“Is that an option?” I asked aloud. A resounding ‘no’ came back from the crowd, several of whom began to sidle towards the exit. Their problem was that they’d need to step over the unconscious zealot that lay between them and the promised escape from social awkwardness.

  “I could just eat the evidence?” I offered with a shrug. Esme slapped my shoulder.

  “You can’t just eat a Quaestor, Bob!” she snapped. “You’ll get ulcers!”

  “I’ve eaten some pretty fucked up stuff. The Cattleman King's brains didn’t make me sick. Didn’t even catch a prion disease!”

  “You ate brains?” Jenny asked. “Cooked or raw?”

  “That’s your main issue with this?” Esme demanded. “The serving temperature of the brain was the problem?”

  Jenny shrugged hairily. “Food poisoning is no joke, nor are prion diseases.”

  “My point is I’m pretty sure my stomach can handle it,” I interceded to try and head off further bickering.

  “That’s some concentrated evil in that man,” Esme replied.

  “He’s a bloody priest! I think?” I objected.

  “He’s more than that. He’s an enforcer of priests. Nobody talks about it, but the Inquaesition serves all the gods, including Umbrati, Vastator, Rapere, Sterol, you know, the real evil bastards!” Jenny muttered.

  I looked back as the door banged shut. The crowd had made the executive decision to leave this dilemma in our hands. We were alone.

  “You don’t think they’ll talk about this, will they?” I asked, waving at the door as it swung open slightly.

  “They won’t as long as you don’t kill the man. As long as they see him up and about tomorrow, they’ll keep quiet,” Esme said thoughtfully. She reached over the bar and produced a third glass, pouring drinks for the three of us that we took to my private table.

  “I’ve missed this place,” I said, looking around at the pub. The light orbs flickered, and the wood shone. The scents of fine food and booze surrounded me as I tasted the air carefully. “I can’t wait to set up another one in Longbottom. It’ll be like a home away from home for when I pop to the city.”

  “You’ll just use the portals, though?” said Esme, sweeping a strand of hair back behind her ear in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

  “There was some shenanigans about the portals not being registered or some shit. Karen got involved,” I grumbled, taking a sip. The warm liquid trickled down my throat and induced a comfortable numbness that spread throughout my torso.

  “May she be blessed in triplicate,” Jenny added hastily, stroking her moustache. “But why expand? Couldn’t we just buy up the property next door and knock through? Then we can run portals to whatever towns you want to include.”

  I stared at her for a moment, then a broad, pointy-toothed grin spread across my face.

  “Yes! Mass transit! And everything is based out of a hub right here in the Mill! We sell tickets to cover the cost of the portal gems and recharging. Then everything links to here, and we’ve got a captive market! Do you have any idea how badly people got overcharged for food in train stations and airports back home? And drinks! I got a–”

  “Bob.” Esme cut me off. “I’m not having the Cod turned into some kind of waystation for strangers. Besides, it’s been tried before. You aren’t the first person to have access to portal magic.”

  “What was the problem?” I asked. I was sure I could work a way around it, whatever it was. Greed-Goblin, who had been hammering at my brain incessantly with his tourism idea, was now raging like a toddler being told no. The two concepts had a pleasing symmetry that the little monster was frothing at the mouth about.

  “The guilds, Bob. They shut it down. Too disruptive,” Esme said softly.

  “But it would bypass the roads, which are dangerous; you could get food to a town where the harvest fails in days, not weeks or months. You could holiday in the city without a three-week journey, or Baginton, or Danglyend, or whatever weirdly named place is a good place to take a week off! People could see loved ones who moved away, or sell their products more widely. Quality of life would skyrocket!” And, most importantly… I would get rich. Gold and karma would be mine!

  “The merchants won’t have people just wandering from town to town to sell stuff. They’ve got a lot invested in inns, horse changing stations, and deals with the Thieves Guild to buy safe travel. The Street Sweepers won’t have it; they’ll be out of a job. The nobles have a lot of interest in controlling where people can live as well. As soon as people can just stroll from here to the city, people will want to live here and work there. The Imperial Nobles will lose half their people!” Jenny argued.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Imperial Nobles?” I asked.

  “The ones whose seats are in the city. Besides, would you want a load of people from the Gloom moving to the Mill? We don’t even have a dungeon! As in one where you lock up criminals!” Esme said quickly in response to my raised eyebrow.

  I took another sip and stared at my glass. I could make this work. Do it sneakily, until it was too big to shut down. Start with a few merchants, who could pay for the privilege, then maybe offer it to some nobles, politicians, and general rich bastards. Gradually expand it, linking the towns in the north together, then once it has proved its worth, deal with the guilds.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said confidently, and quickly laid out my thoughts.

  “I didn’t know you were suicidal, Bob,” Jenny snorted when I was done.

  “She’s right, love. That’s how you get a powerhouse to tap you on the shoulder late one night,” Esme added.

  “I’ve got god-forged scales. And I’m a goddamn dragon. I eat powerhouses for breakfast!” Even as my mouth ran away with itself, my thoughts flickered to Big Kenny. Could I take him in a straight fight? If I could see him coming, I figured I’d stand a fair chance. A quiet voice at the back of my mind whispered, but could you fight two or three people like that?

  The raised eyebrows I received in reply told me what the ladies thought of my chances.

  “One, maybe. A team of them? All level one fifty? Sweetie, you need to listen to us mammals,” Esme said gently.

  “I am. I’ve got some tricks as well. I’m not just a brute.” I did not sound like a hurt little boy. “How come teleporting isn’t more common? It’s not complicated magic? Bulldo can do it!”

  “I don’t know who that is, but it’s not cheap. The mana crystals you take for granted to keep the portals running are rare. There are only what, five other dungeons in the empire? And none of them have a floor like that, as far as I’m aware. You’d need a week of recharging to move one person from here to the city; you’d have to set this up in your dungeon, use the portal room as the hub, and keep the crystals there,” Jenny said thoughtfully. I really needed to look into acquiring some depilatory cream for the poor woman. Something to foist on the alchemist once Kat got that all set up.

  “See! We can make this work! We just need to work on the problems one at a time. So we base it out of the dungeon. We can set it up to run a link from Jenny’s kitchen to whatever place I buy–” I winced at the word, “–in Longbottom. We can keep all the cooking and stock, the booze and whatnot, here,” I said happily.

  “You think that kitchen can support another restaurant? You think I can cook enough to support two eateries?” Jenny snapped.

  “I can help!” Esme offered.

  “We’re already run off our feet!” Jenny replied. “If your dad was a bit more–”

  “He’s not been well, Jenny. You know that!” Esme said angrily, leaning forward across the table to glare at the other woman.

  “I know! I know!” Jenny raised her hands defensively. “I’m just saying a perpetual hangover isn’t really being sick. Look at my old man, he’s been seriously ill and he still–”

  “Your dad! He can help, right? We can expand the kitchen space, maybe even move it up to the dungeon. Give you your own floor for cooking and brewing. Maybe to grow some of the more expensive herbs!” I jumped in; that argument was new to me, and I needed to look in on Benton. Maybe take him a new spitoon as an excuse. Another thought occurred to me.

  “How much of the good stuff is he drinking?” I asked worriedly. Esme kicked me under the table, then cringed as her toes met my ungodly ARM stat.

  “Not that much! And it’s not drinking. It’s a… sadness. He sees the success of the Cod… but he can’t take credit. I think he feels, I don’t know, betrayed by the gods or something,” Esme said sadly. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I reached out and cupped her cheek. She smiled faintly and patted my hand as she sat back up. Another thing to deal with: my girlfriend’s dad’s lack of purpose.

  “Maybe he’d like to run the new pub? If we do the cooking and keep the stock here, but then Benton runs the place solo?” I suggested. Two birds, one idea. Damn, I’m good.

  “It’s too much. Besides, a bar needs a pretty barmaid,” Jenny muttered.

  “We’ll need more staff. He can hire some locals. The bunny brigade can provide security. Oh shit, that’s genius! The bunnies are basically my army, and I’d have an excuse to station them in other nobles’ towns and have a portal ready to reinforce them if needed!” I babbled happily. Was this real karma? Doing well for yourself enables you to do good for others, which in turn allows you to do even more good. A virtuous cycle! Don’t think about the gangsters and vampires you're associated with in Ankmapak, scaly!

  “You really are worried about a war, aren’t you?” Esme asked before taking a long pull from her glass.

  “Nah. It’ll be fine! Trust me, nobody is going to threaten what’s mine and get away with it,” I growled. “But we should build some walls, and probably fairly quickly, too.”

  “What the hell happened?” groaned Light Invincible as he sat up in the corner of my eye.

  Oh yeah. That was the problem we were meant to be working on. Shit.

  “Una Somna!” I snapped, sending the mana to my nose and shaping the sigil for the spell. Light collapsed with a clang as his helmet hit the floorboards.

  “Jesus! Back to the current panic: we can’t just keep him unconscious with magic forever. You need a proper solution, Bob,” Jenny snapped.

  “Magic,” I muttered.

  “You can’t just kill him!” Esme argued. “That’s the whole problem!”

  “Don’t need to kill him. I learned a spell, from Sevris, the replacement mage-sergeant for the Rompers… She said it had some drawbacks if I used it too much.”

  “Like what?” snapped Jenny. “Are they worse than that psycho deciding to bring in the Sacred Band?”

  “The sacred what? No, wait, I can infer who they are. The Inquaesition and their army won’t ever know about it. He won’t even know about it.” I pointed at the Quaestor. “I can scrub his memory!” I said happily, standing up. My chair legs grated across the ground as I turned and moved towards the unconscious man. I took off his helmet and strained as I forced the tough steel back into alignment. Then I propped him up against the wall and plopped the helmet back into place.

  “Oblivastur Recentis! Oblivastur Recentis! Oblivastur Recentis!” That should do it, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I still had plenty of mana left. “Oblivastur Recentis! Oblivastur Recentis!”

  “What did Sevris say the side effects were again?” asked Jenny.