“But why, specifically?” Peter asked in response to Darius' caution about working for the Families. “Eliza said not to get entangled with these people, but my Skills are best suited to business. From my understanding, that means the Families. How can I avoid working with them if the alternative is poverty?”

Darius grimaced, considering Peter’s words. “If yeh get in at a high enough level, maybe it’d be okay, but that comes with its own risks. Yeh don’t have any debt, at least. That helps. But yeh gotta be right careful about any contracts they ask yeh to sign. The Families get their power from having workers, and once yer in, they don’t make it easy to leave.”

Peter’s eyes darted to Beth, then back to Darius. “But you don’t have an explicit reason why I shouldn’t work for them?”

Darius ran a hand over his head. “Agh. I could give yeh reasons, but as yeh say: it’s also about yer options. Everyone needs to make money.”

Beth shook her head. “I don’t like it. It feels like joining the mob.”

“The mob?” Darius asked.

“It’s an organized crime group from Earth.”

Darius erupted into laughter. “‘Organized crime!’ I like the sound o’ that. Makes what they do sound all professional and clean. In that case, yeah, I guess yeh could call it a bit o’ organized crime. Exceptin’ that they write the laws, so nothin’ they do is illegal.”

“Then why would Peter ever work for them!”

The man shook his head and muttered to himself. Beth could entirely make out what he said, but it was along the lines of “should be Rosie having this conversation.”

Darius gave a resigned sigh. “Here’s the thing about Palmyre. Everyone works for the Families.”

“What do you mean?” Beth asked. “You don’t, and aren’t there independent businesses?”

“No, it’s everyone,” he said bluntly. “Every business. The ports, the food vendors. Even the beggars.”

“But not the blacksmiths, right? Eliza seemed emphatic about that.”

Darius nodded. “Aye, the law says that mages, clergy, mercenaries, and blacksmiths can’t be directly employed by a Family. But whose kids do yeh think get accepted into that mage’s college? Or the clergy? Ain’t no street urchins. Mercenaries aren’t much better.”

“How do you mean?” Beth asked.

“Somebody don’t need to own somethin’ to control it,” Darius said. “Take a look at any merc company with a long-term contract with the city as guards or part o’ the standing army. Every one of them is made up of folk who’re connected to the same Family somehow. Sure, that ain’t where their pay comes from. Not technically. But when every merc in a company has loved ones employed by the same Family? You can bet it ain’t the company boss callin’ the shots.

“As for blacksmiths, it’s largely the same deal unless yer a transplant like me.”

“I was wondering about that,” Peter said. “Why are blacksmiths treated differently?”

“We make the hardware,” Darius said, gesturing to the racks of weaponry and armour strewn around the shop. “Our sales are controlled to make sure no Family gets an advantage. If a Family had blacksmiths of their own, it would be an arms race.”

“Has that happened before?”

Darius nodded. “Aye, a long time ago. Civil war. Family against Family. Palmyre almost ceased to exist. Fortunately, the Families had enough wits to know that if the mages and blacksmiths weren’t independent, it would keep happenin’ until Palmyre was destroyed.”

“Isn’t that an easy restriction to get around?” Beth asked. “What’s to stop a Family from hiring smiths from elsewhere or buying weapons outright.”

“Nah,” Darius said. “The Families swore their edict in front of Casúron, the god of the forge. He’s the one that enforces it now, and a god won’t be fooled by a bit of straw tossed over a wagon load of swords.”

Beth’s eyebrows rose over Darius’ casual mention of a god getting involved in city politics. While she knew some details of Angela’s druidic class and who Ennàd was, the idea of gods being a literal reality would take some getting used to.

“What about the mages?” Peter asked. “Are they bound to neutrality by some sort of god as well?”

Darius’ eyes darted around nervously. “They got their own methods, but they’re a secretive bunch.” He shook his head. “Ain’t a secret I want to know, either. You don’t mess around with the College.”

Beth didn’t like the sound of that. Especially if it was something her kids might get mixed up in. “Should I be concerned about Mark going there?”

“Aye, ye should. But it’d be worse if he didn’t,” Darius said. “He can do magic, an’ folks who come to Palmyre that can do magic had best square things away with the College right quick. They don’t take kindly to magic users who ain’t under their thumb.”

There was an edge of bitterness to that last sentence, but Darius pushed it aside and placed a hand on Beth’s shoulder.

“Don’t you be worryin’ about Mark,” he said. “That lad can handle himself. An’ if he can’t, well, he’s a Legend, ain’t he? Least he’ll be free o’ the Families, no matter what happens.”

Which brought them back to the matter at hand.

“The Families. Right,” Beth said, rubbing the back of her neck. “There’s really no way to avoid working for them?”

He hummed and hawed. “Some, here and there. The travellin’ mercenaries are probably the biggest, or the rangers like Eliza. But those are right dangerous jobs, and they only keep their distance from the Families ’cause they’re rarely in Palmyre. No Family wants to risk one of their kids as a low-level merc or ranger anyway, so they just let the poor folks throw themselves into the fire, then hire whatever lunatics survive long enough to build a decent Renown.”

Well that option certainly wouldn’t work. The last thing Beth wanted was for her husband to become some kind of killer-for-hire because she didn’t want him working for a Family.

“If it’s any consolation,” Darius said, “should yer husband be good enough with the numbers, he’ll make enough to support the whole lot o’ you. Not well—yeh won’t be dining on basilisk anytime soon—but it’ll keep the rest o’ yeh out of the Families’ claws. That ain’t nothin’.”

“Okay,” she said, finally forced to concede. She looked at Peter, who didn’t appear wildly excited after Darius’ doom and gloom, but his brow was determined. “Looks like you’re on the job market, love.”

Peter nodded. “Alright, let’s—oop.” He cut himself off as a piece of paper appeared in front of him. Opening it up, he said, “It’s a quest. ‘Get a Job, Slacker.’”

Beth sighed and forced a smile. “I guess that settles it. Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised.

“Alright, then!” Darius boomed. “What else can I do for yeh? Fair warnin’, I got a bit o’ work to do today. You want Gavin to show yeh around the city?”

“Actually, that would be great,” Beth said, with Peter nodding in agreement. The boy seemed excited by the prospect as well. Maybe too excited, given Darius’ frown.

“This ain’t about visitin’ all o’ yer friends, you hear? Just give ’em a sense of where their house might end up each mornin’. I don’t need yeh draggin’ them out to the Port District or some nonsense like that.”

“Sure thing, da!” Gavin said. He looked at Beth and Peter. “Let’s go!”

The boy hopped off his stool and was heading for the door when Darius held out a meaty hand, stopping the lad in his tracks. “Not so quick. These folks are missin’ a couple of things.”

The blacksmith went inside the house and emerged with a small bag that he tossed at Peter. The action caught Peter off guard, and the bag went sailing straight through his hands before bouncing off a table and dropping to the floor with a clinking noise.

“Goddamit,” he muttered. Beth snickered and bent to pick up the bag, but before she could stand up, a second bag came lancing through the air directly at her head. On instinct, she reached up with her left hand and snagged the bag out of midair an instant before it would have beaned her in the head.

“Looks like we know who got the Dexterity in the family,” Darius said as he walked over to the rack. “What’re yer Strength stats?”

“20,” Peter answered.

“14,” Beth added.

Darius stared at her. “14! Yeh’ve got ta be kidding!”

“I’ve never been a large girl,” Beth said. “It can’t be that bad.”

He shook his head. “Gavin, what’s yer Strength?”

“It’s 16, da!” the boy said brightly.

Beth’s eyes went wide. She stared at the boy. “That can’t be possible.”

In response, Gavin strode over to a workbench, picked up a large hammer, and started swinging it around with a gleeful smile on his face.

“That’s my good hammer, lad; put it down!” Darius barked. He turned his attention back to Beth. “I don’t know what things are like where you come from, but ’round here you’d best remember that appearances don’t always match stats. My boy works his Strength constantly ’cause he wants to be a blacksmith, and yeh don’t get the quest unless yeh have 20 Strength by the time yeh turn twelve. Yer 14? That’s a child’s stat.”

“Surely it’s not that unusual,” Peter said, coming to her defence. “My Endurance was 14 when we arrived as well.”

“Yeah? And what is it now?”

Peter consulted his Tome. “It’s up to 16.”

Darius shook his head. “See? We call anythin’ below 16 a child stat ’cause yeh pretty much only see it in kids or the infirm. Physical stats are the easiest to train, an’ the lower they are, the easier they are to raise. Since you all just made a mighty trek through the wilderness, yer Tomes should have gotten yer physical stats up to 16 at a minimum by now, no matter what yeh arrived with.

He shook his head. “A Strength of 14? Somethin’s up, my dear, mark my words.”

Beth frowned as a piece of glowing paper unfolded in front of her.

Quest Assigned: “The Missing Stats”

You have discovered that for some reason, your Strength stat is being actively limited and does not reflect your true capability. Find out why.

Reward for Success: Recovery of your Strength stat.

Penalty for Failure: Permanent limitation of your Strength stat, which will greatly restrict your chances of survival.

NOTE: Come on Beth, you can do this!

Beth stared at the paper for a while before taking out her Tome and placing the note gently between the pages. A knot tied in her stomach, and, after a moment’s consideration, she opened her status page and read the full contents:

ELIZABETH “BETH” SULLIVAN

Renown: Level 13 – Unclassed

Species: Human

Age: 44

Experience: 35,200

Experience to Next Level: 6,300

Base Attributes

Strength – 14*

Constitution – 17

Endurance – 16

Dexterity – 21

Willpower – 17

Intelligence – 17

Charisma – 23

Luck – 19

AVERAGE: 18.0

ABILITIES

*Boon – Deus Ex Machina

TRAITS

Evolving (human)

GENERAL SKILLS

Tier-II:

Acting – 20

Dancing – 22

Improv – 20

Mathematics – 22

Obfuscation – 20

Singing – 22

Writing – 24

Yoga – 22

Tier-I:

Climbing – 18

Dodge – 12

Jumping – 10

Tier-0:

Pickpocket – 1

Rope Use – 4

Taunting – 1

SURVIVAL SKILLS

Tier-I:

Hiking – 10

Tier-0:

Campcraft – 3

Field Medicine – 3

Fishing – 6

Sense Danger – 1

Snares – 2

Stealth – 2

FIGHTING STYLES

Tier-II:

Judo – 29

Tier-I:

Ju-jitsu – 15

ACTIVE QUESTS

Find Jack – Part I

The Missing Stats – Part I

PROFESSION QUEST: All Eyes on Me (available, not accepted)

That wasn’t good.

Looking up at Darius, she said, “Thank you for that information, but our stats are what they are. Is there a reason you were asking about them?”

He nodded and turned to the weapons rack, grabbing three knives, a dagger, and a short sword.

“These are for yer family,” he said, placing the weapons on a table. “Knives for you two and Mark, a dagger for Beth, and a sword for Petey here. Mark’s got ’is staff—that thing looks right nasty enough to scare off most folks.

“Now, neither of yeh will be much good with those weapons, but at least they match yer builds. As for the purses I gave yeh, that’s just some walkin’ around money in advance of the silverware sale. It’ll let you eat, but I wouldn’t be buyin’ new boots or anythin’.”

Just looking at the weapons made Beth grimace. “That’s not necessary.”

Darius waved her off. “Don’t worry. It’s the least I can do.”

“No, I meant the weapons, they’re not necessary,” she said, pushing them aside. “But the loan is very generous, thank you.”

“This ain’t up to debate,” Darius said, pushing the weapons back towards her. “Walk around this city without any weapons and one of two things is gonna happen: Look weak, and they’ll drag yeh into an alley and cut yer throat for the shirt off yer back. Look strong, and someone’ll think yeh have some magecraft squirrelled away. The College don’t take kindly to folks pretendin’ to be mages.”

Beth stared at the table in distaste, but didn’t know how to respond.

“What about our daughter?” Peter asked seamlessly, absolving Beth of any need to continue the conversation. He knew where her aversion to violence came from, after all. “Do you have anything Angela could use?”

Darius snapped his fingers. “Yeh mentioned she’d arrived! Glad that worked out. Any sign o’ the old man?” They shook their heads and Darius nodded solemnly. “Well, if he ain’t dead yet, he must be up to somethin’ important. As for yer daughter, I’ll grab her a knife and a weapon. Any idea what her stats are? Unless she’s got a class, o’course.”

“Actually, she’s a druid.”

“Really?” Darius said, surprise evident in his voice. “Not much I can do for her, then. Druids can’t use forged metal. Does she have a shillelagh?”

Peter looked at Beth in confusion. “Is that some kind of animal?”

“It’s a weapon!” he said with a laugh. “Looks like a wood club. Tell her to come find me when she picks one up.”

“Okay, I’ll let her know,” Peter said. He looked at Beth with concern. “You okay with this? I know… well, you know.”

“Of course I’m not okay with it,” she replied truthfully. “Do I have a choice, though?”

His pinched face and apologetic look was all the answer she needed.

Grimacing, Beth picked up the dagger and knife, Darius helping her affix them to her belt. When he was done she could feel them hanging there, the tangible weight reminding her of their presence.

She didn’t know whether she was more repulsed by having the weapons or the fact that she felt safer for their presence.

“Okay, we should go,” she said once Peter was similarly armed. She turned to Darius. “We’ve taken up enough of your time, and you’ve been more than helpful. Thank you.”

“Not a problem in the slightest,” he said. “Don’t let my lad drag you off into any trouble!”

“I won’t, da!” Gavin said, hopping off the table where he’d taken a seat and heading out of the forge. Beth said her goodbyes to Darius and followed after him.

She felt Peter’s hand snake into her own and gave it a quick squeeze.

It would be fine. They’d manage.

They had no other choice.