The Halfwit Halfling: A Bard's Tale, page 4
“Who’re you?” I asked.
“I go by many names, but you may call me Maka.”
“Fine then, Maka, which perk would you recommend? They both look pretty useful to me.”
“They’re all good,” Maka replied. “Just not what you need right now.”
“I know I’m new to this world and the rules are probably different. But where I come from, you don’t accept gifts from disembodied entities or make deals with someone or something you don’t know. It never ends well in the stories.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to make a deal,” the spider said. “I’m repaying a favour. That’s all.”
Boots swatted my hand away. She rested a paw on either shoulder and stood in my lap. Looking into my eyes, she meowed.
“Fine.”
『
Facts Begin With Fiction:
Your songs and stories soften the crowd. If your Charisma is sufficient, targets become more open to your truths and lies. Beings with high Perception may see through your attempts, but that won’t necessarily affect their willingness to accept your songs and stories.
』
“What good will that do me?” I was starting to get annoyed now. Sure, getting to pet a cat made me feel better, and I appreciated she was trying to help, but storytelling wouldn’t get me out of my current predicament. “I don’t like spiders. So, if you’ll just go away, I’d like to find my own way out.”
“What’s there not to like about spiders?!” Maka exclaimed, sounding shrill, like an excitable little girl. “You befriend one spider. Eventually, you’ll befriend us all. We are everywhere and very helpful. With eight eyes, we see more than anyone. We spiders are hunters, trappers, scholars, and dancers. Our lifelong dream is to become storytellers, but no one wants to read the webs we weave. Become a spider’s friend and accept my storytelling gift.”
Boots meowed at me again. This was insane. I really was going mad. Maybe a lifetime of atheism had been a bad idea. I’d died and gone to hell, and this was my punishment. My list of sins wasn’t short:
Premarital sex.
Eating more than I should.
Envying others for having more sex than me
Indulgence in the brew.
Regularly cursing pharmaceutical companies for not making male contraception as convenient as the pill or IUDs.
The list went on and on. This ordeal was my penance.
“Look. I’m in no position to convince anyone to listen to me, let alone sit through a whole story. I’ll make this easy for you,” Maka continued. “You accept the perk, and I’ll rally the boys and girls. We’ll ensure you get your chance to tell your story and get out of this cell...”
“Fine, if you agree to help me until I’m safe and out of the city, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Very well.” The spider sounded annoyed. I don’t know what favour or debt it owed Boots, but I was taking advantage of it. Maka didn’t owe me anything, but Boots and the Devourer of Worlds certainly did.
Hoping I wouldn’t regret it, I accepted the perk. It worked with Charisma as well. Hopefully, I’d get the opportunity to pick the other perks later.
『
Congratulations!
You’ve befriended a divine being!
Achievement unlocked:
Friends in High Places
Charisma + 2
You have one unassigned stat point.
』
I added the extra point to Charisma as well. Given how freely Gor had spoken to me, I was keen to find out how far the stat would get me. I didn’t trust Maka. More so because it didn’t call me out for keeping its offer open-ended. I didn’t intend to leave the city straight away given my Pacifist trait and my ignorance of local geography. Leaving town wasn’t a particularly good idea. Hopefully, Charisma would help me avoid the law and find a secure way out.
“So, what happens now?” I asked, only to realise, Maka was gone. Boots meowed at me again. “You’ve got some interesting friends? That wasn’t a Cosmic like your bitch of a master, was it?”
Boots looked at me angrily and swatted me with her paw. I got the message: “Don’t insult the Devourer of Worlds”. I wondered whether she’d be mad if I ever moved against the Cosmic entity.
There was a chill in the dungeon. I could feel the cold radiating off the stone walls. Were we high up, or was it winter in the capper corner of the world? I wondered if Gor would be willing to get me a blanket. Probably sensing my discomfort, Boots snuggled into my neck. I welcomed her warmth. When offered a chunk of black pudding, she sniffed at it before turning her head away. I was about to put it in my mouth when she grabbed my hand between her two front paws and pulled the food into her’s.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Boots looked like before the Devourer of Worlds put her in a cat body, but she indeed behaved like a cat. I wonder what their criteria was for picking champions. If Boots only picked individuals that petted her right, were all of the Devourer of World’s champions crazy cat ladies?
The feline’s body heat and soft fur lulled me into a comfortable sleep. I dreamt of the forgotten cheesy chips with gravy. It started with me enjoying the meal on my own, then, Louis came in with a giant dog head and tried to steal most of it.
Then, a sharp poke to the side woke me up. It was Gor and another capper shining a bright light in my eyes. Boots was gone, and my teeth were chattering noisily. When I sat up on the cot, my breath misted in front of my face.
“We’ve had a t-t-talk, and petitioned the s-s-shaman,” the second capper said with a nervous stutter. “We’re letting you out of your cell.”
“What? Just like that?” I was surprised, to say the least. What did Maka do? Both Gor and his plus one looked more pale and sickly than their green-grey skin normally was. “Great, if we can just get Boots and my guitar, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Boots?” Gor and his companion looked at one another, confused. “Ye didn’t have any boots on when you got here lad. Didn’t think yer lot wore any.”
That’s right. I was some kind of hobbit creature. I didn’t need boots. In fact, my feet were the only part of my body that weren’t freezing.
“Besides, you’re not free to go,” the other capper said. He didn’t sound Scottish like Gor, just Northern. Lots of planets have a North, I suppose. “We had a word with the chief and the shaman. You’re sentenced to servitude. Due to a recent mishap, Cook lost his assistant.”
“What kind of mishap?” I asked.
The two cappers looked at each other with sorrowful expressions. “The lad was helping Warden, here, with some boxes and found a spider’s nest. They got attacked.”
Gor placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“I g-g-got away, but the boy fell down the stairs and b-b-broke his neck,” Warden explained.
Cosmic shit. Did I just ally myself with a stone-cold killer, or was it all an accident? Sure, this wasn’t the same as getting me out of the city, but it was a start. Maybe while working in the kitchens, I could put Facts Begin With Fiction to work.
“C’mon then, Cook should be starting for the day soon,” Gor said. “We’ll show you the kitchens and where you’ll be sleeping.”
When I got off the cot, my empty food bowl noisily clattered to the cell floor, making both of the cappers jump. Huh. It was empty. The portion which had been too big for my now small body was all but gone. Boots must have eaten it before leaving.
The male prisoner was still snoring, while the female sat up in her cot to watch me. She walked up to the bars when we left my cell. “You’re not crazy then,” she said. I looked at her quizzically. “I was sure you were mad when you started talking to your screens. Well, you’ve got to be a little insane to insult a green-skin Shaman’s daughter.”
Both the warden and Gor hissed at her. I guess they didn’t like the term green-skin. It must be a derogatory phrase of some sort, so I hurriedly committed it to memory.
“Get them to release me too,” she continued. “I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”
In the warden’s light, I got a good look at her. Not only did she have a gorgeous face, but the rest of her was a sight to behold too. Whatever she was offering, I’d happily accept, but at the same time, receiving such offers felt rather dirty. However, when she looked into my eyes, I found myself struggling to turn her down.
“Y-Y-You’re not only a suspected spy, but also the c-c-chief’s prisoner,” Warden stuttered. “He’ll have my-y-y head if I let you go.”
The aelf woman ignored him. Her eyes were still focused on mine. “If your friend is strong enough to get you out, I’m sure you can have him help me too.”—Her voice was soft and sweet nectar to my ears, and her body swaying with serpentine grace as she followed me along the bars left me enamoured—“I have powerful friends too, you know. Helping me would benefit you in more than one way.”
I don’t think I would have ever moved from the spot if Gor didn’t drag me away. “She’s charming ye,” he hissed. “Don’t fall for it! When we found the lass, she had a warband of elite cappers feeding her grapes and massaging her shoulders.”
“Why isn’t she affecting you then?” I asked.
Gor held up a locket. It looked like some knucklebones and claws held together with pieces of twine. “The chief lent it to me. It’s an expensive charm, but as long as her Charisma doesn’t surpass thirty-five, she can’t do the same to us. So long as I have this on, only an Adept or higher Mind Mage is getting in this noggin.”
He was right. As soon as we turned the corner, whatever power she had exerted on me faded and I regained full mental clarity. Was this the power of Charisma, or had she cast a spell of some sort? Whatever it was, it was frightening, and I wanted to learn more.
“I pledge a life debt on the condition you help me escape!” her yell echoed down the corridors, and I felt a tug deep inside me. Thanks to the distance between us, I resisted whatever magic she was using.
I let Gor and Warden guide me up the stairs and out of the dungeons wondering if I should ask Maka to help her or not. The aelf woman’s knowledge could come in handy.
Chapter 6
Onions Potatoes and a Whole Lot More
Despite my Charisma stat, Cook didn’t like me from the get-go. I don’t know whether he had too much Perception or if grumpy was his default state, but I wasn’t going to ask. He took one look at me, grunted, and pointed to a sack of onions.
“What do you need, Cook?” I asked. “Roughly chopped, sliced, julienne, brunoise?”
In response, Cook sliced the sack open with a knife, took an onion and smashed it on the table with his fist. The impact crushed the vegetable, and he pulled the skin off in one piece. The onion went in a stockpot before he grunted and went back to portioning chunks of meat.
I lacked the Brawn to do the same.
『
Identification:
First Name: Peregrin
Last Name: Kanooks
Race: Jovian
Patron: None
Condition: Healthy Mana Core: Empty
Stats:
Brawn: 1
Control: 5
Mind: 3
Arcana: 1
Charisma: 8
Perception: 4
Traits:
Pacifist
Fact Begins with Fiction
』
To take advantage of my new trait, I had put the extra stat point into Charisma. I just needed the opportunity to put my Fact Begins with Fiction trait to good use.
Cook kept the kitchen nice and clean, but lacked organisation. I looked around for a meat mallet or rolling pin; rummaging through a few drawers, several tubs, and even climbing onto the counter to check the top shelves. No luck. At least it got Cook to talk to me.
The tubby, middle-aged capper, banged his hand on the counter and shouted, “Use a knife for the spirits’ sake!”
He pulled a chef’s knife out of a wooden block and stuck it point-side down on the table. The wood easily gave way to his sheer force, and the knife handle vibrated ever slightly. Cook glared at me with his large, bloodshot eyes before returning to his workstation. I couldn’t tell whether he had a problem with me, or if there was something else going on.
The chef’s knife felt familiar in my hand. A wave of sorrow crashed down on me as it confirmed the truth: this was my new reality. I’d miss my dickhead of a flatmate, Louis. Mum and dad, Piya—my baby sister. Bloody hell, the thought of never seeing Samantha again and getting some closure saddened me too. Worst of all, I’d never have cheesy chips with gravy again.
Hold on a second. Did Game World have the same delicacy? I didn’t see a deep-fat fryer in the kitchen. I imagined only the affluent could afford to splurge on litres of oil on a whim. Maybe, the denizens of Game World hadn’t discovered chips or french fries yet. I had the necessary cooking skills, and Control was among my higher stats. Perhaps I could bring my favourite dishes from Earth to Game World! I bet the concept of a twice-baked potato would amaze the cappers.
Enthused by the possibility of fame and fortune, I peeled and chopped onions with renewed vigour.
“You’re the new assistant, eh?” a capper sporting only grey trousers asked. Similar to the warden, he sounded Northern and not Scottish-Midland accent, I think. I hadn’t heard him approach me or enter the kitchen. Good thing I had put the knife down for a moment, or I would’ve cut myself. I need a lot more than four Perception. Perhaps I’d invest in the stat once I got my Charisma to a decent level. “Good. There’s no way Cook is going to feed the entire prison on his own.”
“That’s right, he lost his assistant, and I just so happen to prefer anything over that bloody cold cell.”
The tubby capper could probably hear us, but unlike me, he didn’t let himself get distracted. It explained the grumpiness. Hopefully, I’d warm up to him over time.
“You’ve got his knife right there.” I hadn’t spared the tool a second look. It had Rungo carved into the handle, and though scratched the blade had a beautifully honed edge. The knife’s previous owner had taken good care of it. I should’ve known better than to trust a spider. “He was a good kid. It’s a shame; his family won’t be letting any of us attend the funeral. They’re blaming us for his death. I’m Hruk by the way.”
“I’m Perry. And you’re the janitor?” I asked, noticing the mop and bucket behind him.
“I’m an inmate, like you,” he answered. “The warden likes using non-violent criminals for free labour. There’s a few of us around,”—Cook cleared his throat, making the capper flinch. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t just grieving. The angry chef vibe I was getting off Cook wasn’t only in my head—“I better get back to work before the onions make us cry. I don’t know how Cook does it. Exposing a capper to raw onion fumes is downright cruel.”
Once again, I found myself alone with a sack of onions, a knife and a stockpot. Not long after, Cook left the room grumbling and wiping at his eyes. Strange. On Earth, I would’ve started crying by the fourth onion. However, half a sack in and my eyes were bone dry. Was this some sort of jovian resistance? They’re tiny, have giant, hairy feet, everybody likes them and possess immunity to onions. The system should’ve put that in the tooltip; I would’ve picked the race straight away. Bloody hell! I hoped the residents of Game World would understand my sarcasm. As a British citizen, passive-aggressive behaviour and sarcasm came naturally to me. On second thought, to put my Charisma to good use, I’d probably have to leave that part of me behind.
I emptied the sack and Cook still hadn’t returned. My stomach was rumbling, and I needed something to eat. Unfortunately, I didn’t know which ingredients I was permitted to use. So, I went over to the stack of sacks piled up in the corner of the room, and dug out three large potatoes. They were almost as big as my face. After poking them all over with the knife, I threw them in the wood oven. There wasn’t a thermometer or a timer at hand, so I’d have to rely on my years of part-time cooking experience to judge the doneness.
The prospect of a baked potato had me salivating. So, I took the opportunity to look around the kitchen. Good. I found salt and butter. Hunting through the cupboard, I also found what I wanted: dried garlic and a coarse red spice that smelled like Sichuan pepper. Hoping Cook would take his sweet time, I put the ingredients in a pan on the stove and got cooking.
First, I browned the onions in a large knob of butter, then added the garlic to it and finished it off with the seasoning. Then came the long wait of cooking potatoes. My heart began to race; worried Cook would come back any moment. I didn’t know whether this counted as stealing or not. I was just so damn hungry.
To keep myself busy, I tried organising the kitchen. However, due to the lack of space, I didn’t know where to put anything. Cook had one corner dedicated to utensils and cutlery, and another to pots and pans. In between sat a sink so broad and deep, my jovian body could go swimming in it. Shelves lined the adjacent walls, and the stove stood against the fourth.
A pop from within the wood-burning oven put an end to my exploration. The potatoes were finally ready. If I weren’t so impatient, I’d give them a few minutes to cool, but I attacked them as soon as they were out. I sliced the potatoes in half, lengthways, then scooped the flesh out and threw it in the pan of onions, garlic, and browned butter. I mixed and mashed the starchy goodness before piling the mixture back within the skins. After five more minutes in the oven, my meal was ready.
