It was a common newbie mistake – both in Mu-Ur and in real world – to think that straight beeline was the fastest route.
Sure, if you have an airship. But we were not there yet.
The major highway following the coast was in much better condition than the small inland roads, so it was faster to sweep the coastline eastward all the way to the west border of Reignland.
This coastal highway was basically like the Royal Road of the First Persian Empire that connected Europe to Indus Valley. It was also the fastest information highway around – nothing traveled faster than the royal letters carried by mounted relay couriers from caravanserai to caravanserai.
That's why we tried to blend in with the standard merchant caravans.
But the question was: if we were merchants, and carried only the weapons and explosives necessary for our main mission hidden under the seats of our coach... what were we selling?
Crys had to play the role of a coachman and servant answering meddlesome questions because Kimono played the role of our merchandise.
Yes, we were fleshmongers. Kimono was our main article of trade.
Fallen noble John De Fault was tasked by lord Nachtegaal to deliver this pretty flower to a certain unnamed navark in Reignland. However, our ship ran aground at Tonganah, so we had to take a coach instead and now we were in great hurry to deliver her in time for the navark's surprise birthday party – oh no, I've accidentally said too much, please forget the details and please do not spoil the surprise by sending this info forward to Reingland...
Of course, it went without saying that hampering our journey would bring the wrath of High Hats upon the guards or knights doing such foolish thing.
When we stopped to rest on a caravanserai, or when we needed to wait in a line to get through a guarded checkpoint between landwalled areas, Kimono stepped out and sat on a blanket under a red bamboo parasol next to our coach, face painted white with rice powder like a high courtesan.
Kimono's distraction routine proved to be highly efficient when our Letter of Trade got checked.
No need to examine our party passport so closely, kind gatekeepers! Why don't you go ahead and take a good look at Mary Sue's fully exposed ankles instead? Fwoo fwee, whistling onomatopoiea!
By the way, I previously advised Kimono that the she shouldn't use cerussite to whiten her face because it contains poisonous lead. She was quite taken aback by my sudden cosmetics tip and seemed doubtful, but soon started using rice powder instead. She probably consulted her brother about the matter first.
I didn't know much about makeup, but I vaguely remembered this piece of trivia from a lead-crime hypothesis paper I read during my studies – the hypothesis was that lead in oil paints, makeup and wine was the reason for the insanity of late medieval courts (well, that and the lack of effective, non-addictive painkillers which lead people to use alcohol and drugs to alleviate their pain, and in the process elevate their violent tendencies) just like leaded water pipes were the reason for the decline of Roman Empire, and lead in gasoline was the reason for high rate of pre-Internet-era violent crime in United States.
A catchy hypothesis, even if it was largely pseudo-historical.
Anyway, during one of our caravanserai stops, a young merchant approached Kimono. He talked to her briefly, then walked over to talk with Crys.
“She seems proud of her position as a pleasure slave. What a finely trained slut!” (merchant)
“She was trained by lord Nachtegaal himself.” (Crys)
“Oh, it's such a joyous thing to behold when a slave thinks their status rises when you whip and humiliate them more. She's both as beautiful and submissive as a doll. How much? I will buy her!” (merchant)
“Unfortunately–” (Crys)
“What is this racket? I heard you mention our bestowal!“ (Dancer)
Dancer stepped out of the coach with his head up high, donning a purple cloak. He thoroughly enjoyed talking down to people in his fake noble role.
“Lord De Fault, this young merchant wishes to buy Mary Sue.” (Crys)
“Young man, you have a whole life ahead of you. Do not rush to your death! Didn't my servant already explain to you that this courtesan is to be delivered to Reignland?” (Dancer)
“A-ah, forgive me, milord, I was rude, I did not know a man of your stature was... Ah, rather than that, would you be interested in buying my wares, kind sir? I deal in precious gems–” (merchant)
“No one cares about your worthless gems! Begone, imbecile!” (Dancer)
The sleazy young merchant bowed and left.
At least he wasn't as sleazy as one of the station guards who immediately asked to sample our merchandise.
I clapped my hands behind Dancer.
“Oscar-worthy performance, lord De Fault. Best supporting actor.”
“Thank you, Gary.” (Dancer)
Dancer used the haughty lines me and Crys had taught to him, but Kimono's improvisation as the leading actress was flawless. Since Mary Sue was introduced as high quality article, she played her role perfectly, smiling and giggling like a high-class courtesan.
Watching her flirtatious act was quite harrowing when you knew her normal personality and backstory.
While lascivious gate guards trying to grab Kimono under her kimono were a small problem, in some villages we had an opposite problem: when locals heard a rumor that we were slave merchants with empty seats in our coach, they tried to sell their family members to us.
It was heartbreaking to watch grandparents bring in their young grandchildren like items to a pawn shop.
Elders who couldn't work on the fields anymore looked after children who couldn't work much either, and usually there were too many grandchildren to watch over – getting rid of the weak kids who got sick a lot and keeping the stronger kids with brighter prospects (mostly boys) was the norm.
In these cases, Crys pretended to superficially assess the kids teeth like a professional and cruelly judged them all to be of substandard quality. But this was pretty much what the grandparents expected, so they offered them in trade for one silver krúrick or one food pack.
No deal. No, we won't take them even if you give them for free. No, throwing yourself on the ground and crying for mercy won't help, silly old hag.
Handing out babies on the street like advertisement tissue packs... I practically plugged my ears and left these troublesome matters for Crys.
There were some interesting propaganda posters on some area border stations. Caliph Tze often used worker ants and beehives as metaphors for his slave empire, but since commoners weren't educated in biology or zoology, he could invent whatever weird nature facts he wanted – like the “bee king” working for great masters called “Strangers” who collected the “honey” that the “drones” produced, and in return the masters protected the “cubes” from enemy “parasites” who wanted to steal the “royal jelly” or “wasps” that wanted destroy the “hive”...
I guess we were the parasites and wasps in Caliph's grand narrative.
Dancer wanted to know more about the nobles and their titles in Mu Continent to understand what the word “navark” in our scenario actually meant, so I briefly explained the caliphate hierarchy as far as I remembered it.
”Caliph Tze is at the top and under him are grand viziers, warlords, governors and such – these are the high nobles of Mu. Then there are middle nobles like stratarks, navarks and lokhagis. Stratarks are like high commanders of infantry, lokhagis are high commanders of knights or cavalry units, and navarks are high commanders of warships. Under them are low nobles, like mega-arkonts and arkonts as legion commanders and cohort commanders, then death squads and other special units, then individual knights, city guards and such, and then slave citizens at the bottom... That's the brief version, it's a lot more complicated in practice. Well, all people are slaves in Caliph's eyes. He thinks of himself as a slave too.”
“Caliph Tze thinks he's a slave himself?” (Dancer)
“Yeah, Caliph thinks Strangers are above all humankind because they are the OG slavemasters. And even if he becomes the world emperor, he still thinks he's just a top quality slave.”
“What a disturbing person...” (Dancer)
“Yeah. But don't start explaining the caliphate hierarchy to gate guards or anything, it's better to say too little than to say too much.”
“Sure, sure.” (Dancer)
Caliph's high court was full of midboss-level enemies. Aggroing that swarm (even remotely) would pretty much kill the run.
Since our cover story was solid, our journey through the coast was mostly uneventful routine.
And since we had time and the roads were good, I asked Crys to teach me how to drive a horse coach. Thinking near term, this skill was probably useful to have in case of emergency, although equestrianism would be more important skill to have in long term.
Crazy Horse walked leisurely along the straight road. I didn't want to wear out the poor animal, so I just held the reins and used the whip very sparingly. I was fully aware that a horse forced to pull four or five times its weight for extended periods of time was animal cruelty in itself.
Don't worry, innocent horses of this world! We're going to steal a fast mining vehicle when we get to Loönois and then you've been freed from pulling our party around at least.
“Yeehaw! Now this is podracing!”
We were going around five kilometers per hour or so. Mad pace. Vroom vroom.
But it felt nice to be the one driving. It wasn't as hard as I thought, at least when the horse was walking on its own pace – move reins back and to the right for left turn, or forward and to the left for right turn. Slightly more real than driving a coach in the game. Crazy Horse was a smart horse.
Balancing the multiband leather harness on the horse during a stop and checking its feet were actually the trickiest parts for a city boy like me. I did it with Crys's instructions from start to finish to get a hang of it, but I'll probably leave it to others in the future.
Along the way, we saw a carriage with a broken wheel on the roadside. A peasant man was waving at us to stop, but we just drove by.
My first thought was to help the guy, but my second thought was that it might be a trap. I saw from Crys' expression that my second thought was probably right.
If this were modern China or Russia, the peasant might have jumped in front of our horse, feigned injuries and collected the insurance money. In that case, a cheaper option for us would have been to just drive over and kill him.
But since insurance companies and dashcams didn't exist in this world, it was probably something like bandits with spears waiting in the tall grass.
“Crys, was that carriage really a trap or was it a real broken wheel?”
“Doesn't matter.” (Crys)
I felt that we should go back and stop the hypothetical bandits, otherwise they would attack the next wayfarers coming behind us. But we were in a hurry – both in our real roles and in our fake roles.
Yosh, let's leave random bandits to the local authorities and lighten up the mood.
“Crys, what is best in life?”
“To build a life of your own instead of submitting to the one ordained.” (Crys)
“Oh... I didn't actually expect you to answer seriously.”
“What type of answer did you expect?” (Crys)
“Destroying your enemies or something like that...”
“Destroying enemies is a necessary chore.” (Crys)
“Well, if you put it that way... Umu, cleaning out hidden enemies to be able to proceed is a chore, sure.”
Was Crys' answering seriously or not? There was always some meta-layer to his lines that made me suspect his honesty.
I'm a man with a plan to change history. Crys is a man with a plan to follow a man with a plan. Caliph Tze's continued existence forces our hands because we want to live a life without eternal tyrants constantly hunting our heads.
Well, Crys didn't seem to be in a mood for a random chit chat about history of moving pictures or fictional barbarians. He was thinking something more profound again.
“Keep the caravan ahead in sight, but don't get too close.” (Crys)
“Yeah, I know. Proximity clustering.”
This common sense etiquette of Mu-Ur travelers was a mechanism in the game too. If you went too close to the cluster of carriages in front, you automatically joined the caravan and were expected to work together; if you didn't, you were suspected to be a “parasite”. Conversely, if you were too far away from carriage clusters, probability of random encounters with highwaymen raised sharply. Highwaymen hunted like predatory animals: if you were slow and separated from a pack, you became a prime target.
“It seems you can drive well enough.” (Crys)
“Yes, clarity itself.”
“What?” (Crys)
“Clarity itself? Oh, right, it was yours and Kimono's secret line. Sorry, no copyleft intended, this dialogue is property of Mu-Ur Productions.”
“...” (Crys)
Yes, this part of the journey was mostly uneventful routine.
