Sam
October 15, 1786, Realm Timeline, Bratislava, The Slovakian Protectorate
Sam enjoyed impressing his guests. He refilled Little John's glass with whiskey. It was the fifth serving. Single Barrel, a couple thousand bucks a bottle, commoners—meaning every pleb that didn't realize Bourbon beats Scotch—had never, ever, heard about the brand.
"Can't say no to another glass," the mercenary said. "Sorry for calling you a cos-player. Someone drinking this stuff can only be a biker at heart."
"Don't mention it."
"Cheers."
They clinked and took a sip, after inhaling the aroma of the foolproof Bourbon. Outside, it rained, the small drops hitting against the window and the flagstones of the terrace. The fire in the chimney and the alcohol matched well.
"When I was in your castle's basement, I couldn't help but notice a few... special boxes," Sam said.
"The grenades?"
"The Coke. Two full crates."
"More like twelve. There is more."
"I'm willing to exchange one of my whiskeys for a crate."
"No way, man. Bottle for bottle."
"No one else has this on the Realm," Sam said. "It's worth a ton of money back on Earth."
"Three Cokes for a bottle, final offer."
"Twelve Cokes for three whiskey bottles."
"Deal!"
They shook hands and stood quietly for a while. Little John lit a cigar and offered one to Sam, who refused. For a good while, they just stood there, staring into nothingness, or at the landscape, in silence.
"So..." Little John said after his cigar diminished by half. "You're in the Council..."
"Yeah."
"And you got assigned my case?"
"Yeah."
"You arrested me, and you're also the judge? Isn't it a conflict of interest?"
"Technically, my wife's assistant arrested you."
"Wife?" Little John furrowed his brow.
"Ex, sorry. Habit of speech. Also, this is not a trial. The Council only gives advice. It's up to you to follow it or not."
"And if I refuse?"
"Why would you? It's really good advice."
"Say... Did you really rig my place to explode?"
"Of course not," Sam shrugged. "It was full of stupid kids. And good stuff."
Little John slammed his fist on the coffee table. "I knew it!"
"But my girl had you in her crosshairs."
"Your ex?"
"No, my future wife. Penny, the local guild—"
"Local Guild Master, I know. She's a sniper?"
"When she has to. She's smart like Einstein and cooks like an angel. She had to leave town, or you'd see for yourself."
"Lucky bastard," Little John said, his eyes saddened.
"I'm sure you'll find a fine woman yourself," Sam said. If they survive being crushed when you roll over in your sleep.
"Eh... Too much trouble. My ex is still on Earth. She took all my money, and I barely saw my kids."
"By the way, we're not talking Diet Coke, right? For the deal."
"I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy."
"Thanks... So, my advice would be... Hm... First, lose that funicular. Repair the road."
"You know how much workers cost these days?"
"The locals are fed up with the noise. Build the road back and open some space for a parking lot."
"You know I don't charge them anything for living on my land, right?"
"You know, people who lived in the same place for generations tend to think it's their land," Sam smirked.
"I saved the bloody place. The Austrians would've burnt the village."
"Since you don't get any revenue from it, give them the land under the village, and make them build the road as payment. A few bed and breakfasts would make your clients extend your stay."
"That could work," Little John nodded.
"Second, lose the cocaine. Let the kid smoke some weed, but nothing stronger."
"Dude!"
"What?"
"You know what cocaine is made of?"
"Err..."
"Coca leaves. You don't find it here."
"So?"
"We're talking heroin. It's made from poppies."
"Don't sell any drug to the kids, and that's it!" Sam raised his voice, annoyed that the mercenary was debating technicalities.
"People are more resistant to drugs here because of magic."
"No. Drugs. Am I clear?"
"Okay, fine," Little John rolled his eyes. "What about the gambling, the sex, and the tobacco? Everyone here thinks tobacco's healthy."
"Let it be. About the sex... there's something to address."
"Spit it out."
"Eliza insists she checks every girl personally."
"She's a doctor?"
"I mean talk to them. Alone. She wants to find out if they're forced into this or not."
"Eliza's your sweetheart?"
"No, that's Penny, just told you. Eliza's my ex, was disguised as the dancer. And if you're wondering, no, I don't work with both my ex and my fiancée; it just happened she was there."
"That cutie is your ex? Are you some sort of Casanova?"
"Let's not go there. What about the girls?"
"No worries, man. Tell her to have a blast. Our girls have their health checked twice a month, live comfortably, and earn a lot of money. You think they'd choose to return to the slums?"
"I guess they won't. OK, here's my official word of advice. Repair the road. Give them the land. Tone the noise down. No drugs. I want every single girl to have a contract. There will be an inspection every trimester. And make sure the kids who visit don't lose too much money gambling. Their parents will get upset, and you don't want that. They'd be bigwigs from Vienna."
"I figured out that much," Little John giggled, with a noise that would have put a bleating goat to shame. "Say... Was it the parents who sent the gendarmes after me?"
"No. It was bleeping Joseph."
"Who's that?"
"Joseph the Second."
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"C'mon! The Emperor. He's in town for a few days. Found out about your gambling den and thought," Sam cleared his throat, looking up obliquely and speaking with a dramatic voice, "I'll soon be a parent; how can I let this stand? Would I like my kids to visit such accursed places of perdition, wherein vice is cherished? They style them houses of pleasure, yet are but the gaudy trappings of misery, where idle souls squander their coin, their reason, and their very honor."
"He said that?"
"He could have. They talk like that, don't they?"
"No, not really, except if you're some Shaker preacher."
"Can't say I know them."
"You didn't lose a thing, trust me. So it was the Emperor who ratted?"
"Yeah. Spoke to the mayor, maybe even bribed him, who knows, and the rest is history."
"We got complacent... We should've kept an eye on the woods."
"Yes, you should have."
"But the idiots didn't tie up our girls. 'Twas like back in the war. They didn't even imagine we had women in our company. We often sent them behind the lines, in plain clothes, pretending they were civilians, then bam, they shot them in the back," Little John laughed.
"It's called spying, and it's punishable by death."
"Only if they get caught. We always had luck on our side."
"Until now."
"For the record, I had the situation in hand. If not for you—"
"If not for me, you'd be out of business or dead."
"You know, I heard of you..."
"Yeah, you told me."
"They said you were against the Council, in the beginning. You were one of Georgescu's men."
"I was never someone else's man. I thought a leader should have a stronger role. Able to decide things fast. The general proved his competence during the war. Anyway, after we lost the vote, we accepted the majority's decision."
"How come you're working for them now?"
"We met, we talked, we came to an agreement."
"Just like that."
"Yeah... We agreed to keep our minds open and work together. The other option would have been to join the Renegades, and that was unpalatable. Tell me something: How did you manage to get all those explosives?"
"What batch were you in?" Little John avoided the question.
"Sorry?" Sam shook his head, missing the meaning of the question.
"When did you come here?"
"Ah, that. Second group. Just after the scouts."
"Wow... So early? Are you some scientist, or—"
"I prefer not to talk about it," Sam said bluntly.
"Special forces?"
"I said... Fine," Sam caved, sagging his shoulders. "If you must know, I was hired as a Magic Consultant."
"What?"
"I was one of the top ten fantasy computer and board game designers, back on Earth. Someone thought, 'What if Magic works like in the games?' and tagged me along. I couldn't refuse the opportunity."
"Hahaha... Sorry, man, sorry... and what made you become a Bounty Hunter? That and your affiliation with General Georgescu is what you're famous for."
"The war," Sam shrugged. "I fought in it, found out I was better at fighting than I thought, and then fighting became a part of me. I..." he lowered the head, looking at the floor. "I like the thrill of it."
"War changes people," Little John said. "As for me, I was in the last group, with all the desperate people. The other choice was military prison."
"What did you do to earn that?"
"In the Army, I was into procurement. I had a knack for trading up old weapons no one used anymore for more useful things. Drugs, booze, you name it. And that should answer your question about how I got the explosives. I'm really good at procurement."
Sam nodded, sipping the last drops from his glass. The sun was setting, and darkness was hurrying to engulf the hill, enhanced by the clouds and the rain. Only a few details remained to talk about.
"The kid who arrested you likes the horse. How much—"
"He can keep it for free. A young bloke lost it at cards. We couldn't figure out what to do with it. I tried to ride it, and—"
"It threw you off?"
"He fell, poor beast. I'm a bit on the heavy side," Little John grinned.
"Yeah, I've noticed. I bet the couch does too. I should tax you for sitting on it. You're First Order, right?"
"That would be a true statement," Little John nodded. "That's why my weight doesn't cause me health problems. It's mostly muscles."
"One more thing. Could you spare some bike parts? Like a frame?"
"Maybe... Why? You want to do a project?"
"Something like that."
"I have a Harley Knucklehead, vintage. Three gold ounces and it's yours."
Sam frowned, grabbing his chin instinctively. Is he asking too much? I bet he is. "How about two and a bottle of whiskey?"
"The normal price back home is two ounces. Three is just because we're friends."
Sam scratched his head, considering the offer, oscillating between taking it or refusing it. That was a lot of money, more than his part of the bounty for bringing Little John in.
"Or..." Little John leaned toward Sam, making the couch squeak in protest. "You could just owe me one. You know... give me a heads up if there's another bounty, stuff."
"Two ounces, and if there's a bounty, no heads up, but I promise not to take it."
"Deal. High five?"
Sam regretted accepting the high five instantly. His palm felt like it had been crushed against a meat wall.
I have to grow my Constitution...