“Experts agree that the woman, now identified as Arline Johnson, is undoubtedly in serious need of medical attention. And today we have with us Doctor Jonas Tomas to explain what kind of treatment she will need when her body is discovered.”

--NZNewsonline

I woke to the sounds of activity. Shouts, creaks, splashes. Then to the feeling of movement; an unnatural speed that I could only attribute to the boat I was lying on being dragged into port.

A glance to the side confirmed it. The requisite faecal deposits bobbed in the water, gleaming black and buzzing with their attendant mass of flies.

Tanis was smaller than Sceptres, I realised as I made to stand up. At least if the relative size of their ports was anything to go by.

Which you would think would be counterintuitive. Capital cities are most commonly the largest in the country. But from what I could gather, the Pharaohs did whatever the hell they wanted, wherever they wanted. And if that meant upending the government to live at an address that they found more congenial, then a general ‘pack your bags’ order was given. This was evident in the actions of the current King of Lower Egypt; Shoshenq had chosen Tanis as his capital long before he lost control of Upper Egypt.

I finally heaved myself to my feet, but had to clutch a barrel as a wave of dizziness struck me. Black appeared at the edges of my vision and my stomach rolled.

What is it? Bert asked anxiously. The bond feels…fragile.

It was a few seconds before I could answer, but gradually everything settled back to normal. If normal included weakness and a faint hand tremor.

“I’m fine,” I lied. Or at least as good as I’m going to get. “It’s been a rough week.”

For my actual body as well if what I suspected was true; that the direct cause of my illness was more related to real world issues than any virtual privation. The lack of water was in all likelihood kicking in, letting me know that my body was on the verge of systemic collapse. Reminding me that while the body might not be paramount in an imaginary world, it was still necessary to keep the brain alive.

Gerdy fluttered up to my shoulder and rested her hand against my neck.

She had been cuddled up to Bert’s pumpkin most of the night. Still pissed at me for dropping him no doubt. Else she’d still have been using me as her own personal sleep support animal. Pumpkins don’t exactly make ideal beds.

(Not that I wanted her to sleep on me, of course. She’d been worse than a crotchety parrot whenever I moved even slightly the night previous.)

“Still alive,” she muttered.

But is her pulse normal? Bert asked, fussing like a broody hen. Honestly, anyone would think he didn’t trust me to assess my own condition.

“How am I supposed to know?” Gerdy asked snappily. “My training only included identifying live threats, not how to keep your pet human healthy. She has a pulse. Yay. Whether she still has one two minutes from now is up to her.”

She stomped over to the edge of my shoulder, as far away from my head as she could get; her way of giving me the silent treatment. Or the cold shoulder, as it were.

“Thanks for that,” I said, again aloud. The NPCs around me already thought I was odd. Let them add talking to herself as one of my many eccentricities. “Wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t checked.”

She sniffed indignantly and wobbled, nearly falling. The downward slope was making her unbalanced.

I put up my hand to give her something to lean into and received a punctured thumb for my efforts. Her sword was sharp and she had a regrettable lack of hesitation in using it.

-1 Hit pts! You have been stabbed! 784/785 Health pts remaining!

“Ow.” I winced and put my thumb into my mouth like a pacifier. The faint saltiness of blood reached my taste buds.

Rudimentary First Aid applied! +1 to Health! Full health restored! (-20 Parasite Debuff)

First Aid Skill Upgrade! Now at Lvl 2!

I leaned slightly and let her fall. Little snot could fly under her own steam for a while.

She resettled onto the Bertmobile, stewing from the indignity.

Luckily, at this point Humanacepts came over with an unhappy-looking guard. They were both dressed in what looked like their Sunday best, metal ornaments all polished and clinking.

“This is Nunkhet. You may remember him from the caravan.”

Certainly I remembered the man. My knees would never forget him. The bruises from tripping over his outstretched foot had taken over an hour to subside.

“With the passing of Anhut, he has temporarily been promoted to Lieutenant. Your safety will be his immediate concern.”

Ah, the reason for his unhappiness. Anhut had had that same expression when being assigned to me. Even his tiny little goatee drooped, as if its hairs had turned to lead and were pulling down the edges of his mouth.

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” I said, smiling. Poor man was going to regret his little breach of the Geneva Convention, if he didn’t already. Though I supposed that as he’d been born long before such a thing existed he could hardly be bound by it.

Common decency, then. And the presumption of innocence until being determined guilty.

“While we are in Tanis we will need to be on high alert,” Humanacepts continued. “Due to the nature of our departure I doubt Osorkon is unaware of where we are. And Shoshenq’s vizier is particularly influential. If he deems us a threat he may decide that a preemptive strike is necessary to protect his interests.”

Nunkhet moved his feet restlessly. You had to feel just a bit sorry for him. All this responsibility falling upon him due to Amun’s loss. It would be like me suddenly having to take on our library’s team leader position during a national state of emergency. Straight into the deep end.

“I would be obliged if you would pack your, uh,”—the tax officer eyed my pumpkin dubiously—“things and gather on the dock. We have already secured horses for the ride in.”

My heart sank. “We can’t just walk? The distance is surely not that great.”

Humanacepts frowned. “It is not a matter of distance. It is a matter of etiquette. Walking would not give our delegation the gravitas that the envoy of a Pharaoh requires.” He hesitated. “You do know how to ride, do you not?”

I grimaced. “A little.” Actually, not much. One fat pony ride around an enclosure. “Not many horses where I come from.”

Humanacepts looked curious. “That has not been our experience of your race. Hyksos are generally held to be expert horsemen. Our war chariots were based on models of their design.”

“Yes, well, I’m from somewhat beyond your normal Hyksos borders.”

“Fascinating. How far—?“ A shout from the dock interrupted his question, and he momentarily turned towards the noise, before turning back with a look of frustration. “We will talk later. If you will excuse me, helwa.”

He bent his head slightly and strode to the gangplank. A man on a mission.

I was just amazed that he’d spared the time to talk to me. Maybe he’d decided I was more asset than pain-in-the-ass. I had saved his…brother?…yesterday. That had to gain me some brownie points.

Tanis proved to be a repeat of Sceptres on a slightly less grand scale. Big-ass statues: check. Decorated pillars: check. Adobe houses: check. The only other way in which it differed was its atmosphere of ease; Sceptres’ blatant air of menace missing. People smiled at each other in greeting, and laughter occasionally lifted above the hubbub of the street hawkers. Children, unseen by me in Sceptres, wandered confidently along the street, unattended and…nefarious.

One of the little boogers was carefully helping himself to the money bag of a well-dressed gentleman that was examining knives. Not exactly the best choice of marks. Targeting someone whose hands already hold a weapon is just asking for trouble in my opinion.

Not that I was any expert of course. Some bards had a rogue class to provide a secondary occupation, but I’d never been tempted by the risk. Being caught involved jail time and the loss of all assets not in your system inventory. I would be released without my Bag of Holding and—even worse—potentially my lyre if it was equipped.

Though at least I didn’t have many of this type of valuable to lose. On one well documented occasion a player wearing enchanted gear had been incarcerated after falling through a tavern wall. (I suspect real world alcohol and/or drugs were involved.) When he was released and his prison uniform [Rags of a Criminal] had been repossessed, he realised that he’d long since sold his basic kit, and was forced to streak through the market place in order to buy something to replace it. He was rearrested for public indecency before the transaction could be finalised.

The victim suddenly spun, clutching at his side. “Thief!” he cried, and slashed backwards, sending the boy scrambling.

Uh oh. Run, little guy!

Unfortunately, before I could see what happened to him, Sekhet upped the pace to a bone-rattling trot, necessitating the immediate redirection of my attention. Especially as the value of saddles didn’t appear to have occurred to these people. It beggared belief that one of the most advanced civilisations in the world: inventors of mathematics and other no doubt important things, hadn’t sense enough to protect their asses with a piece of leather.

A bright piece of cloth—that’s all they come up with, I muttered internally.

Humanacepts, of course, didn’t suffer as we did. He had somehow found his own chariot and was riding in style, like a bald middle-aged guy in a Lamborghini. Intentionally making himself noticed.

I estimated that his monetary requisition must have been substantial to have afforded such a display. I had seen no other chariots on our journey through Tanis. Hell, I’d only seen two other horses, and they hadn’t been pulling so much as a go-cart. Oxen and donkeys were most common, along with the odd camel who eyed our passage with disdain.

I agreed with the camels. We were utterly ridiculous. I stared at my horse’s mane and hoped it would end soon.

It was a relief when we finally reached the palace. Though the descent to terra firma was less so. The discomfort was analogous to riding a bike after locking that bike away until the tyres went flat. Except worse, as the muscles of your thighs aren’t stretched in quite the same way as in the riding of a horse. I was doubtful they would ever meet again.

My first impression of the royal residence was mainly wall. With the occasional manned gate letting people through. Sloped and seamless, it was so high that—

It’s designed for the gods, Bert explained. The Egyptians believed that they made regular visits to the Pharaoh, hence the need for space.

It must have made furniture moving a breeze.

I was thinking of the dents and chips my own tables and chairs had gained over the years. Modern architecture didn’t take into account that you might have an L-shaped couch that needed to be squeezed through an I-shaped passage.

Ever practical. I could ‘hear’ him smiling. Yes, I imagine the immense statuary would require room to manoeuvre. Maybe the experts have it all wrong. It’s not the gods that required the space, but their idols.

The guards in front of the biggest gate crossed spears as we approached, and that unseen signal released two others beyond the door. And then two more. Like ants marching two by two. They were joined by four servants who jogged over and secured the horses.

“Alight and state your business,” the most decorated of the guards demanded.

A splodge of dampness across his leather chest-plate suggested we had interrupted his tea break. Or beer break by the smell. Installing a ban on drinking while on duty didn’t seem to have occurred to Egyptian management. Though the state of the port gave a good reason why. Clean water must be hard to come by.

“I am Envoy Humanacepts, representative to His Majesty, Pharaoh Pedubast, King of the Holy City of Sceptres and all Upper Egypt. Here to speak with His Highness, Shoshenq III, King of bountiful Lower Egypt.”

Give credit where it’s due, Cepts did a good bombast.

“Sir. We will of course make inquiries as to the availability of His Majesty. In the meantime, I must ask you to relinquish your weapons before you enter the palace’s grounds.”

“That seems reasonable. Sekhet?”

The medjay commander dismounted, followed by the rest of his men. I had been a little presumptuous in my own dismount. Chafing will do that to you.

Sekhet went to the chariot and opened the little door, before offering an arm to Humanacepts so there was no chance of him tripping. It was like a footman escorting a princess out of her carriage.

Definitely need to stop binge watching period dramas.

When Cepts walked forward, the bodyguard stayed back a little, leaving a respectful distance between him and his charge.

But evidently not so distant as to not be an effective protector.

The guard who was danger of being walked over shuffled backward. I don’t think he even realised that he’d moved.

A somewhat battered table just inside the door was used to store everyone’s weapons. Sekhet proved to be a never-ending munitions repository, though where he stored them remained a mystery that only a programmer could explain. As evidenced by the golden conch in Bert’s Dungeon, the game invented its own laws of physics when it came to the belongings of NPCs.

I was just grateful that they didn’t regard my lyre as a weapon. Though not surprised. I doubt magical bards came here on the regular. Even normal bards weren’t a popular choice in AoD.

And so we entered the palace. Past statues of bronze and gold; past a garden courtyard that looked designed to impress; past an aviary filled with birds both native and imported. A vast display of the wealth and culture of Egypt. It made me suspect that no matter which entrance we’d used, we would have been led through these exact same halls.

Into a room remarkably similar to the waiting room in Sceptres. Same plant arrangement, same statue.

Same lack of chairs.

I leaned against a painted column and hoped no one would mind. Even if they had I don’t know if I could have stopped. The dizziness was back. With interest.

A tingling at the back of my brain. Colours. The smell of peppermint.

The next thing I knew I was getting up close and personal with that same column—from the bottom.

Another ibis. Cool. I blinked and readjusted focus. And another guy wearing a skirt.

Fashion didn’t really change much in Egypt. Three thousand years of same-old, same-old. A practicality imposed by the heat, perhaps. Or by design. Shorts would certainly be much harder to make and less aerated than a skirt or sleeve dress.

Another blink, another chunk of time lost. When consciousness finally came solidly back, Nunkhet was dragging me up, embarrassment written all over him.

“Well. It is good to see you have made yourselves comfortable,” a voice said, coldness audible.

“My apologies for my travelling companion. This journey has been…difficult for her. She’s a foreigner, you must realise.”

Was that Humanacepts defending me? Badly, but still…

“Evidently.”

“Customs are different for those of the barbaric races.”

The stranger looked disgusted. “As our grandfathers discovered to their cost. What I want to know is why she is here.”

“That is a matter of state, to be discussed only with your king. But know this: His Majesty, Pedubast the First, entrusted me with her welfare. He takes a very keen interest in what becomes of her.”

“Really?” He examined me like a nurse who spots a bug crawling around the operating-room floor and realises he can’t use an insecticide. “I was unaware that your king concerned himself with Hyksos.”

“This one is special. In a way, spectacular. I would suggest that it is to your king’s advantage to speak with us, if only to avail himself of her potential.”

“King Shoshenq is not available. To you or anyone else. He has given orders to suspend all audiences. Any outside contact is to go through an intermediary. And ultimately through my hands.”

“I understand.”

You do? I hoped it wasn’t the same as what I suspected. That somewhere in this palace there was a roofied Pharaoh locked in his own bedroom. Popular culture had entire vid series’ based on this trope.

“I will express our obsequies and requests in a letter, if you would be so kind as to pass it on. We will return in a few hours for his response.”

“That,” the man said firmly, “will not be necessary. You are welcome to stay while the Pharaoh considers your letter. It should not take long.”

Great. More waiting.

“Whhhyyyy?” whined Gerdy from her hiding place in my hair. “What kind of place is this? Travel, wait, fight, only to wait again.” Pause. “Flatulent armpits. Does this mean there’s going to be another battle?”

——

“Hurry. Arline’s already in the palace. If the game follows its usual protocols she’ll soon be shown into the salon. Time dilation, remember?”

“Chill, bro.” Terrin tapped on his screen, haptic helmet pushed back to allow direct visual access.

For a guy born in the two-sixties he was awfully young to be so attached to his tab. Weird that he preferred it to the direct connection of a hapsuit. Although these had the added feature of a direct connection to Gus, so Todd supposed they weren’t exactly ideal.

“I can’t believe you’re taking so long to pick your avatar. Just select the damn default and log on already.”

“Fine. But I’m blaming you if I’m not buff.”

——

The man left us alone to wait. Again.

“I suspected this would happen,” Humanacepts murmured to Sekhet. “King Shoshenq is afraid to show us any favour while Osorkon remains alive and active. The Prince’s very existence has the potential to delegitimise Pedubast’s claim to the throne. At least in his grandfather’s eyes.”

“You have no hope of an audience?”

“None. The best we can hope for is a neutral response. I would even be happy with a ‘no thank you’ as long as it is polite.”

He straightened as a graceful lady entered the waiting room and spoke briefly to the guard inside the door. The man nodded respectfully, allowing her to approach Humanacepts.

Another nod.

“My mistress, the Princess Ankhesen, finds herself curious about our visitors,” she began. “She wonders if the ladies would find it amenable to join her in the women’s salon.”

Cepts looked like’d swallowed the proverbial lemon, but was politician enough to keep his smile. “Of course. I am sure the ladies Anhut and…” He looked suddenly blank, probably just realising that he’d never asked for my name.

Anhut jumped in to save him. “Arline and I would be honoured to join Her Highness. The princess’ beauty and accomplishments are feted throughout all Egypt.”

The woman inclined her head slightly and motioned with one hand like a Polynesian dancer.

Well I guess, When in Rome and all that. On the other hand…best to avoid Rome altogether. Bad place to be in this time period.

I had to force myself to focus. My thoughts were getting increasingly rambling, as if my IQ was dropping by the second.

I turned to Humanacepts and held out my pumpkin. Didn’t want to take Bert to a location that might regard vegetable offerings as the equivalent of flowers.

Not sure if he was humouring the madwoman or felt sorry for someone who had so recently been clutching a pillar, but he took Bert without complaint.

Arline…

Unlike the AI in question.

Just stay here for a little while. This shouldn’t take long.

Then I left with Anhut and a complete stranger. With royal credentials mind you. And for the first time since the Virtualocalypse had begun I felt out of place. Self-conscious even. The heavy boots and pants I was wearing beneath my robe were a far cry from the softly clad butterfly leading us through the opulent passageways.

It was like she was floating. If I hadn’t been able to see her back I would have been convinced she had my own flight Skill.

But then so was Anhut. Floating. Like a cork. Along with half the pictures lining the walls.

What a strange effect. Gravity apparently worked differently in this place.

Then everything resettled and I resumed my hike through the endless corridors.

——

“This is it,” Todd muttered. “Exactly as I remembered it.”

“You come here often, bro? I didn’t pick you for a cross-dresser.”

“Oh, come on, who hasn’t paid the price to find out what it’s like behind the curtain?”

“Not me. Bad enough that I gotta wear this skirt.” He flicked the shendyt with his index finger and reached down to adjust himself.

“Terrin," Todd muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he eyed the roomful of ladies.

“Feels weird. Like—“ Terrin froze suddenly, his eyes big. “What the fuck?”

A faint warning ping came through Todd’s headset. By virtue of their real bodies being in close proximity, he was hearing the system reproving him for ‘modern’ language. Regulated areas had a three-strike rule.

Not even here a minute and he’s already lost us an opportunity. Thanks, bro.

“Tone it down.”

‘’My dick. Sweet Jesus,”—ping!— what happened to my dick?!” A note of panic had entered his voice.

“Relax, it’s not permanent. Didn’t you read the character sheet?”

“You were in such a goddamned hurry, I just chose the first one that looked like a man!”

“And you didn’t question what a man would be doing in a women’s salon?”

“I thought he was, like, some kind of client. You know?”

“You’re confusing salon with brothel. Think beauty spa crossed with the Women’s Institute.”

“Dude, our mother belongs to the Institute and I ain’t seein’ no one her age in this place. Just hot chicks and a whole bunch of weedy-looking guys.” He caught sight of himself in a mirror. “Oh man.”

“At least your centre of balance isn’t all out of whack. This headdress, the breasts, the tight dress—I don’t know how women keep from falling over. Everything’s so heavy and constricting.”

“Is it weird that I find you hot?” Terrin asked, mischief entering in his eyes. At least it was an improvement over masculine panic, even if it was at his expense.

“Yes. But speaking of hot, it doesn’t look like Arline has arrived yet.”

“So that’s how it is. Mister Galahad has a crush on the princess in the tower.”

Todd flushed. It was unfortunate that advancements in virtual technology made it possible. A tell that he could well have done without.

His brother put a hand on his shoulder. “I understand, bro. Believe me. But bear in mind that this woman could be a complete doughnut—y’know what I’m sayin’?”

Jeez. One second you think you’re talking to an adult human being, and the next he reverts to being a teenage asswipe.

“I know what you’re saying,” Todd answered dryly.

“Don’t feel bad. We’ve all fallen into the honeytrap at some point. Then we meet them and it turns out that that sweet piece of ass is actually an obese foot fetishist messaging you from his mother’s basement.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.”

“Man, sometimes after I surf I swear I need counselling. Some of the girls I talk to are grateful just to find someone normal.”

Todd stared at him.

“What? I am normal!”

——

As we approached a set of gilded doors a system message flashed:

You are entering a Controlled Area! Enjoy the luxuries offered by an Egyptian Women’s Salon, or use its alternate entrance to explore the wonders of the Entertainment District!

Your game will be saved until such time as you return.

Please remember, this area may contain people from your land. In order to maintain its historical integrity we do require you refrain from mentioning or using modern terms and references.

For further information, please refer to the terms and conditions described within your system menu now.

This was new. Though I had heard of entering the District through game areas, I had always used the menu option like most users. With their rarity and my lack of inclination toward exploration, the opportunity just hadn’t arisen.

It could be a way to retire to a safe habitat, though, I suddenly realised. If the pathway still remained active. Which I doubted. Nevertheless, it brought me hope. ED was a popular marketplace. As a conduit to the outside world, it would be filled with people who might be persuaded into active rescue.

Encouraged, I followed our guide through the doors.

——

Gus’ dry voice sounded through Todd’s ears.

“While your relationship sounds…enlightening, I do believe our target has now entered the salon. The stream is showing an ‘access denied’ message.”

“Where?” Todd’s neck strained to see over the heads of women and eunuchs alike. With his usual height at a slightly above average six foot four, the abrupt reduction to that of a petite woman was an experience both unfamiliar and irritating. He had to bob his head between the gaps before he finally caught sight of her.

Arline.