lack of sleep. “Get a shower, and/or a nap. We need to be dressed and ready for the viewing in three hours.”

Sounded a lot like the last time I’d been to Europe. The chaperones for a team of randy 16-year olds had their work cut out for them. During the tournament, it was like we had drill sergeants overseeing our every move. ‘Eat, Sleep, Warmup’ were all just orders, and manoeuvres carefully executed to get the team on the ice in the best possible condition.

Of course the players had a different plan in mind. Just getting us all to the ice at the correct time without debilitating hangovers would have to be counted as a win that year. Belgium had loose drinking laws, plenty of taverns within a walk of the hotel, and few language barriers bad enough to stop some teens devoted enough to get hammered.

I was contemplating a drink and a woman. French chicks were supposed to be fun (and according to my dad, hairy) but the time-crunch would limit me to professionals only. “Hey, you got any connections to some local girls? We got a few hours to kill!” I said with way too much enthusiasm.

“Word is that the Deputy PM likes a good rogering before any political meet n’ greet” the big guy replied with a smile.

“Really” I replied, managing to sound both interested and skeptical at the same time. That tone used to drive my Dad crazy.

“Why don’t you go knock on her door and find out?” He said wearily, putting his head back on the pillow.

“Where are you going?” He fired out, but I’d already grabbed my room key and wallet and was out the door. I managed to catch an elevator just as it was closing and rode it to the main floor. Opting for a more discrete exit, I left by a side door and found myself on a clean (ish) alley between the hotel and some fancy restaurants that catered to tourists and politicians.

Sitting on my ass with my back to a tree, I caught Mace approaching me when my Skill pinged. I’d turned three corners, ducked into a subway station for a few seconds and bought a pack of matches in a corner store. Still he’d found me in only a few minutes. In annoyance, I stole a piece of his Silver. “Mind telling me how you do that? I wasn’t wearing or carrying anything you’ve given me and I must’ve had a two minute head start, still you find me in the first place you look.”

“You aren’t the only person with a Skill ... c’mon, there’s a patisserie on the corner that supposedly makes awesome lemon tarts” he grumbled.

“Fine” I huffed, “but you’re buying, my wallets’ in the room.”

The pastries were as advertised. Not sure how the French manage to be so high-class about everything. Instead of flies, this shop had honey bees buzzing about.

“Incoming...” Mace whispered and more than a few seconds later my Skill recognized another Weapon within range.

“Morning Major, are the two of you going to be ready on time?” the unknown suit asked, obviously assigned to be our caretaker and chaperone for this mess. One of ours, if I had to guess. His accent was mild but his twin machetes in his inventory looked pretty sharp. I stole a piece of silver, not because I needed to, but because this guy was an annoying prick.