DLC: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 4) Page 9

  Only Arath seemed amused, for he laughed. “Sure you did, buddy. Honest people are always stumbling into watching poisonings unfold.”

  “Just because it’s never happened to you,” the giant started.

  But Arath interrupted. “Never said I don’t know what a poisoning looks like. But…” He grinned. “I don’t pretend to be an honest man, either.”

  Ceinwen turned her attention back to Jack. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I need to talk to Jordan about this.”

  “Jordan?” the high elf asked.

  Too late, he realized his faux pas. His companions had no idea who Jordan was. Now that he had more than one person on his team, she paused the game whenever she came on, both so that the companions wouldn’t note the change in behavior in Migli, and also wouldn’t be party to conversations about real world things. That would only confuse them; and since they were built with an adaptive intelligence, and designed to think and develop their own theories about their world and missions, they’d try to figure out the strange behavior. It had messed up their first alpha tests, so they’d early on developed a rule that the supervisor could only enter the game after pausing it.

  “Uh…a friend of mine.”

  “A friend?” Migli said. “I’ve never met them.”

  “No. She lives – far, far from here.”

  “A lady friend, eh?” Arath grinned.

  “Is she a physician?” Ceinwen asked.

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “You should consult a physician, Jack. You really do look unwell.”

  “A physician?” the ranger snorted. “How about an exorcist. You look bloody possessed.”

  “Thanks,” he scowled at the other man, who shrugged in turn. “I’m fine.”

  “You do not look fine, Sir Jack,” Er’c said.

  “You look like you’ve been poisoned,” Karag put in. “I warned you about this place, and these people.” He fished through his packet and pulled out a vial of a sinister green liquid. “Here, Jack, drink this.”

  Jack stared dubiously at it. “What it is it?”

  “It’s an antidote. To poison.”

  Arath barked out a laugh. “You carry antidotes with you? As a wine merchant?”

  The giant shrugged. “I sell wines primarily, yes. But I am always happy to provide what my customers need. Especially if I save a life in the process.” He turned his attention back to Jack. “Drink, my friend.”

  “Karag, I have not been poisoned.”

  “I’m telling you, Jack, this is a wicked place, full of dark magic and evil. I don’t know if you’ve been poisoned, but I would prefer you drink this than die. And I think you would as well. Not least of all because, if you die, I’m going to go back to that mayor’s house, and pull it apart piece by piece; and force that funny little fellow to eat it, block by block.”

  Ceinwen glanced between the giant and Jack. “I hate to agree with him,” she said. “Especially after that. But it can’t hurt to drink it, can it?”

  Jack sighed and took the vial. “Fine, fine. I’ll drink it.”

  Er’c nodded, and Ceinwen smiled and thanked him. Karag said, “Good. For your sake, and that miserable butler’s.”

  He drank the potion down. It tasted earthy and savory, like some kind of fall soup. Jack didn’t like it, exactly. But it was the only flavor he’d come in contact with since he’d arrived on the island that didn’t taste like Christmas. So he liked it for that reason. He didn’t feel any differently, though; but his companions did look relieved.

  So he thanked the giant and said, “Alright, let’s go.”

  He didn’t know where exactly to go, so he headed for the nearest factory first. He braced himself for one of the sweatshops he’d imagined, and pushed open the door. His imaginings had been full of soot and grease and freezing – or, alternatively, sweltering – temperatures. He’d seen the mangled bodies of Christmas elves, crushed in unsafe equipment. He’d seen a Krampus-like beast, all decked out in festive gear, cracking a whip, and calling, “Season’s Greetings! Merry Christmas!” with each strike.

  This was, somehow, worse. There was no brutal overseer, or deadly machines, or unpleasant temperatures, or whips. There were no starving bodies huddled over greasy equipment. On the contrary, the space was bright, the temperature quite pleasant, and the environment crisp and sparkling.

  That, of course, was where the problems lay: sparkling. Everything sparkled, or shimmered, or smelled like Christmas. Holiday music piped through the work environment. The elves moved to and fro with an almost manic energy, smiles plastered across their faces, and festive garb upon their bodies. Some dressed in red and green leggings with long tunics with white fur accents. Some wore blues and silvers, with buttons that each looked like a fresh fallen snowflake. Some wore dresses and some wore suits. Some dressed in simple garments, and some had layer upon layer. Some wore hats, and others went bareheaded. But they were all smiling, and swaying to the music. They all had a spring to their step, and twinkle in their eyes.

  And the air? Unlike the mayor’s house, and its confusion of scents, this place had a single, unifying smell: a crisp, wintery peppermint.

  Jack stood fixed to the doorway, wondering if it was too late to reload, and join Team Krampus after all. He could live with Beelzebub if he really put his mind to it, couldn’t he? Or maybe he could try to get rid of the snake somehow. Maybe he could drop him from the sleigh or lock him in a closet and run away.

  “Season’s greetings,” a high, exclamatory voice sounded, making Jack jump a little. He turned to find a small elf nearby. The Christmas elves looked nothing like high elves. Ceinwen stood taller than most humans, and fairer than any. These elves, by contrast, were as short as Migli, and not very fair. They were not ugly, of course. They had a simple, homely charm to them that made up for the lack of beauty.

  The one who had greeted them seemed to be a man, though his voice was a little ambiguous. He was smiling, though – like they all smiled – so Jack returned a half-hearted smile of his own, and a wan, “Season’s Greetings.”

  “Welcome to our toy factory. I am Martin Elfkin.”

  Jack cringed inwardly but kept the fake smile in place. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Elfkin. I’m Jack.”

  “Well met, good Jack. Are you here to inspect the facility?”

  “No. Actually, we’re looking for someone named…Estelle?”

  Recognition flashed over the other man’s face, and he nodded briskly. “Ah yes, Winter’s daughter. She’s our manager, actually. I can take you to her, if you like?”

  Jack did like, since the place looked to be the size of a small city, complete with residential and factory districts. He told the little elf as much, and he laughed. “Oh, you mustn’t be intimidated by the size of the place, Jack. It’s all quite orderly and easy to navigate. And anyone you meet will be delighted to help you.

  “Oh! Speaking of, before we leave the factory, can I get you anything? Hot chocolate? Maybe something a little stronger?”

  Arath had perked up at the something stronger, but Jack said firmly, “No. We’re good. Thank you.”

  So Mr. Elfkin led them back into the cold, past several more of the huge factories. Great puffs of sugary smoke rose from one. “That’s our bakery,” he said. “We make holiday treats for all the families, especially those who cannot make them themselves. We have every beloved holiday family cake and cookie recipe in the Vale, you know. When people pass away, they give them to us, because we can make them so precisely; and so their families can still enjoy Grandma’s cookies, or bread, or what have you, the way she used to make them.”

  He beamed again. Jack wasn’t sure the other man had ever stopped smiling, but he was aware that he was smiling more now. Which he took as a cue to say something nice. “Very heartwarming.”

  “Yes. Winter says he’s seen people cry tears of joy when they find a dead parent’s or grandparent’s signature fruitcake waiting under
the tree.”

  “I’m sure I’d cry too if I found fruitcake under my tree,” he said.

  The elf nodded, apparently missing his sarcasm. “I’m sure I would as well. But our kind lives forever, mercifully, so we do not – barring an accident or Krampus’s intervention – endure the loss that plagues the human existence. Although…” He laughed. “My grandmother’s fruitcake is so good, I suppose it could bring someone to tears of joy.”

  Jack rolled his eyes at the back of the little man’s head but forced a fake laugh.

  A powerful odor of pine hit the group as they passed the next factory. “Here is where we produce all the Christmas wreaths, and ready all the trees you see around the Vale. I worked there a few hundred years ago, until I decided I wanted to try my hand at toy making.”

  He smiled. Again. And Jack smiled in return, ignoring the ache in his cheeks.

  They passed the tree farm, and Martin Elfkin gestured toward a small, gingerbread building. “This is Estelle’s office. Come, I will introduce you.”

  Roof tiles had been painted onto the building with icing, the same way icing shutters had been drawn around the candy glass windows. The door was made of gingerbread and set with more candy glass windows. A gumdrop served as the door handle, and a low fence of candy canes surrounded the landscaping, such as it was. In lieu of bushes or plants, the little office building was surrounded by enormous cupcakes and candy truffles. There was a chocolate peppermint cupcake as tall as Migli behind the fence, right next to some kind of white chocolate truffle, and a red velvet cupcake further down. It looked, somehow, at once perfect and bizarre – everything had been arranged neatly and in fine order. But, they’d surrounded the building with food instead of plants.

  Mr. Elfkin didn’t allow Jack time to figure out if he was more horrified than impressed. He pulled the door open and ushered them inside. A series of jingling bells signaled their entrance, a moment before the elf called out, “Estelle? You’ve got visitors.”

  They stepped into a warm, cozy waiting room, with plush furniture, a glowing fire in a corner woodstove, and a refreshment bar boasting a huge selection of hot chocolates and toppings, cookies and cakes, and even – to Jack’s delight – coffee.

  He eyed it, wondering if it would be rude to help himself uninvited. But he didn’t have long to ponder the question. A moment later, a woman stepped out of a back office, beaming the same way little Elfkin had beamed.

  But this was no Christmas elf. This was a vision of womanly beauty, long and tall and graceful of figure, with long hair pale as a winter morning sun, and a gown as white as mountain fog. It shimmered like sunlight on freshly fallen snow. Her eyes were a frosty blue, but her smile radiated warmth. “I’m sorry, Elfkin, I was singing. I didn’t hear…”

  Her perfect eyes widened. “Oh! Visitors? How unusual.”

  Elfkin bobbed his head. “They’ve come to see you.”

  She smiled at the elf, and he smiled back. Jack was so transfixed by her beauty that he barely noticed the endless smiles; they certainly didn’t annoy him anymore. On the contrary, he felt like smiling too. Except, his jaw had dropped at the sight of her, which made smiling a little difficult. “Thank you for bringing them to me, Elfkin.”

  “Of course, milady. I’ll head back, then.”

  “Do you want anything before you go? It’s awfully cold out there. A mug of cocoa, perhaps?”

  “No thanks, my lady. I’m already six cups in.”

  She laughed, and her voice sounded to Jack’s ears like an angel’s might. It was sweet and musical, with all the natural beauty and song of a mountain stream. “Pace yourself, my dear Elfkin. You know what happens when you have too much sugar.”

  “I know. But I’ve got an order to finish.”

  She tutted. “No toys are worth your health. You know what Winter says: ‘Better a missing toy –’”

  “‘Than a missing friend,’” he finished with a wry grin. “I know.”

  She arched her pale eyebrows. “Remember it. You, my friend, are a certified workaholic.”

  The elf grinned. “Yes ma’am.” Then, he tipped his cap, and scampered out the door.

  Estelle, meanwhile, headed to the refreshment bar. “Welcome, and good tidings to you all. Can I get you anything? Hot chocolate? Coffee? Food?”

  Everyone had a request this time, Jack included. Maybe it was the sight of the food, rather than the mere mention of it. Maybe it was smelling it here in this small space, where the odors of peppermint were subtler than they had been in the factory. Maybe it was the sight of this fair lady. But Jack felt suddenly that he had time to eat, and drink, and make merry.

  She took their orders, and brought back everyone’s request: coffee for Jack, and a plate of cake and cookies; peppermint schnapps for Arath and Migli, and pieces of stollen; and hot chocolate and julekake for Ceinwen and Er’c. Karag insisted he didn’t want anything, with such an adamance that Jack felt convinced he feared poisoning again. But, once the plates started to circulate, he changed his mind. “Actually, Miss Estelle, if you had some of that yule log cake…”

  She smiled. “Of course. A good choice: it’s a chocolate espresso log.” Jack suddenly regretted his own choice, because – as good as it was – that sounded better. And, if Karag’s rapturous expressions were anything to go by, it was.

  As for Shimmerfax, who had remained outside the office, she called to an assistant – a prettyish elf woman called Pepper. “Pepper, will you call one of the lads from Winter’s stables, and see that our guest is treated to whatever he likes? Hay, carrots – whatever a battlecorn eats.” She turned questioning eyes to Jack, who only shrugged.

  Pepper nodded, assuring her boss she would do so at once. Then she disappeared into a back office, and Estelle smiled. “Miss Mint is the best assistant I could ask for, I tell you.

  “But, what can I do for you, my friends?”

  Jack glanced up from his cake unwillingly. It tasted absolutely heavenly. “Well, we’re not supposed to be here, and we’re looking for a way home.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We were at sea, and some kind of storm blew us off course. We landed on the shore, a little way from where Winter’s sleigh crashed –”

  Estelle’s mouth dropped. “Wait, what? Winter’s sleigh crashed? Where?”

  Jack remembered that he hadn’t told anyone this, and that only Krampus and his party knew – the demon, since he’d been responsible, and his party, since they stumbled upon the wreckage. So he launched into a brief explanation, and Estelle went a shade paler, and then clasped her hands to her mouth.

  “Oh my word. Dead? Oh how dreadful. It explains why he’s been gone so long, of course, especially with so many deliveries waiting.

  “But Winter, dead? My poor father. My poor mother! And whatever will become of the Vale, with Winter dead?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The news rather put a damper on their tea party. Estelle had to go at once to her mother, in the ice castle. She begged their pardon and told Jack she would be back as soon as she could. “I would invite you with me. But I should be the one to break this news. Please, stay. I will be back as soon as I can, and we will discuss your problem.”

  Then, she thanked them for bringing the news, burst into tears, brushed them away brusquely as she composed herself, and went in search of Pepper. She must have found her in a side office, because in a moment, through the gingerbread walls, they heard another bout of crying – this time, from both women. Jack stared dolefully at his cake, feeling somehow that it would be disrespectful to carry on eating.

  And yet, the cake was so very good. His companions seemed likewise conflicted. Karag set his plate down with a wistful look, and Ceinwen and Er’c set theirs aside with quiet murmurs about what a tragic business this all was. Only Arath and Migli went on eating.

  The ranger downed his schnapps and his food, and then glanced at Jack’s plate. “You going to finish that, boss?”

  “What? Oh, no,
probably not.”

  Arath nodded, scooping the cookies onto his own plate. “I’ll help then.”

  Jack frowned at the other man for his presumption. “Thanks.”

  The sarcasm seemed to go over his head, though, because he nodded through a mouthful. “You know me: always happy to help.”

  Migli leaned over to Er’c, asking, “You planning to finish that cake, my lad?”

  The orc boy glanced up. “Oh, no: please, if you want it, help yourself, Mister Migli.”

  The dwarf grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  This kicked off a race between the two men to finish their replenished plates and get to the remaining team. Arath crunched through his cookies like a starving man, and Migli barely chewed his cake. All the while, the sounds of distant sobs filled the air.

  Arath flashed his smarmiest grin Ceinwen’s way. “My dear, are you –”

  “I am not your ‘dear’, Arath. I am not your anything.”

  Migli smirked. “Are you still hungry, Ceinwen? If not, I would be happy to take your plate away.”

  She nodded and handed it to the dwarf, along with her piece of julekake. “Thank you, Migli.”

  Arath scowled at the dwarf and at her. Then, he turned the same smarmy look Karag’s way. “Ah, Karag, friend, can I take your plate? I’d be happy to do so.”

  Karag frowned at him, then scarfed the remainder of his cake down. Then, and only then, did he hand over the plate. “Very kind of you, Arath. Thank you.”

  The ranger glared at him, and the empty plate that had been thrust into his hand.

  Then Jack put his own on the pile the ranger held, saying, “You can take mine too, Arath. Thanks.” It seemed only fair, since the other man had taken his cookies.

  Er’c, apparently missing the ranger’s death glare, handed his over too, setting it on top of the others. “Thank you, Mister Arath.”

  Migli smirked from under his great beard, chewing the last pieces of julekake. “Well, if you’re heading back there, Arath, I suppose I’ll let you take these too.”