Chapter 10

I slept like a log. Better than I’d expected from the rough cot that was basically a sleeping pallet directly on the ground, next to dozens of others.

In the morning, they made porridge. At least it looked like porridge. It was also bland and tasteless, like porridge, but at least it was hot, and the red berries they gave us to sprinkle on top added a bit of tartness to the mix.

Then I went to see Major Pain and get introduced to my fellow comrades. That part, I really wasn’t looking forward to. I didn’t get on with people at the best of times, and now I’d have to get along with a whole group of them?

Turns out, I was the last one to arrive of our group. Yet another group was just leaving as I got to the scene.

Major Pain sat in his old folding chair, and waved at me to approach. There were four others waiting for me there, all of them colour-coordinated with the same newcomer garb that I wore. They stood in two pairs, either consisting of a man and a woman who stood like they knew each other.

“That’s the lot of y’all here. Now. Y’all are all Level 0, all fresh-faced and all about to go on your first excursion. I’ll let you ask any questions, and then y’all can go grab some gear, take off and get yourself killed.” He beamed at all of us.

“Wait, what?” I burst out. “You’re not planning, to, like, give us a crash course of the surroundings or something?”

He snorted. “This ain’t the military, boyo. Y’all can grab a map with the pack, but that’s all. If I had to plan the day for all y’all, I’d never get a lick of work done.”

“But all you’re doing is sitting here and harassing people with terrible humour?”

“Mm-hm. And you’re cutting into my precious time to do so.” He clapped his hand. “Questions! Don’t waste my time with questions about strategies and talents and stuff. I did the hard work and found a group that’ll work. Now, y’all gotta learn how to make it stick.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and before you ask. You ain’t getting a Collector for the team. We only send Collectors out with teams who’ve proved themselves. You’re getting a handcart. That’s how y’all’ll be dragging any loot back to camp.”

I blinked. The others looked equally taken aback at the fact that we were too likely to die to be joined by a collector.

One of us didn’t care. “Which areas out there are instantly lethal for low-level people like us?” If the accent in the crisp, business-like voice hadn’t instantly given away that the speaker was Italian, his looks did. He was middle-aged, short and slender, but carried himself with the confidence of a king. His dark, wavy hair sat in artful curls that should not be possible without a lot of time before a mirror. Strangely, he kept his eyes closed as he spoke.

“That’ll be on the maps, if y’all’re lucky.”

“How do we go about getting better equipment than what we are granted to begin with?” He shot back.

“Chat to a Crafter. But y’all’ll need some loot to trade for.” Major Pain snorted and continued. “Before y’ask. The same goes for food, sleeping gear, armaments and, let’s face it, anything at all.”

The Italian bowed his head in assent and stayed quiet, seemingly satisfied with the non-answers.

Now, the woman from the other pair spoke up. She… was something else. She was a short – tiny, really – woman, mid-twenties, perhaps, with a spiky pixie cut in ultramarine. She also wore a fiery grin, as if daring the rest of the world to gainsay her. “What about homes? Who do we speak to about building a real home here when we get back?”

That made the Texan laugh. “What? Like, authorities? Build ‘em if ya can. Ain’t like there’s any rangers around her to tell ya off. Just don’t mess up our camp, and try not to piss off somebody high-leveled. Oh. Also, they’re planning a new wall farther out. Ask around.”

I blinked at that. It was a new world, for sure. Everything seemed to be up for grabs, and power was the only real leveller.

Now, the woman next to the Italian took her turn. The only thing I knew for certain was that she wasn’t Italian. Probably Caucasian, except her tanned skin made it hard to tell. She had nondescript features and messy, long, brown hair. Her gaze was alert, though. “What is with that man in the tower? And how did he get up there? There are no stairs.”

Major Pain perked up. “I get to be the one to tell ya? It’s the cap! Captain Gert Neumann of the Ever Steady! As to getting up? Handholds. He’s a nutjob, that man.”

My jaw dropped. “He’s alive? But… what the hell happened to the ship, then? And why didn’t he come back?”

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