“And Tomas,” FeeTwix says under his breath.
“Who?” Zaena asks.
“I’m with her,” says Hiccup, “early onset Goblinheimer’s, remember?”
FeeTwix takes a sip from his mug of Horse Piss ale. “As I told Ryuk yesterday, the reason I decided to come to this world was to investigate the suspicious death of one of my first fans, a guy named Tomas.”
“Was he a resetter?” Ryuk asks. “I can’t remember if you told me that already or not.”
“He was.”
“Whatever is doing this is trying to come to our world through resetters and they haven’t got the mechanics right yet. They tried through Tamana, and they tried through me. I believe they also tried through your friend, Tomas.”
“So they want to take your bodies?” Zaena asks Ryuk.
“I think so, yes, but I also think that for now they are still testing their limitations, seeing what they can do. But that’s not what I’m worried about. From what I can gather, they haven’t successfully taken a real human’s body, only terrorized us or forced us to do something. What I’m worried about is humandroids.”
No larger than an action figure and clad in a leathern off-the-shoulder tunic, the pixie waitress flits in with a platter of lemon pepper dragon wings proportionate to her size.
She snaps her fingers and the debris from Hiccup’s first round disappears; she places the fresh platter on the table and it grows to its normal shape and size. The sizzle-fresh dragon wings are garnished with slices of grilled lemon and a delicate sprinkling of minced puce pepper.
“I really wish you wouldn’t eat those,” Zaena sighs.
“I know Thuleans are related to dragons, and yada yada yada,” Hiccup strips the flesh from the first wing and chews loudly and messily, “but you and I both know that these wings come from sustainable farm-raised miniature dragons that are bred solely for eating. Good fickin’ eating too. I’m telling you, I won’t judge you if you try some. It’d be like Marbles here eating monkey in your world. You guys eat monkeys up there, right? I sure as fick would – especially with this lemon pepper sauce.”
Ryuk ignores the goblin. “Back to humandroids – like fifteen years ago, an American scientist developed a way for NPCs to dive into a humandroid’s body, called R-diving.”
FeeTwix’s eyebrows rise. “You’re kidding.”
Ryuk’s normally serious expression becomes, if anything, even more serious. “The NPC spawned into the humandroid’s body and was able to operate fully within it. In our world, FeeTwix. Think about that for a moment.”
“Humandroids are your world’s version of NPCs, correct?” Zaena asks. “At least that’s how my tutor explained it to me.”
“Um … ”
“That’s one way to look at them.” The Swede takes a hefty swallow from his ale and sighs. “That’s a damn good ale! It’s called Horse Piss, isn’t it? Good stuff. Anyway, back to what you were saying. I’m assuming not many people know about R-diving; otherwise I would have heard of it through some of my channels.”
Ryuk nods. “I think our mission here just got a little more complicated. Not only do we need to get to the bottom of who or what is orchestrating these attacks, we may need to prevent them from ever discovering that there may be a better way to come to our world.”
“Holy shit,” says FeeTwix. “Can you imagine what it would be like if NPCs could take humandroid bodies and actually operate them?”
“Exactly. I know I’m biased here, but I think rescuing Tamana will give us some insight into what the Shinigami are doing and how they relate to all this, if they are related at all. After all, they took her right after she died.” Ryuk lets the word hold weight for a moment. “Plus, she knows people that may be able to get us some answers. She was friendlier than I was, back when we were part of the Knights of Non Compos Mentis.”
“Gee, someone more friendly than you?” Hiccup crams another dragon wing in his mouth, chews the meat off, and spits the bone onto his plate. “A rabid chiup-hog with a tusk-ache, cysts, and hemorrhoids is friendlier than you, kid.”
“We still don’t have a plan in place for rescuing her once we arrive in Aramis,” FeeTwix reminds them.
Hiccup chortles. “What, you guys thought I was picking my nose earlier and not thinking about how we’re going to do this? Consider it an often used excuse for our shared struggle with rhinotillexomania – I’m not the only goblin that thinks digging for boogers is a great way to stimulate the brain.” He wipes his mouth with his brass forearm. “Fick! That was cold. I keep forgetting that. Where was I?”
Ryuk fights to not roll his eyes. “You were discussing the plan, and picking your nose.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say – you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.” He snorts in amusement at his witticism. “So the plan. First, we need to head to Bar Row. Obviously, obviously. We’re going to get the best info from a drunk. It’s payday for some, and I’d bet my chalupas and my marbles that there are drunks, fickboys, maybe even some bards milling about. What time is it?” He glances at a cuckoo clock near the entrance to the restaurant’s kitchen. “Almost the Hour of the Air. We want to get to these guys now, before they’re too sauced up to make any sense. Also, the later in the night it gets, the more violent the drunks become. So we need to get our intel early.”
“From drunks?”
“Listen, Liz,” he snaps at the Thulean, “if anyone’s going to give the Shinigami up, it’ll be a drunk.”
“Okay, fine, let’s do it,” says Ryuk. “What about funds? We’re barely over ten thousand rupees and we need to weapon up.”
“Which ain’t shit. Those damn ninjas gave us jack squat. Treasure my ass. No matter. Like you suggested earlier – you have the best gambler this side of the Goblin Riviera on your team.”
Hiccup dips one of the lemon pepper dragon wings in a small iron bowl of creamy white sauce. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews it as he says, “I’ll be able to triple that money at least, just like you suggested.”
“Bundunoo droga dookh.”
He laughs. “Damn! You sure know how to flatter a goblin. She called me an obese dragon turd, which I’ll be adding to my repertoire thank-you-very-much.”
Hiccup licks his lips and thinks for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do: after we’ve gathered intel in Bar Row, we’ll divide up. The sneakier of the two – Ryuk and Zaena – can hit the guildhalls and do some reconnaissance. FeeTwix and I, being more seasoned and better-looking, will handle the fund creation arm of our little adventure. Don’t worry about the Shinigami, Ryuk, we are going to hand them their asses. Nobody sporks me in the belly in the middle of a gobnap! I will personally see to it that their graves are pissed upon.” He raises his sauce-daubed mechanical pinkie. “You have my word – pinkie swear.”
(0)__(0)
FeeTwix’s eyes flash as he announces, “Your marble gun is here.”
A sturdy wench enters the dining area of the Viewpoint Café. The sides of her head are shaved and her hair is woven back into one long braid. The well-muscled woman clomps over to the table and gives FeeTwix a bashful grin. She’s in sleeveless button up blouse and a pair of black tights tucked into spiky boots. A leather backpack slung over one shoulder.
“I never thought I’d meet you in person,” she rumbles in a low, masculine voice.
“Dory.” FeeTwix stands and offers her a side hug. “This is Zaena, Hiccup, and Ryuk. The gun is for him.”