“…If there’s one thing that we’ve learned from all this is that we’ve truly fucked up this world.”

—Anonymous tweet

The guardsmen took me up an embankment, toward a road that I hadn’t even known existed. Protesting my innocence all the way of course. But it’s difficult to argue your pacifism when your bloodied victims are the very people you’re trying to convince.

And they were hardly a cheerful, receptive group. The three men hadn’t stopped glowering since they were ‘cured’ by their leader. (I am unsure what branch of medicine he used, but it could be described as very physically and verbally direct. It seemed to involve a fist and words that I loosely interpreted as a censored version of ‘Get on your feet, you lazy bastards’.)

Needless to say, they also took a heavy-handed approach to my escort. I tripped a lot. Mainly over someone’s outstretched foot. And, after noticing the fierce burns on my arms, they took pains to grasp and twist their hands around them under the pretext of helping me up; a method of torture I thought I’d left behind in Primary school.

I was glad that at least the sunburn would subside when we reached shade. Accelerated healing was standard for any game, though it did require a period of relative safety, or in this case lack of exposure, for it to go into effect. Burns don’t heal if you’re still being burned. Same with wounds. Your body can’t start the process until the object (usually arrow or spear) is no longer impaling you.

All of this meant that I was happy to walk; I just wished they would stop interfering with the process. Surely wherever we were going—tent, house, palace…police station?—would be covered. And would allow me to access my water canisters. I had been thirsty since leaving the swamp.

When we reached the road my hopes were dashed. It was packed with mule-powered carts and pedestrians carrying sizeable loads. All headed in the same direction. A bustling highway with no sign of suburbia.

The only shade in sight was a palanquin, carried on the shoulders of what I guessed were Nubians. It had stopped on the side of the road, curtains partially open.

I gathered this was our destination when a hand appeared in the gap and gestured imperiously. VIP code for ‘get the fuck over here’. My guards immediately perked up and all but carried me forward.

I couldn’t see much of the man, but the jewellery on his hands and feet signalled his wealth; and the guardsmen he commanded, his power. Consequently, when my escort bowed, so did I—albeit awkwardly. More of an exaggerated nod, really. Not exactly something I’ve ever needed to learn.

“Who is this person?” a voice came from the darkness. The S’s were sibilant to the degree that they came out as a whistle. Like he was holding Tweety Bird captive in his mouth.

“This is the person who lit a fire along the riverbank, sir.”

“I know that!” he barked impatiently, rising. A hovering servant rushed to part the curtains. “I’m the one who sent you to investigate.” The appendage idiot was left unspoken, but implicit.

The man was dressed in an embroidered white tunic, draped to one side, with a heavy necklace, handkerchief hat, and kohl painted around his eyes. Your standard Egyptian bureaucrat.

“Who is she and why did she break one of our most fundamental laws?”

Laws? “I was not aware that there were any such,” I cut in. “I was merely taking the opportunity to rest and recover before I venture farther into your fine country.” There. A reasonable explanation along with a little patriotic flattery to sweeten the pot.

“Do not dare to interrupt me!” the VIP spat. Literally. I could feel the droplets hitting my chin, though they evaporated instantly. I bet they had no problems getting clothes dry around here.

“I am merely—“

“Treading on sandy ground!” His eyes already had me eviscerated and staked out in the desert for the beetles to fight over. “Not only have you broken a law that protects our very livelihood, but it also appears you have resisted arrest.” He turned to the leader of the guardsmen. “As can be seen by the state of my men. What have you to say for yourself?”

“These guys jumped me—“

“Not you! I was speaking to Captain Amun. Stop talking until I say otherwise. Speak, and I will order the immediate removal of your tongue.”

I pantomimed zipping my mouth shut and throwing away the key. The VIP frowned heavily, but let it slide, returning to Amun.

“Well? How did someone so…” he paused, probably deciding that ‘small’ didn’t fit someone that was a smidge taller than anyone here, “…female…best three of the Pharaoh’s elite soldiers?”

Amun looked down and doodled something in the sand with his toe. “She employed some kind of invisible weapon, my lord.”

The VIP’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of weapon?”

“Blunt, about so high,” he raised a hand level with his cheek. “She didn’t need to wield it with her hands, either.” His voice lowered. “I think she may be a Hyksos witch.”

“A witch you say,” his boss murmured thoughtfully. “Yet you overpowered her with your superior skill?”

Amun looked at me threateningly. “She attacked us without provocation.” Lie. “But when faced with our might she fell before us.” Truth.

By me literally falling on top of his near-unconscious body. Yeah, not sure I’d want the details of our encounter to be made public if I was in his shoes.

“Hm.” The lord whatsit raked his eyes down my body. “She is pretty, in an exotic sort of way. Unblemished. I also see she is wearing some kind of musical instrument. Is she proficient?

“No!….That is, not to our untrained ears. The music she plays is most strange, and may be more suited to those more…attuned.”

I could swear a little lightbulb went off in the lord’s head. A smile crept over his face. “Then the Pharaoh’s court is where she should go. Not only does he have the ultimate say in the disposition of foreign captives, but he is also a knowledgeable patron of the arts.”

He clapped his hands, summoning The Curtain Servant. Why he didn’t just say ‘Hey, Jim’, since the guy was standing right next to him, I attributed to societal bias. Or general assholery.

“Find Anhut.” He turned back to Amun without even ascertaining whether the servant had obeyed. An assumption that everyone around him would snap to his every wish.

Must be nice.

“Take off the restraints.”

Amun looked concerned. “My lord, the woman is dangerous.”

“And you defeated her. Which, logically, makes her no threat to my safety as long as you are here. Unless…” his head tilted, “…you were less effective than you reported.”

Amun swallowed, but to his credit he persisted. “Her magic makes her unpredictable. We can neither know what abilities she has, nor where her loyalties may lie. My lord, she is clearly Hyksos.”

“Prejudice doesn’t suit you, Captain,” the lord preached before pausing and looking thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean we should be careless. When Anhut arrives, check the prisoner for anything occult. Sorcereress’ require a locus. Strip her if she proves uncooperative.”

The captain looked about as appalled as I must have. “Yes, sir. And then?”

“Monitor her and bring her to me when we reach the City of Sceptres. By the time we get there you will have determined whether she is indeed the threat you claim she is.”

By making him take the risk. Although I suppose as a guard that could be classified as his job.

The big, scary-looking bodyguard that had been hovering close by moved in front of his client and used his bulk to block our sight. His summoning was so subtle as to be undetectable. Or they were both so in tune that the guard could read his employer’s wishes, like a telepathic genie. Regardless, we were pushed to the side as his lordship was assisted back into the palanquin and hauled away. A horse was then brought for the guard, allowing him to follow with all appropriate drama.

I was left with Captain Amun, who gave me a cautious side-eye. It took an effort of will not to shout Boo!, but his cohorts were still behind me with the spear equivalent of pistols drawn. Best to be a bit more discreet.

“Will you untie me now?”

“Someone wanted me?” A woman’s voice overlapped mine, and was quickly followed by its owner.

“Anhut.” Amun looked relieved. “It seems we are to take charge of this person. And by we I mean mostly you.”

Anhut spun to face me, tilting her head to view my tied hands. She was a woman in her late twenties, dressed conservatively, but not extravagantly. A woman of the middle-classes, I would guess. She did not seem enthused by her new responsibility.

“Who is she? A foreigner?”

“Some performer. She is to go to the Pharaoh.”

Anhut looked dubious. “She’s pretty enough, I suppose. And presumably talented. Though both are not often found together.”

“Ah…yes, mmhm.” Lying clearly didn’t come naturally to him. “Just stuff her into a cart and find some clothes from the collection. I’ll authorise the requisition. Oh, and send me all her possessions.”

“Restraints. Confiscations. Is there a reason for all these precautions?”

“Just being careful. If she was a true danger she would have been yoked and tied to a cart like any other prisoner. The rope serves as…insurance. It will be removed when we reach Aswan.”

I snorted.

“What?” Amun demanded.

“Just reflecting on your bravery, Captain. Egypt must be so proud.”

“Shut it. Consider the promise of tongue removal reinstated.”

“To do that you’d have to get close to me, and I don’t think you want to do that.”

An expression of angry frustration, like he wanted to hit me but knew it wasn’t in his best interests, crossed his face. Then he smirked and turned away, adding over his shoulder, “Clean her up as best you can. If she’s going to be His Highness’s…entertainment, she can’t be seen to be stained.”

Prick.

I looked at the game clock on my UI and made some calculations. Two hours before I had access to my Bard skills. Then I could break out of here. The NPCs around me were all pretty low level—apart from the lord and his mysterious bodyguard. That motherfucker had had a disturbing 31 hovering above his head. Someone to avoid.

“Come,” Anhut said encouragingly, making me conscious that I had been staring after Amun. “Ignore him. The Pharaoh has more concubines and wives than any man could possibly deal with. I doubt he wants to add to their number.” She gave me another appraising look. “Although the captain does have one thing right; you are a bit of a mess. Let’s find a water carrier and a private cart. A quick wash and a change of clothes has the power the brighten anyone’s day.”

——

“So, she’s a New Zealand resident? Really? What are the odds?”

“Approximately one in five hundred and six. That’s how many Arline Johnson’s are registered at SharkBytes. In New Zealand, only four,” Gus answered absently, his attention focused on the inside of a packet of chips. He was currently attempting to coax the last of the salty crumbs onto one saliva-coated finger.

“I’m surprised it was even that many. Though now that I think about it, the name Arline does crop up more often than I’d expect. I did a search for our girl when we first went looking for her and got an obscene amount of hits.”

“Dragon Spawn.”

“Beg pardon?”

“It was a popular vid series back in the day. A sort of girl meets boy and has an alien love child dealio. The MC hybrid was a girl called Arline. Which is probably why there are so many around.”

“Tell me about it,” Terrin snorted. “There was a guy in my high school whose name was BilliBong. Poor bastard. Who wants to go through life as a Tiny Ted? He swore he was going to change it as soon as he was legally able.”

Todd’s head was still shaking. “So, so weird. For her to be living in Timaru all this time. Only ten minutes drive from where I live. I still can’t believe it. Nothing important ever happens in our country.”

“I try my best,” Terrin offered.

“Yes, but last I heard being an ass isn’t going to put New Zealand on the world stage. Too much competition.”

“It’ll be all about the entry.”

“Speaking of entries,” Todd turned to Gus. “When do you think they’ll reach Arline?”

“Give it time. Getting into her residence will probably require force—a civil rights violation according to the laws of your country—so the authorities will have to be convinced of the validity of our concern. Police have already been to her flat and noted nothing of interest, although beyond a window showing an outstretched body—which there wasn’t—there wouldn’t really be much to see. Or smell for that matter. She is, after all, evidently still alive.”

His eyes flicked to the half-sized wallscreen above them. Even in the staffroom it was keyed to Arline’s streaming channel. This one showed her in the waters of the Sudd, about to have her lyre stolen by an otter. It was hours behind, not having been fast-forwarded recently to make up for the time dilation.

Todd’s own lapscreen was preset to show only daytime hours, and to speed up the stream during periods of constancy, like uninterrupted travel. It also showed a snapshot image of her current situation, updated every five seconds.

“So management is keeping you up-to-date?”

“Dear me, no. I contacted what passes for a news agency in your country and offered them the story of a lifetime. Pitifully grateful, really. In return, they promised to inform me of any changes.”

“So why haven’t we seen anything on the news streams?”

“I would imagine that they are either leery of being wrong, or unwilling to allow any other agencies to get the drop on them. Or both. Law suits may not be a thing in your country, but loss of credibility and being muscled out by bigger organisations is universal.”

Gus got up to throw away his chip packet; it was by now as shiny as the day it had been made. But they obviously hadn’t been enough to appease his appetite. From a high cupboard he found a replacement package and immediately cracked it open.

“I don’t know why they buy such small bags. They’re just the right size to want another.”

Todd wasn’t interested in chips. “Now that the game is stabilised, and finding Arline is a done deal, any ideas for getting her out of the game?”

“Several. But unless you’re willing to let me hook you up to a stasis suit and send you in to join her, they can remain only supposition.”

Terrin finally joined the conversation. “You think that would work?”

“No. At best he’d be sent back immediately by the stasis software.”

“And at worst?”

“The AI is behaving…erratically. It may decide he’s a virus or intruder and attack.”

“Arline is on very good terms with Bert. Who, from what I gather, is on good terms with the AI. It doesn’t seem like the sort to go after someone unprovoked.”

“From what I can determine, the primary AI is no longer at its post. An automated program that it has constructed is in charge of the game’s day-to-day operations. A program that in all probability makes no distinction between good guys and baddies.”

“ I’d have thought the AI would’ve programmed any watchdog to allow any visitors entry automatically. Players are hardly a ‘baddie’ in this situation.”

“And maybe it has. Maybe the program would welcome us with open arms and firewalls. But here’s the thing.” Gus tossed his empty bag onto the table and leaned one greasy hand on the table. “We don’t know. That particular code has been protected under a passcode lock that even I don’t have the administrative authority to break.”

“So what are you doing?” Terrin demanded.

Gus examined them both and appeared to come to a decision. “The solution to the problem of Arline’s logout may not yet be in the works, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been idle.”

He retrieved an old-fashioned ink pen and a small jotter pad out of his inside jacket pocket. Then he quickly wrote something. When he showed it to Todd and Terrin, it read:

Meet me at 12pm, Rm 302.

——

“It’s awfully baggy.”

“What did you expect?”

“Well, something sleek and sheer, I guess. And a bit more colourful.”

“Only the truly wealthy can afford exotic material. Linen is one of our biggest exports, harvested throughout the Nile, and woven with special looms. Lux fabrics arrive at great expense through foreign trade; mainly through the Phoenicians.”

Anhut fussed with the back of my dress, the pin in her mouth slightly distorting her speech. “And white is a practical colour for a land baked by the sun. Prevents us from being baked.”

I fiddled with the Gunga figurine dangling from my neck. At least Anhut had let me keep her, after exclaiming over the delicate workmanship. And she had obeyed Amun not at all regarding my restraints and what she regarded as the unlawful seizure of my possessions.

Only Bert could potentially have upset her applecart (I gathered that floating, glowing spheres were not exactly common around here), so the AI had slipped into my hair while I was undressing.

I reached up to scratch for the fifth time since he had taken up residence. Bert vibrated constantly and had an unfortunate tendency towards hyperactivity.

Anhut probably though I had nits. She had more than once assured me that the nomarch (a word I gathered meant ‘lord’) of the nome (no relation to the garden ornament) that included the city of Aswan, had his own private bathing chamber that would be made available when we arrived. It seemed cleanliness was of great importance in Ancient Egypt. (Plus, sending me to the Pharaoh scratching like a cat with fleas would probably not be a very good look for the VIP.)

“Who is the head guy, anyway? Some kind of noma?”

“What…guy?”

“Rides around in a box, tells everyone what to do.”

“Oh, you mean Humanacepts. He’s the local tax collection officer.”

“He’s from the Inland Revenue?”

She looked a bit blank. “If by that you mean his official role is to collect money and assets from the community, then yes, he is from the…In-land Revenue.”

“Huh. I thought he was someone more important.”

“There is little that is more vital to our nation,” she hastened to assure me. “Tax collecting officials are recruited from the aristocracy and very well respected. And they need to be. A collector must be prepared to enter a fiefdom and demand a predetermined levy from its lord.”

“Predetermined?”

“The calculations are made months before by lesser officials, based on the level of the previous year’s Akhet (Season of Inundation, Bert helpfully supplied), and the size of its agricultural area.”

“So the tax collectors are the heavies, coming over to get them to cough up.”

“Cough…?” Anhut muttered.

I settled my backside on a crate. The dress tugged a bit at the top, but otherwise moved with me without issue. It really was very comfortable.

Bam!

The cart jolted as it ran over yet another rock, sending shockwaves through my body. No hover technology at all here. Or even a good old-fashioned suspension system. Comfort, it seemed, was an extremely temporary condition in ye olde Egypt.

“So who’s his muscle?”

Anhut looked blank.

“The big guy who takes care of Humanacepts. Seems a bit more than your run-of-the-mill Stormtrooper.”

“Sekhet was assigned to his lordship when he was selected to become this region’s collector. Many have questioned his assignment, but none seem to know the true story. If you find out, tell me. There is a large betting pool amongst his entourage as to why someone so overqualified was given bodyguard duties.”

Anhut offers you a Quest!

Use fair means or foul to discover the details of Sekhet’s assignment and relay the information to her!

Reward: 200 gold!

Reward: Upgrade your Reputation with Anhut from Neutral to Trust!

Reward: 100XP!

Penalty for noncompletion: None

A minor quest with mediocre rewards. Still, if the opportunity arose, I would certainly take it. I had to be close to levelling up by now. Especially with the Alisette reward doubling my experience points.

“And what’s your story?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I had no idea if it was the done thing to pry into an Egyptian NPC’s backstory in person, but as I could hardly be arrested twice at any one time, I guessed there could be no harm in it.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you get to be here? Who are you?”

“Oh, I am an indentured servant,” she answered blithely, as if that should be obvious. But as she continued, bitterness began to colour her voice. “My idiot husband gambled away both his inheritance and mine over the course of a few years, and we found ourselves in a position where we had to sell our services to the highest bidder. Another idiot who saw fit to include us in his tax payment.”

More reasons to fulfil her quest. Sister had money and man issues. I just wish I could say that a millenia and a half of advancements had successfully resolved either of them.

“That sounds awfully like slavery.”

“Slavery?” She smiled. “Hardly. Though even as a slave our owners would be obliged to care for us. Unlike the barbaric countries that you come from, here it is a sacred duty that no citizen takes lightly.”

“Sacred duty?”

“In order to pass into the afterlife and become One with the Most High the gods created rules; rules in which we must live our lives. You might also hear them referred to as the Ideals of Ma’at. Of these, one is the care of dependants and of life itself. The abuse of a slave would translate into a direct violation of that sacred law.”

“So this Ma’at doesn’t ah, strike them down with a lightning bolt or something?”

“Is that what your gods do?”

“Not in my experience, but it does seem to be a popular idea in many cultures.”

I could almost hear the word barbarians being repeated in her head. But she was too polite to say it aloud.

“Our gods are not so active in their subjects’ affairs. They guide and watch over us through our Pharaoh, and greet us should we be fortunate enough to join them after our death.”

“Which makes heaven the big reward.”

“Indeed. And no one who travels to the afterlife and is presented before the judges—both secular and divine—wishes to be found…disobedient to the Goddess’ Ideals. This world is only a step onto the pathway to the next, after all.”

“That’s…better than I was expecting.” I mulled things over. “Tell me, Anhut, what would happen if I were to, say, fall out of this cart and roll away out of sight? Would that sort of thing be ignored?”

She snorted. “Regardless of what you have done, you are currently under the aegis of the Pharaoh. The tax train would be stopped and no stone left unturned in their efforts to find you.” A pause. “If you are contemplating escape, I do assure you it would be neither lengthy nor result in anything pleasant.”

“That’s kinda what I’ve been thinking.” It was also occurring to me that I might have lucked out with this capture. Essentially, I was getting a free pass to Cairo. Right next door to my destination. Easy enough once there to slip away and fly to the pyramids with my guards none the wiser.

I just had to sit tight and keep my mouth shut.

The cart hit another stone and I had to clutch my seat to keep from falling off.

Bert snorted. Not sure how, considering the AI had no nose. Probably played a recording it had been hoarding for just the right moment. And, right on schedule, it followed with the snarky comment:

Unlikely on both counts.

——

We reached Aswan within a few hours, and after a brief refreshment stop at a beautiful sandstone manor, were loaded—along with the other livestock—onto three barges. Half the procession had to be left behind, including a generous collection of guards to ensure the levy didn’t disappear overnight. The boats would return for them after they’d dropped us off at Sceptre, our current destination.

Not that the barges weren’t of considerable size. Anhut proudly told me that these were the very ships that transported the stones used to build the Temple of Rameses II; a reference that rang a bell in even my rather history-deficient brain. The image of massive statues carved into a rockface came vaguely to mind.

And speaking of rock faces; Amun was on my ship, but avoiding me. Humanacepts had given him orders to keep an eye out, which made it necessary to be near me; however, he was interpreting his orders in a very distant fashion.

I’m bored.

You wanted to come. Don’t blame me if Egypt isn’t the barrel of adventure that you were expecting.

Bored, bored, bored.

Bert rustled around in my hair and I repressed the urge to scratch for the fiftieth time. The sooner I was back in my old clothes and regained essential pocket space, the better. Anhut had let me keep my Bag of Holding (apparently empty, it being inaccessible to anyone not its current owner), but it couldn’t be used to transport living things; and since I was was uncertain of Bert’s classification, I couldn’t take the risk of popping the AI in there.

It was also becoming increasingly difficult to conceal the amount of foliage I was stuffing into my hair. My reputation for strangeness was growing by the hour, with at least two sets of eyes following me in fascination.

Bored, bored— His words cut off suddenly, and I could feel him sliding through the outer layers of my curls. Peeping out.

What’s this? A bird? No, no, not a bird. A very large insect? Oh, let it be monstrous. I haven’t had any excitement in an aaage.

Can’t you just use your matrix eyes?

I know you think that means something, but without the frame of reference—

It’s from an old vid. Hardly something that is beyond sourcing for an AI with superior search engines.

Ah. I have you now. I will watch it later, on one of your many instances of downtime.

You think our travels have been uneventful? I failed to keep the disbelief from my mind’s voice.

In a purely ratio-based— WHAT IS THAT THING? My integrated systems are unable to identify its nature, yet my dungeon instincts are going crazy! Can you capture it?

And have you dissect it, Dr. Frankenstein?

Don’t be silly. I merely wish to get…closer to it.

All right, I’ll try. But I make no guarantees. Catching flying things has never been a skill of mine.

Case in point, that lamentable high school cricket match. I’d settled far, far in the outfield with the happy expectation of never being called upon, only to be considerably disappointed. I still couldn’t fully bend two fingers in my right hand. Guitar, with its fretboard and complex chords had become impossible, necessitating the change to a stringed instrument that required less dexterity. The lyre had been the simplest I could find.

I squinted into the distance with my Eagle Eye ability, picking out what looked like…a firefly? No, too big for that, though it was definitely glowing. A mutant firefly? Not beyond the bounds of possibility…

The creature flew closer, dipping occasionally, before fluttering frantically upwards again. Whatever it was it was clearly exhausted. Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to catch after all.

When it finally became evident, I still couldn’t believe it. It was something that had no place in this world or indeed my own.

What in hell is a fairy doing in this game?