Beep. Beep. Beep.

“…REM sleep…monitor…signal still intact…”

Ow. Hurts.

“Get that reporter out of here!”

Heat. Pain. Sharp smell.

“Wakey-wakey…”

Fuck off.

“Rise and shine.”

Leave me alone.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Don’t wanna go to school today. Sick.

“Arline.”

“Arline.”

“ARLINE!”

——

“…Come on, darlin’. Wakey-wakey, rise and shine. Time to face the morn’,” a soft voice entreated.

“That’s your great idea of getting her to wake up? Sweet nothings in her ear? You do realise that lulling her back off to sleep is counterproductive, don’t you?”

“And how would you do it?”

A flutter against my foot made me twitch reflexively, if less dramatically than normal. I had always been particularly ticklish in that area.

“I think I would try something like this.”

A needle jabbed me in my big toe and I opened my eyes with a bleated “Fuck,” that sounded more like a quack than a genuine expletive. “Wha-aa—?”

“See? That’s how to wake someone. Pain will get the attention of any adventurer. And ice-water sometimes. If we had any.”

I saw the blurry outline of Gerdy’s head turn as if to look for a water source of the appropriate negative temperature. It was to be hoped that there was none on hand; the tiny winged demon already sounded far too pleased with herself.

“Arline?”

For the first time I noticed my second visitor. And did a double-take that was even more effective than the stab to my extremities.

A ghost cowboy was leaning over me. It was practically in my lap.

I clutched and grabbed my vital areas, forgoing the scream of Hollywood trope, but fully relating to the panicked modesty of a woman surprised in her unmentionables.

Which, it appeared, were at least covered, though not with very much. I was still wearing my Gunga pendant and cursed dagger of course. They had both been equipped before the whole collapse thing had occurred. But while I was asleep the nightgown fairies had come in and wrapped me in a length of white linen—somewhat in the manner of someone forgetting their robe after a shower and using a towel instead. A cheap towel that barely had enough material to close properly. My leg was poking out of the slit like a street worker advertising her business.

I hastily pulled it back in, tugging the material across as far as it would go.

The ghost bobbed backwards, tipping his hat forwards as if to politely cover his eyes. “Sorry, ma’am. Forgot I was in my astral form. It’s just been a while since—“

“Right, right.” I rubbed a hand across my face in the hopes of rubbing away the ghost along with my headache. No dice. “No, not all right. Who the hell are you?”

“You don’t recognise me?” He actually seemed rather pleased by that.

“Well, let me see. Have I ever been to America? Spent some time on the range? Killed a cowboy? No, no, and I don’t think so. Though there was that one time, in that bar….Huh. Anyway, last thing I remember I was in Egypt, vomiting on some princess’s rug. After these two men—Shit, I’m still in the game, aren’t I?”

“By some miracle, yes. And by your improving condition, I would say the administrators have finally deduced where your body is and have taken steps to ensure it remains alive. Good news. This means your suit’s health meter has just been extended indefinitely.”

“Oh, goody. More opportunities to be killed in interesting ways.” I lifted my eyes to meet his. “So, Bert. Where are we now?”

The spectre deflated a bit. Or fluttered. Ghosts have some pretty funky body language.

“The Temple, and how did you know it was me?”

“You failed your howdy licence. Everyone knows that to pass yourself off as a cowboy you need to drawl a little male chauvinism into your syntax. ‘Howdy, little lady’ and all that. Instead you’re deducing and indefinitising yourself into a circuit-ridden corner.”

“That is actually very helpful. I could do with some tips around authenticating my personas. As you may have guessed, Gerdy has been instructing me in my new Astral Projection Skill while you have been away. It is a method of creating a living illusion that I can inhabit temporarily and at a short distance from my corporeal ‘body’. This just happens to be one of my favourites.” He posed with his hands hovering over his holsters. “What do you think?

“Fabulous. Very, um, authentic-looking. To the extent that I’m actually hoping those guns have a little more firepower than I suspect they have.” I frowned as a realisation hit me. “But aren’t they and you a little out of your time zone—not to mention habitat? Unless the game has been upgraded since I went bye-bye we’re supposed to be in an era of bows and spears, with the occasional sprinkling of torture and being run over by stampeding horses.”

“Ah. You’re quite right. The guns are useless.” 

He pulled one out and shot at an adobe wall to demonstrate. Despite a puff of simulated gunpowder the wall remained unscarred. “I am unable to affect matter in this form. But I was able to increase the list of potential synthetic options by adding three-dimensional images that I uploaded into the databanks.” He grimaced. “The originals really were very limited. Supervillains all. And who wants the inconvenience of a set of horns? Or a tail? Or claws that are only good for shredding your own clothes? It was all so terribly excessive.” 

Bert really was working himself up into a bit of a lather. Who knew he was so image conscious? Though it did occur to me that the practicalities of owning any one of those things would be problematic. I mean, how many times would you bump your bean on low doorways? And who hasn’t treated themselves to a nice manicure and suffered that ‘doh’ moment when they tried to use a touch screen?

“Anyway. Though I may not be able to consciously manipulate what you call the internet—yet—I can exploit the software it offers. Freeware, of course. Not having a bank account is surprisingly constraining for an artificial intelligence.”

I didn’t question the ‘yet’. Dangerous territory, that. Good for me as it would expand any potential avenues of rescue, but bad for Bert if the authorities found out about it. Cue the screaming and deleting.

Gerdy, who was resting with her back against my ankle in an attitude of complete boredom, finally spoke. “All the possibilities in the universe laid out before it, and my core chooses to become a destitute minder of livestock.”

“It isn’t necessarily my final choice,” Bert said defensively. “I’m still exploring my options.”

“Right. So you won’t mind if I help you out.”

“What do you—?“

With a puff of ether, Bert turned into a small wooden puppet with a very long nose. Then, in quick succession, an elf with flowing gold-white locks, a miniature dragon, a cartoon duck, and lastly, a slender ballerina, complete with pink tutu and tights.

“Not one of my finalists,” the AI protested.

Gerdy’s tiny eyebrows lifted. “Then why was the file in your databanks?”

“I didn’t actively select each individually. Many came as a set—“

“Titled Dance Barbie?”

Bert turned an unnatural colour of grey. It took me a few moments to realise that it was the ghost equivalent of blushing.

He growled and turned himself back into a cowboy. “It looked pretty. I’m still deciding whether I want to be male or female. Or gender-fluid.”

“It’s certainly a big jump from being a rock,” I offered.

“Agreed. It took five hours and forty minutes and six seconds to accustom myself to these.” His fingers waggled in front of him. “Let alone the hours it took me to control the muscles that contort my face.”

“Don’t do that,” I said as he demonstrated with a smile that rivalled the Joker’s for creepiness. “But speaking of time,” I continued while slipping my legs and dress over the edge of the bed I was lying in. “How long have I bee—“

“No!” Bert shouted, and I was suddenly being cradled by a giant-sized replica of Antoine Callale, hero of gun-and-swoon flicks.

When I recovered from that surprise, I turned on him. “What was that all about? Practicing your damsel rescuing shtick? And I thought you were supposed to be some kind of anti-solid. How are you holding me?” I poked at a bicep that towered over my head, all muscly and full of veins. Definitely all there. Mm, mmm. In spades.

Gerdy hrumphed. “Mobs are always substantial to their dungeon cores. Probably so that their masters can use them as an indirect means of transport.”

“You’re saying that I can feel Bert because I’m his beast of burden?” I squawked and began to squirm in his arms. While the setting was attractive, I didn’t like the implications. No way was anyone riding me like a donkey.

“Stop it.”

“Let me down.”

“I can’t. Not without killing you.”

I blinked and stilled. “How’s ‘at?”

“Projection isn’t the only thing Gerdy has been teaching me. One of the basic skills that a dungeon has to master is trap-making. And since I couldn’t leave your side…I made use of the surfaces that were available.”

“So you’re saying that this entire room is booby trapped?”

“Oh, suck it up, buttercup,” Gerdy interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Or, better yet, come see all the booootiful treasure Bert has been creating. All right here for the looting.” She indicated the piles of gold and precious jewels that were littering the floor.

My eyes popped. Had that been there before? Surely my gold-ar would have sent out an alert. Especially since the entirety of the room was a Scrooge McDuck swimming pool, with only the bed standing out as the solitary island nation of normality. Coins, vases, crowns, jewellery, uncut gems, and the occasional sprinkling of weapons and scrolls competed for space in the small room.

That I couldn’t get to without dying. This world was so unfair.

“You like?” asked Bert, with another of those ashy blushes. He bounced a little on his—toes?—making my entire body jiggle.

“Ber-ert, it’s a-a-mazing.” Difficult to speak when you’re being bounced. No doubt why parents jiggled their children around when they wanted them to sleep.

“Actually, it’s become something of a problem while in my astral form. Like a spigot that I can’t turn off. But if it helps your financial posi—“

“Now, stop that right there!” Gerdy shrieked, popping to her feet at a speed that not even a gymnast should have been able to pull off. She shook a tiny finger at her charge. “No giving away of treasure without it being earned. It’s in the official rulebook!”

Bert frowned and his eyes took on a distant look. Or even more distant than a ghost’s attention usually was. Consulting the dungeon code of conduct no doubt. The AI did take his rules seriously.

“You are correct,” he said, disappointment in his voice. There was a pause while he absently set me back on the bed. Then he smiled the smile of a lawyer who had just found a clever loophole that would get his clients absolved of all charges. “Arline, would you do me a favour?”

“Sure.”

“Would you clean up the mess I made in here? And all messes I may make in the future?”

“Um. Define mess.”

“Littering. Specifically, any deposits of precious metal and gemstones that happen to drop within my vicinity.”

“I think I can do that.”

“That’s…that’s…against the spirit of the law.” Gerdy was positively apoplectic.

“But not its wording.”

“Suck it up, buttercup.” I smirked—just the faintest kind, really, barely noticeable. I’m not at all petty or anything like that. Not. At. All.

On the other hand, she had just stuck her sword in my toe and threatened me with an involuntarily cold bath. My mouth widened.

“Why, you—“ She stalked across the bed toward me, sword already unsheathed. 

Bert hastily dumped me on the bed and scooped her up, pressing her against his chest. Thus fulfilling the fantasies of the vast majority of the female population on Earth. In my case I was just hoping she’d smother amongst those enormous pecs.

Except she had her own defences against his manly charms. Within an instant, Bert was transformed into an adorable flop-eared bunny. Which Gerdy lost no time wriggling onto the back of and seizing both ears like she was riding a Harley.

“Enough!” the rabbit squeaked, tossing her aside before becoming once again cowboy-shaped. Then he wavered a little on his feet and disappeared from sight. Exhausted no doubt by the depletion of mana. Bert needed a pumpkin-flavoured smoothie asap. And possibly a nap.

Gerdy, to her limited credit, seemed to sense his distress, even from floor altitude, and made immediate attempts to alleviate it. “You!” she demanded, looking directly at me. “Find food for your master!”

This was not the time for arguing. “Where’s his pumpkin?” I demanded in turn. Upon reflection, the sad fact that this was a perfectly rational question says a lot about my recent gaming experiences.

She snorted. “With all the training I’ve been putting him through, it’s long since been reduced to water. He needs more. And it’s your job to pro—“

“Yeah, yeah. Main caregiver and responsible parent. Also known as Senior Provisions Officer. Where’s my holding bag?”

“The military gentleman with the inadequate chest armour tossed it somewhere in that corner.” She indicated an area just out of my reach. “Of course, I’m too small to carry such a large bag,”—cue sad, sad eyes—“so you’ll have to get it yourself.”

Among the many traps that stood in my way. I’d be dead before I even knew what hit me. A win-win for Gerdy, who would then be able to achieve her well-planned career path of dungeon fairy normality. You had to admire her dedication to success.

Of course, that didn’t mean I had to allow myself to be killed just to give her a leg up.

Reaching as far forward as I could without toppling from my position at the edge of the bed, I dug my feet into the mattress and strained. Just about…there. The tips of my fingers scraped against the top of a longbow, and through the application of patience—and a scrabbling that would have made the BlueSky squirrel green with envy—I managed to remove it from its burial place. Of coins. Which are apparently the swamp sludge of the dungeon world.

From there, it was an easy task to use the extra length afforded by the weapon to fossick amongst the gold and find my bag. (Something back-to-front about that. Pretty sure prospectors used to swirl around the detritus to get to the gold, not the other way around.) 

I then managed to hook the straps with the bow and lift it across to the bed, before discarding the bow on the covers next to me and rummaging through the bag until I found a spare pumpkin. 

Whereupon I realised I had another issue.

I couldn’t find Bert.

Amongst a whole bunch of glinting, shiny objects, another glinting, shiny object proved impossible to detect.

“Bert,” I called. “Where are you? Can you float up and give us a waggle?”

No movement. Or answer for that matter. The AI must be completely sapped.

“Oh, for the love of little green goblins,” Gerdy huffed. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect any further assistance from me. This is the kind of thing any mob boss should be fully capable of. If it didn’t involve the well-being of my core…”

She trailed off into a disgruntled mutter as she got airborne and flew into the maze of competing preciouses. I hoped Bert made good on his offer. A few of the artifacts looked Rare, possibly even Epic.

My avarice was cut short when Gerdy reappeared with a faintly glowing Bert. No wonder I hadn’t been able to find him. His light was dimmer than that reflected by the metal that surrounded him.

So when the fairy gently set him on the bed I lost no time in carving out a section of pumpkin with my cursed dagger (two flies immediately appeared) and popping the AI inside. Somewhere at the edges of my consciousness I could discern a sigh of relief. 

I gave the vegetable a soothing pat. Pet AI now taken of, I took the opportunity for a good look around.

Beyond the distraction of the most expensive floor ever created, I could now see that much of the light came from a small window, about a metre and a half upwards and across from the bed. 

Good. An opportunity for a little reconnaissance. But when I stood up to see out, I was disappointed to find that the view consisted of nothing but blue sky and a patchwork of small, orderly fields. If there were humans or other buildings around they were either too distant to see, or I didn’t have the right perspective.

The inside of the room itself was equally bland. Adobe walls without ornament, a bed, and one small table that looked to belong to a poorer domicile than the tidal mark of gold surrounding it would suggest. Anything that might exist lower down had long since succumbed to the power of the almighty dollar.

Of more concern, however, was the door. It was made from thick slabs of wood, and currently closed with the hinges inside. Meaning it opened inwards. In order to leave I would have to remove the enormous weight that was pressing against it.

It was like some kind of D&D multiple-choice crossover. You are in a room filled with traps. On the floor is a mountain of treasure. And that same treasure is blocking the door from opening. What do you do?

Do you A: Run as quickly as you can to the door while collecting as much loot as you can?

B: Use your superior agility and climbing skills to make your way around the room like a deadly game of ‘the floor is lava’?

Or C: Throw yourself through the window in the hopes that your companions will catch you? 

Although, of course, all of these choices were made moot when the floor caved in. 

Somewhere amongst Bert’s unauthorised renovations, the addition of thousands of kilograms of heavy metal, and the movement of one diminutive personage, the line of code that read: structural balance + building material absorbency - weight = capacity reached a negative balance. 

Though this was a complete surprise to the fools who were falling.

And crashing. The initial impact was oddly minimal—

You have fallen into a solid object! 110 Hit Pts! 690/800 remaining!

—ow—but the spilling of a ton of individual heavy objects landing on me managed to do far more damage.

You have been struck by gold coins! 20 Hit Pts! 670/800 remaining!

You have been struck by a silver-inlaid bow! (Status: Rare) 50 Hit Pts! 620/800 remaining!

Pain. Son of a—

You have been struck by a golden statue! 200 Hit Pts! 420/800 remaining!

Shit, fuck!

You have been struck by a diamond (rare)…Hit!

You have been…Hit!

…Hit!

…Hit!

The torrent of objects and notifications continued until only the occasional ping of a coin falling remained. From the few that still balanced precariously on the edges of floor that held stubbornly to the walls.

Then an eerie silence fell. In which time and sound’s absence felt interconnected. Like the concussion of a giant bell.

When I blinked eyes that had opened to the dimensions of saucers time at least resumed. Sound was still AWOL. Another glitch? Or an absence of some kind? A missing voice perhaps?

I searched my surroundings. Where was everyone? I hadn’t been alone in that fall.

But Gerdy and Bert were nowhere to be found. Though I did discover why the fall hadn’t killed me outright. The mattress had survived despite the complete annihilation of its frame, and somehow was still underneath me.

Hm. Somehow option D; Wait until the floor collapses and ride the mattress down to the floor beneath, hadn’t occurred to me earlier. D&D players worldwide would scorn me for my lack of imagination.

“Are you trying to kill us?” came a small, irate voice…beneath me? It was muffled and barely understandable.

“A bit of help here!”

And the material in front of me began to move.

“Yeeeek!” I screamed, flinging myself away despite being low on Health. And yes, mock me yet again for being a complete girly-girl. Or let’s just call it a primeval response to vermin and other monsters moving when you least expect it. Be generous to a fragile old lady; I was still recovering from the shock of falling.

This is also a perfectly valid excuse for not immediately determining that it was in fact Gerdy beneath the mattress; and, when I finally rectified this error, Bert. Looking a little worse for wear amongst the spattered remnants of his home. Luckily, my holding bag was within reach—albeit half-submerged in coins and gemstones—so it didn’t take long before he was once again ensconced in vegetable real estate. Though I would have to restock soon. One backup just wasn’t enough in an urban environment; that much was becoming obvious.

The fall hadn’t given me much time for sight-seeing, so the brief inspection nullified another concern that had been niggling at me. No one else was under my ride, and there were no human-shaped piles of treasure visible. So no innocent NPC had been looping about his or her business in the…waiting room?…that we were now in. 

At least its dimensions were more generous than that of the room upstairs. Still without chairs, though that lack was more than made up for by the intricate inlaid paintings on the walls.

It certainly made a far more appropriate setting for my newfound wealth. Maybe the priests who ran this temple would let me use it for a vault, now that it was conspicuously unfit for waiting in? I certainly had enough money to cover a rental fee…

A woman wearing white robes and what looked like a golden turkey on her head came barrelling through an open doorway. She was shouting something in Egyptian that I couldn’t quite make out and waving a snake-headed staff around. (Topped with more gold, I noted, and what looked like rubies in its eye sockets.)

I experienced a fission of stick-envy. Now, when the intention I’d had of upgrading my own with a mace-head of diamonds was finally a realistic possibility, I wanted more. Maybe keep the diamonds along its length, but make the top into something else; something more appropriate for me than a snake. Snakes just didn’t suit my overall vibe.

She stopped just inside the door in a classic double-take. 

I could sympathise. It wasn’t every day that your interior design changed so radically. Hell, just shifting a piece of furniture in my flat was enough to discombobulate me. (And let’s be honest, that shit isn’t limited to furniture. I’d once sprained my ankle on a packet of toilet paper. In my defence, it had been late at night and my aim from the grocery sort the day before had been lacking.)

An inquiring voice sounded from behind the woman, prompting her to move farther inside. This opened the way for six of what I assumed to be her acolytes. All wrapped in white linen, sans endangered animal accessory or golden headpiece, and carrying nothing more threatening than rolls of papyrus.

But regardless of their position of authority, it seemed to bolster the priestess’s own confidence. Once again stepping toward me, she waggled her staff threateningly, chanting something that sounded a lot like “Wooga-Ra en-Mut, wallopsi,” before my translator kicked in and her voice progressed into something that I could understand.

“—have desecrated our sacred temple hall. Destroyed the entrance to one of our most important—“

“Hold up,” I soothed. “It isn’t that bad. The hall just needs a bit of a tidy up. And by removing the ceiling it’s become totally more functional. Just think of all the statues you could fit in here! And the acoustics!”

The woman frowned forbiddingly.

Note to self: Priestesses take accidental breaking and entering very seriously. And have no discernible sense of humour.

On the other hand, King Pedubast had mentioned something about the mercenary nature of the Egyptian clergy…

I trailed my hands through the coinage suggestively. “With a generous offering to the temple coffers, I’m sure any damage can be quickly repaired. Even given a little makeover.”

This seemed to perk the old woman up a bit, and she allowed her eye to roam acquisitively. “That would be…acceptable to our House. As the World-Mother’s conduit, I, High Priestess Memshavit, welcome your offering.”

She gave a tiny nod of approval before continuing in a more conversational tone. “Do you perhaps need a separate room to store all your…possessions? Somewhere in the basement, perhaps? With a temple guard?”

“That would be much appreciated.” At least until I find someone to sell me a holding bag with a monumental number of slots.

“In the meantime, let me offer you a tour of our facilities while my servants see to the, er…mess. If memory serves you were unconscious when you arrived.”

“Indeed. I suffered a faint, probably from exposure to heat. My own country is not so fortunate as yours.” Again with the I-am-a-foreigner-and therefore-weak-and-ignorant tactic. I’m not proud of it, but whatever worked.

“Yes. Amun does not favour the northern lands. Shu divides you from His sight.”

“Hmm. Quite possibly.”

“It is correct,” she stated authoritatively, getting a little pissy at me for doubting her interpretation of geology and such minor details as the earth travelling around the sun. “Shu is the god of air and wind. His influence separates the earth and sky. He is also the god of lions.”

I was unsure what relevance that last bit had, but she’d probably been programmed to provide whatever information she had—regardless of whether it applied or not.

Nevertheless. “I am enlightened.” I just wouldn’t iterate just what I was enlightened about. While diplomacy was not one of my Skill sets, common sense certainly was. “If I am not intruding upon your valuable time, I would be delighted to take you up on your offer of a tour. I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the customs and activities of your places of worship and fear I would offend without your guidance.”

The priestess grunted approvingly and gestured toward the door. “Let us proceed then. Mut is not a goddess to be insulted. Indeed, Her wrath is terrible. She is, after all, the mother of us all.” She paused before adding, “And the goddess of water and vultures.”

“Anything else?”

“Lionesses and cows.”

I kept silent after that, but she continued regardless.

“Also cobras and cats. And did you also know she was associated with…”

Dammit.