The trip back to the bridge was fairly uneventful. We ran into a few wandering zombies, but not nearly as many as on our way into the Old City. Ironically, the reanimated corpses seemed to stay dead once put down.

What took far longer than retracing our steps, was the Industrial Revolution version of border patrol. As soon as we crossed the bridge, half a dozen muskets and longbows were leveled at us. After disarming and throwing us in a cell, we waited in awkward silence for half an hour. When Ajax tried to ask them what was going on, they just told him it was standard procedure and to shut up.

Eventually we were inspected by a priest with glowing gold eyes, an alchemist that took blood samples, and a bureaucrat that documented our reasons for being in the Old City. Then of course, we had to pay them for the privilege. The guards accepted a large ring studded with gemstones as payment. Then, with little fanfare, they kicked us out.

Back in the populated city again, Ajax and I went our separate ways. He promised to gather whatever evidence the police records held, then meet me at the Bitter Flagon. With nothing better to do, I went straight there.

At least, that was my plan. After getting looks of horror from every pedestrian I passed, I realized I was once again covered in gore. I made a quick detour back to my room at St. Paul’s. As I scrubbed off the congealed zombie brains and blood and picked up my freshly laundered shirt, I reflected that maybe my ten percent tithe to the church was not the worst thing ever.

Freshly scrubbed, I made my way to the pub. The establishment had few customers this early in the day and I recognized most of them from the meeting yesterday. The Harlequin and Plague doctor were talking quietly at a table. A tester with a straight razor and saw hanging from his belt was passed out at the bar.

After a few moments, I found Jim sitting in a booth. He was staring intently at a blank piece of parchment and absently tapping his fountain pen against an ink bottle. I slid into the booth across from him and asked. “Hey Jim, whatcha up to?”

“Trying to write a speech for a minor politician. I figured it would be an easy job, but I am having trouble knowing where to start,” he said and rubbed his face. “I spent almost all of my starting wealth on renting out this place.” He gestured vaguely at the pub.

“We’ll need a place to call home base if we want to stay sane. Eva already got kicked out of her acting troupe for punching the owner; apparently sexual harassment is alive and well in this city. I don’t want any of our people sleeping on the street. We need money if we want to stay here another week. And thus,” he tapped his pen against the paper, “I have to take jobs suited to my class.”

I thought for a moment before digging into my looted backpack. I pulled a handful of valuables. The assorted jewelry, dark wood pipe, and engraved pocket watch were a bit worse for wear, but I had done my best to clean the gore off. I pushed my half of the zombie loot over to Jim.

“See what you can get for these. I might need some money for equipment repairs, but I can always get more,” I said, glancing down at my scratched up buckler. The zombies had done much less damage to the wooden shield than Brute, but it was still covered in scratches and splinters. Between the unholy magic animating the monsters and their immunity to pain, even human finger bones could leave gouges in the wood.

Jim looked at the pile and then up at me with a grin. “Thanks Will, this will help. Anything you can afford to give, I would really appreciate it. I want to rent a space out permanently and make sure we have food covered. I am not sure if we actually need to eat since our bodies are in pods back home, but I don’t feel like taking the risk. As long as we are still getting hungry, I want to make sure we have food to eat. Once we are stable in that regard, we should start pooling resources and figuring out the best strategy for completing quests.”

Listening to Jim, I started feeling a bit guilty. I had only been focused on getting done with my quest as fast as possible. The only teaster I had really even thought about was Ajax and that was only because we shared a mission. Seeing Jim treat our kidnapping like a survival situation made me uncomfortable.

“Hypothetically,” he continued, oblivious to my thoughts, “testers will be pulled out as soon as their main quest is finished. If that is true, we will have to tactically delay finishing quests to make sure everyone can get out.”

“Jim,” I started hesitantly, “I am willing to help out as best as I can. I’ll try to get you more things to sell, and if somebody needs help, let me know. That said… if I get a chance to go, I am going to take it. I’m not going to stick around to get pumped full of drugs and false memories for a minute longer than necessary.”

Jim’s grin faded for a moment before recovering. His voice was still cheerful, but the grin looked pained. “Of course Will. You have to do what you have to do. I know everyone has a life to get back to. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” he said.

Feeling like shit, I pulled Slinger’s journal from my pack. “Know if anyone would be able to read this?” I asked.

Jim looked at it for a moment before responding. “Sarah has the Archivist class. If anyone would be able to read it, it would be her. If you leave it with me, I can show it to her when she gets back.”

“Thanks Jim,” I said, sliding the bound pages next to the pile of valuables. “Ajax, that is, Bill and I busted a gang hideout yesterday. We should get a pretty big payout once everything is processed. I’ll make sure to get some of that to you. Should help with the finances.”

“Thanks Will, that would be great,” He said. He smiled as he said it, but as I slid out of the booth I couldn’t help but feel like I just put more weight on his shoulders.