The people filtered out of the diner and into the street; heading back to their homes and families with the nervous energy of change about them. Half-eaten food and unfinished drinks had been piled on the tables as the patrons had eaten and drunk their fill.

  Trekka and Rumi had never stopped moving or preparing food the entire time—obviously not used to the large gathering and doing their best to accommodate everyone’s desires. Rumi was mostly silent and had done what they could to stay in the back, making food and platters for the guests.

  Trekka had taken charge of the bar and orders and had handled herself with the assurance of a professional; it was rather impressive to watch them fall into a well-coordinated dance. I’d placed a significant strain on them, and they’d stepped up to accomplish it.

  Rising from my seat, I gathered dishes and mugs from the tables as I passed them. Limbs reached out with deft grace to collect items and food alike; I brought them into the back room where the wash basin was located and placed the dishes onto the counter.

  Rumi bustled in after me and proceeded to chastise me for helping; stating rather forcefully.

  “You’re a guest! You aren’t even allowed back here, let alone to wash the dishes! Out! Get out! I’ll meet you back at your room once we’ve finished here!”

  As they realised what they had said, a crimson blush once again spread across their cheeks and their features softened into an extremely feminine version of what they’d just been.

  “Ahhhhhhh! Look what you’ve done now! Not to mention poor Trekka, who probably thinks she’s suffered a blow to the head after witnessing you snatching up dishes like some kind of spiderkin! Gogogogo!”

  I hadn’t even thought about what Trekka would think; I’d spent so much time around Armela that using my limbs had fallen into second nature for me. Perhaps my stunt with the two assassins hadn’t quite primed them for what I was actually capable of. I’d need to apologise to Trekka, if only to assure her I wasn’t some tentacled demon.

  I set down the last of the dishes and stepped back out the door; Trekka jumped at my reappearance but was actually frightened, just startled.

  “My apologies, Trekka. I didn’t think about how my actions would come across to you. I didn’t mean to startle you at all.”

  She laughed nervously before shaking her head and replying.

  “I just didn’t expect that. You looked… normal—tall, but normal. I’d have never suspected you’d had any spiderkin blood in you, but then again, I suppose I’d have never thought the innkeeper was anything other than a woman either so… today has been… enlightening to say the least.”

  I admired her willingness to just accept things as they were. It might very well be born out of apathy, but it didn’t seem to be mixed with any hostile or ill intent, so I was pleased.

  “It’s not spiderkin blood, it’s… honestly, it’s probably just easier for me to tell you I’m rather unique, much like Rumi.”

  She smiled at the last part of my sentence and nodded.

  “Aye, you’re both odd ones. Well… can’t say it really matters to me one way or another; you pay well, you’re kind and honest, and you’re beautiful to look at. Can’t ask for much more in a man these days. As for Rumi… they gave me a job and kept me out of trouble; they’re sheepish but they’ve been nothing but kind to me so I’m happy enough.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was making a pass at me; the rosy tint to her cheeks and the mildly flustered manner of her speech seemed to say she was, but there was a tone of nonchalance that underpinned the words. A matter-of-fact bluntness that swayed the implications into a banal platitude rather than flirtatious musing.

  And while some light teasing or suggestive banter was one thing, openly inviting amorous dialogue with a woman other than Armela might lead to casualties. I’d have to broach the subject with her to establish clear boundaries on what she expected of me and what I expected of her.

  We were mates, and I was satisfied with that, but I wouldn’t deny my desire to explore other women as well. If she put her foot down and was outright against it, then I would work within those boundaries. Nia’cyl fell outside that particular concern.

  For as much as we’d been bonded, it felt more like she’d temporarily tied herself to a slightly more intelligent rock. Like I had been just barely interesting enough for her to consider self-conscious. I hoped Armela would view it the same way when Nia’cyl eventually made herself known to her.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Despite the rocky start to our working relationship, I would like to say that it’s very nice to get acquainted with you, Trekka. I hope that we have many more fruitful engagements in the future as well! Speaking of fruitful, I’ve been meaning to ask someone a question and haven’t really had the right moment until now. How is your coinage broken down?”

  Trekka stared at me with a rather blank expression for a moment before she laughed, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she did so.

  “What kind of question is that? Do you want to know how it’s used, or how the tiers work?”

  Ah, so they called them ‘tiers’. Interesting. I laughed as well, recognizing the faux pas of not understanding how their money worked, but glad that my strangeness had already taken most of the oddity out of it for Trekka.

  “I haven’t really had to do any purchasing, you see? It’s mostly just been me handing out various amounts of coin to assist other people. I’ve never been paid by anyone and I haven’t had to barter anything, so I don’t have a great grasp on the value of a copper, let alone a gold piece.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and I watched the thought of deception flicker across her eyes before it disappeared. I didn’t blame her; from her standpoint, I was someone of great wealth and absolutely no idea of what that wealth meant.

  And while it didn’t ultimately matter to me if she’d lied about the value of their coin, the act of deceiving me would have stung. I was glad she opted to be honest because I was growing fond of her.

  “It’s 100 copper to 1 silver, and 100 silver to 1 gold. It jumps again like that up to Platinum. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised you got the coin that would afford to pay for those folk without knowing how it works.”

  She scratched at the back of her head as she spoke.

  “But I’ve spent enough time in taverns to know when not to ask certain things, and I’m getting the feeling that the less I know about you and what you do, the better it’ll be for me. You’re nice enough, and you pay well, but you smell like 20 different flavours of trouble for me.”

  I’d estimated the transaction rate to be 100:1 considering the small amount of copper being left by the customers as tips, so it was rather vindicating to hear that was the case. It also slotted in perfectly with my expectations of what an alternate world would employ as currency based on what I’d read and watched in my past life.

  “Your words wound me, Trekka! I will readily admit to often being a little more ignorant than your average man, but to imply that I’d cause you nothing but grief is slanderous!”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She glanced about at the messy tables and spilled alcohol on the floor, taking time to look over at the pile of unwashed mugs now accumulated on her bar before turning her gaze back to me with raised eyebrows.

  “Ah… well… can we both agree that this was something of an… exception? I certainly don’t plan to be hosting regular gatherings in your diner, and you are being handsomely compensated for your efforts, so surely you could look past this once.. heh.”

  She rolled her eyes and huffed.

  “Listen here, you! Beyond what the patrons left, I haven’t seen a single coin yet, and for that matter, neither has Rumi! You’ve got a quick tongue and not much else to show for this little mess you’ve created.”

  Feeling rather chastened, I adjusted myself in my chair and changed course.

  “What do you make here? In a night, typically?”

  She squinted at me briefly before looking upwards thoughtfully and humming.

  “Hmmm… usually it’s around 5-10 coppers? Rumi pays me a flat fee of 15 for my time here. When we’re busy—which isn’t often—I can walk out with 30 in a night. People weren’t terribly generous tonight, what with you offering to pay their tabs and all.”

  She was being sincere with her estimation, which meant if she worked 5 days a week all year long she’d earn a guaranteed 78 silver. A little under double that in tips—accounting for a variable of 50%—led to a total potential earning of 1 gold and 50 silver a year on the upper end.

  “Do you work every night?”

  She thought again and replied.

  “We’re usually steady enough for me to be here every night, but sometimes Rumi gives me a day away. If we’ve got no new patrons, then they handle it themself. Part of the deal we worked out included free room and board for me here at the inn, so I’m never too far even when I’m not working.”

  This didn’t really impact my estimation of her annual salary. It stood to reason that Rumi made substantially more through room leasing and, likely, bartering they did on the side. So, for the time being, I would place Rumi’s earnings on the low end of the middle class at approximately 3 times the earnings of Trekka.

  Affluent, but not excessively so. I would then base my interactions on the fact that 1 gold would be considered a rather successful entrepreneurial earning for a year’s work. I nodded my head and produced three silver coins between my fingers.

  “This is your compensation for the trouble. Specifically for you, this does not include any of the innkeepers’ share. These coins do not need to be shared with anyone or anything; they are your coins.”

  Trekkas’ mouth fell open in a silent exclamation. Then she shook her head while mimicking a fish, and I had to intervene before she could voice her thoughts.

  “Before you try to refuse the coins, please consider that I am giving them to you freely for services rendered, that I have no need for them personally, and that they hold incredibly little value to me. These coins would be much better spent by you, so please accept them.”

  Still at a loss for words, she allowed me to drop the coins into her now outstretched hand. She then curled her fingers around them hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

  “I don’t know what to say… this… this is the most I’ve ever had. Are you… sure? I can just… have these? Wait! You didn’t steal these coins, did you!? Is that how you got this wealth? Oh Gods, am I going to be hunted now?”

  I put my hands up in a placating gesture and shook my head.

  “There will be no risk; the coins were come by honestly. You can use them freely for whatever you may see fit. Though I am curious whether there is somewhere safe for you to store them. Do you have a safe? Or is there a lender in Hilst who would store this coin for you?”

  Her face contorted with spite and resentment.

  “Don’t mention those rotten coin-lenders. Don’t even breathe their business near me. The one here in Hilst had been holding 300 copper of mine when one of their caravans got raided and sacked. You think I could get a single coin out of them after that?!”

  She threw her hands in the air. Clearly, I’d just stepped on a landmine.

  “And no one would even lift a finger to them until Ulimeer started rattling their windows with his bellows! ‘How’s a butcher to feed the market with no coin to barter!’ he said. Well, they sure found his coin quickly enough after that. Poor little me, though, I got real lucky to see 100 copper back and a little piece of paper saying when they’d recovered the rest I’d see it.”

  She mockingly spat on the floor out of disgust.

  “Been going on two years now, and anytime I march over there with the little slip of paper, there’s a lot of head scratching and ‘my, I’ve never seen that note before!’ blasted cheats and thieves the lot of them.”

  Her cheeks were rosy with frustration, but altogether she realised she’d been ranting and apologised.

  “Ah! Sorry… didn’t mean to go off like that. Anyway, I learned my lesson about trusting lenders. This coin will be on me at all times, even when I bathe. I honestly can’t think of a way to thank you for this. If there’s ever anything I can do for you—within reason—I’ll be sure to set myself to it!”

  She beamed at me, clutching the coins to the centre of her chest before whirling on her heel to return to her tasks. With a noticeable spring to her step.

  Curiously, she’d been present for my presentation to the gathering and hadn’t inquired about getting a necklace, and while I would not press her on it, I was interested to know why she had declined to ask for one. I’d leave it for now and circle back to the issue if I ever found a chance.

  Feeling like there was nothing more of significance to do within the building until Rumi had finished with their chores, I headed back to the camp to inspect the progress of my digbots. I ripped a hole in the fabric of space and time and then stepped out into the centre of the encampment.

  Something that interested me about my rifts was how the jagged lines of the folded space had a green tint to them. Naturally, since space is a 3D realm, the rifts would default to a sphere if I let them remain unaltered.

  However, traversing a 3 dimensional opening wasn’t something intuitive, and would ultimately take up more volume than was needed for what I use them for. Instead, I’d taken to flattening the sphere into a disk, not fully eliminating the depth, but forcing it into more of a door shape than a ball shape.

  Because of my influence, the once-smooth and perfectly curved surface would snap and shift as it fought the immense magnetic forces constraining it. This led to a rather beautiful arc of plasma tracing down its edges where the energy and materials of space slammed into the force of my restraint.

  But it was always green. Not a bright, fluorescent green, but the muted, dull, pale green you’d see in an endless string of mirrored reflections. As though the light was being bled away into some vacuous abyss between the rift and normal-space.

  Nothing in any of the calculations I ran in order to produce the rift allowed for there to be this kind of ‘leakage’ or any kind of infinite void into which the light could slip. Again, I was being confronted with some mechanism I couldn’t recognize; something was interacting with my rifts, but I couldn’t see it, or detect it, or even parse it out through my formulas.

  But it was happening all the same, and it constantly tickled at the back of my mind, like a nagging itch I couldn’t reach in to scratch.

  The camp was quiet, save for the soft echoes of a dying man reverberating up from the cave entrance. I wondered if Armela had questioned the two assassins I’d sent to her. I pinged my digbots and found that they’d worked their way roughly 10 metres into the earth.

  Piles of crushed rock and dirt were heaped up several metres away from each of the holes being driven towards the iron vein. Nothing had broken, work hadn’t stopped, and the refinery sat ready to receive material. I left Armela to her work for the time being and started laying out my storage yard.

  It would be entirely underground to avoid potential discovery or disruption by things like weather, monsters, or people; it needed to be large enough to accommodate a generous number of large tanks, and structurally sound enough as to last, unchanged, for a significant period.

  I started the excavation in a different shaft than the one Armela occupied, mostly so I didn’t ruin whatever atmosphere she currently had going for her interrogation, but also partly because I didn’t really feel like being in or around the death and suffering taking place there.

  The people of this world seemed fairly conditioned against such things, but I’d had little time to adjust from my old ways. It was one thing to understand the concept—to know what it was like and prepare yourself for it, but to actually witness the brutality of it had affected me much more than I would have thought.

  I instructed the digbot to vacate the shaft and begin a new one at a secondary site just 50 metres away.

  I stepped through a rift into the bottom of the shaft and then lashed out with my whips, dividing them over and over until billions of wispy strands dug into the ground, heaving out chunks of stone and clay. All the material was being flung into a rift at my back as I progressed downward at a prodigious rate.

  There was a significant stratum of granite roughly 50 metres down, and I’d use that as the zone for my storage cavern. I wanted it to be 20 metres tall by 100 metres by 100 metres to start. If expansion were needed, then I would have my robot ‘children’ take up the task in my place.

  Leaving such a massive unsupported space would only invite disaster down the line, so I would leave columns of stone every 20 metres and tuck the tanks in groups of 4 between them. This would make for a good grid for sorting, allowing easy and fast access down the corridors in case maintenance was required on any of the tanks.

  I’d pinned my approximation of the current time in a dedicated tab of my interface so I could pull it up with a thought. I had no idea what kind of timekeeping this world used, or whether they had calendars; I’d tried to keep my references to units of time as vague as I could in case they went by a unique system.

  I had seen no clocks, nor any sundials for that matter, so timekeeping wasn’t something common among the people. It was possible that the larger cities had more resources to spend on building or trading clocks and watches, but Hilst seemed to lack such things.

  Based on how similar the solar system was to my own, it would make sense that the planet followed the same cycle of seasons. The days were roughly the same length—only being 3 minutes longer than Earth’s had been—so if timekeeping existed here, more likely it would be very close to what I’d known.

  After my interactions with Rumi and the gathering in the diner, it was now just a little past midnight; I’d give them another 20 minutes and then head back to my room to finish our discussion.

  They seemed to have a great deal of knowledge regarding the underground market, as well as bartering and dealing with goods from all areas, but beyond that I couldn’t see any specific talent or skill that would make them an indispensable asset to my cause.

  Was my transformation something I was willing to just give away as a token of goodwill? Would any struggling person who came across my path end up immortal simply because I took pity on their circumstances?

  I was resolved to keep it something only my closest aides could attain, but could I picture Rumi as part of that inner circle? They had said they would pay any price for the gift of my ability, but if I asked them to dedicate their life to my cause, would they accept it?

  I pinged Armela to see if I could gather more context for my predicament and then waited for her to acknowledge. After some moments she sent back an affirmative signal, and I opened a dialogue.