Warsinger James Baldwin (read this if TXT) 📖

ramshackle carts. There were a lot of anxious-looking prostitutes, mostly Fireblooded women, and girls who weren't hookers but whose job was to reel men into bars and ‘help’ them to drink themselves stupid. Toughs patrolled the streets, making no attempt at subtlety. They were in groups of three or four, as heavily armed and armored as anyone in the slums could be.

“Safety in numbers,” I muttered. “Something’s going on here.”

“Yeah.” Suri frowned. “Those are Dhul Fiquar soldiers. This is triple the normal patrol for this neighbourhood.”

“Hmm. That reminds me. In case we need to communicate with anyone here, is there a way you can teach me Dakhari? Like, can I burn skill points to download it off you?”

“You know… I have no bloody idea.” Suri frowned, concentrated, then grunted. “Seems like it. Hang on.”

“Hmm? What are we waiting for?” Vash pulled up alongside us. “Other than the inevitable explosion of violence that will take place here any time now.”

His words made me take a cautious glance around our area. Karalti had squatted down and was watching a group of rats fighting over a fallen meat skewer, eyes wide and shiny as she indulged her prey drive.

[Suri Ba’Hadir is inviting you to learn a Common Skill: Dakhari. Do you wish to accept? This skill will cost 4 Skill points.]

“Awesome.” I affirmed the selection, and waited.

Suri grimaced, eyelids flickering. Then it was my turn. The knowledge of her native language poured in like a stream of molten metal in the right side of my head. It was just warm and weird at first, but quickly grew more and more intense. I winced, clutching my face as the warmth swelled into an incredible pressure. This wasn’t right.

It didn’t hurt, but it felt like I was a million miles from my body. My vision blacked out. I was aware of falling to my knees, and then…

“Hector? Hey!” Suri’s voice sounded scrambled and distant.

I came to on the filthy ground. Vash crouched to one side of me. Suri and Karalti guarded me on the other.

“Urgh. Okay. Not doing that again.” I pushed myself up, checking over my stats. HP full, Adrenaline full… there were a lot of error messages in my History.

[We detected an error in your Archemi Online experience. Sorry about that! An automatic report has been logged with our Admin Team, and someone will get back to you shortly. Ticket: 003577]

“What?” Vash said. “I didn’t understand a word you said.”

I blinked, frowned, rubbed my eyes. I consciously thought about Vlachian, or tried to. “Now? Can you understand me now?”

“Yes. You were speaking Dakhari at me.” He offered a hand – the real one. “Come on. You’ll get dysentery if you get any more of that mud in your mouth.”

Karalti looked worried as she reached for my hand. I took it hesitantly and braced for pain, but there was none. Just an odd sense of dissociation.

“That one was rough, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is it like what happens when you die?”

“Yeah. No memory loss, but… yeah. Don’t worry, we know not to do that again.”

“Hey, Hector. Can you understand me?” Suri asked in her native tongue.

“Yeah.” I replied in the same language. It was fun to speak: closer to Hindi than it was to Arabic, with a mellow, melodic sound neither of those Earth languages really had.

“Are you alright?”

“Well, it worked. That’s all that counts, right?” I tried to shrug it off. My head was still hurting. “Just the same old brainfart I have when I die. I must have some kind of upload-download error.”

“Hmm. Alright, come on. We’ve got a bit of a hike to the Tiger’s Den.” With one last worried glance, Suri jerked her head toward the street and started walking.

“Scars from fighting off corruption,” I muttered to myself. “That’s all it is.”

About ten minutes later, we came up on a large, ramshackle inn built against one of the towering pylons. It was busy, with people pouring in and out of the big barn doors. Knots of men - almost all men - hung outside, chatting and drinking and laughing. There were a pair of extremely large bouncers at the door, their red hair buzzed short to their heads. As we approached, one of the men stood up with a look of disbelief.

“Suri?!” he called her name.

“Holy shit. Look who it is. Excuse me a minute, guys.” Suri's mouth spread in a broad grin, and I watched uncomfortably as the big man laughed, kissed her on both cheeks, then thumped her on the back. His friend seemed less impressed, chewing tobacco with the tired expression of someone who'd been working too long and wasn't paid enough for it. After a couple minutes of back and forth conversation, Suri waved us over.

“Haffar,” she said, by way of explanation. She switched languages as she needed to, so that she could be understood by Vash. “He fights in the same circuit I used to. Good guy. Doesn't speak a word of Vlachian or Tuun, unfortunately.”

“How you doing, brother?” I held out a hand. Haffar gave me an up and down look, then clapped his hand into mine.

“Busy. We’ve had the Sultir’s troops wandering around everywhere, poking their noses where they don’t belong,” he grunted. “Bad for business. Bad for life.”

“Fuck those guys. You two probably do a better job than a whole squad of those assholes,” I said. He nodded, as did his buddy, who was listening with one ear while he watched the crowd out front.

“Sure do.” Haffar, suitably placated, turned his attention back to Suri. “I never thought I’d see you again, sister. Rumor was the Rose Knives slipped you something and sold you on to one of the Slum Queens.”

“No, nothing like that. I got a contract in Vlachia,” Suri replied. “I’m sorry, I’d love to catch up, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. We’re here on business. I’m looking for Aksil.”

“Nothing’s changed there. The mangy old bastard is in his usual spot, fiddling with his diamonds and his books.”