Death Cap - Forty - Discovering That Your Time is Limited but the World's Isn't

The Union was happy to take some of my new healing mushrooms off my hands. The negotiations went... well-enough. I couldn’t supply a ton, and they weren’t interested in buying too many, not when (as I discovered) the potency of healing mushrooms decreased rather sharply over time, and they needed to be eaten raw to have a full effect.

Still, the union was happy to buy what I could supply for a rate that was about a tenth of what they’d get at any pharmacy.

The way Markham spoke of it, they’d just toss in any mushrooms that were going dry into the evening’s stew. It wouldn’t do much but a tiny bit of magical healing every few days couldn’t hurt.

I also discovered that that sort of magical food-stuff was standard for the rich and well-off of the city. They spent their entire lives eating foods that boosted their immune-systems, helped them heal faster, and generally made life a more pleasant thing.

I was definitely a little envious.

Still, my plans went on.

The mushroom sales to the Union paid well, but because the sales were more sporadic and spread out, and because I couldn’t just sell more mushrooms (they’d only buy so many) I ended up making more from Bet selling skewers, at least on a monthly basis.

As autumn rolled in and the air grew a little more chill, I collected my winnings and revelled in having so much loose money that I could spend at my discretion.

I had earned more in six months than I had in all the time before that. Though a good chunk of that was from robbing the muggers, which was a one-off event.

I headed to the Delver’s Guild in high spirits. My only challenge for the day, I imagined, was going to be convincing them that I was serious despite my age. I didn’t want to have to hire someone to pretend to be me, although maybe Stew could give it a go if I asked nicely.

The Delver’s Guild--who’s real name was far more complicated and historied, but which no one cared about when it was easier to call them what they were--was a grand building just on the edge of the Mistbank district, set between a bank and a few office buildings.

It was a respectable building, all brick and glass, with an open plan for the entrance that seemed like a gathering place for a few old-timers.

I walked to the counter and then found a receptionist who was only ten or so years my senior. She was amused by my age, I think, but she answered my questions anyway.

As I suspected, to hire a team, you posted a job. Then the local teams would place bids which the employer (in this case me) could pick from.

All rather sensible.

The issue was the price.

I swallowed as I looked at the other bids, all of which were neatly placed within a binder that anyone could look over. They even had a stool to step up to it (for hobgoblins, maybe?). The other bids were all in the hundreds of pounds, and most only asked for teams to go down and clear specific rooms within the dungeon.

No one was heading as deep as I needed to.

Still... Nothing ventured.

I placed a bid with the receptionist. Fifty pounds. Enough to bootstrap someone like me right out of the slums. A price so high it left me feeling sick. I had to pay a tenth to the guild upfront, then half as a deposit. Thirty pounds down. The other twenty-five would be deducted once a team fulfilled the contract. It would, of course, be held in escrow by the guild until then.

That just hurt, but I did it anyway.

The receptionist said, outright, that the bid might be too awful for anyone to accept, so I added stipulations. I didn’t need a full team, just one-or-two members willing to brave the depths. The mission was an escort mission where anything they gathered they’d keep with the exception of mycologic resources. I didn’t put a cap on experience.

I wanted it to be the sort of cheap in-and-out job that anyone looking for a quick buck would accept. And that meant I wouldn’t be getting the cream of the crop.

I’d live with it because I couldn’t afford better.

“Going all the way down, huh?” an old man asked.

I turned and found him sitting near the counters at the front. He was old, especially by City Nineteen standards. A guy with a cane, white whiskers on his upper lip, and a genial smile.

“Yeah, I need to go all the way,” I said.

“Long job,” he said.

“Long?”

He frowned. “You don’t know how long floors take?” he asked.

I shook my head, then he gestured to the seat across from his. I only hesitated a moment. I think I needed to sit down after spending so much anyway.

“So, first floor, how long does it take to clear?” he asked.

“I... don’t know, I guess that depends on a lot of things. Who’s sent to clear it, if they’ve done it before, the number of people.”

He grinned. “Smart kid. Right answer too. Lots of ‘it depends’ in this line of work. Understanding that’ll make you a good employer.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Weird to see one so young though... you starting something?”

I nodded. “I grow plants. I need better ones, to grow them and sell them for more.”

He hummed while nodding. “I’ve seen the sort. Yeah, you’re on the younger end, but sometimes motivation trumps age. Still, facts are facts. First floor, assuming you’re just crossing it, that’ll take you an hour.”

“If it wasn’t cleared,” I said.

He nodded. “Fair point. But you’ll be wanting to hit the dungeon early in the morning. Or... maybe late at night. Some risk there, but some advantage too. Second floor, you know how long it takes?”

“I don’t,” I admitted.

“Two hours. Assuming a heap of things. But if you have a map and walk a straight path across the floor, that’s how long it’ll take. Third floor, how long?”

“I guess three hours,” I said.

“Wrong, but not by much. Four hours, usually. Maybe longer since the traps and monsters get more clever. Fourth floor?”

My heart sank. “Eight hours?” I guessed.

He grinned. “You got it. Again, same assumptions. Could be longer, but with a competent, over-levelled team, eight hours of walking. Fifth floor?”

“Sixteen.”

He nodded. “Which means staying the night in the dungeon.”

“Can you do that?” I asked.

“Oh? Sure. But the entire floor won’t reset. Not an issue in the deeper floors since most folk don’t extract materials from there often. Not like the top three floors. Bit of a pain if teams go in to stay many-days in a row, but there usually aren’t enough teams for that, and the floors get big enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“The sixth floor is thirty-two hours to clear?” I asked.

“With a competent team,” he nodded. “And the last floor of Ditz, if that’s where you’re heading, is sixty-four hours from entrance to core.”

I slumped back in my seat.

No one was going to take a fifty-pound job for... six days of work? No, twelve. We’d need to walk out as well.

Twelve days for.... Say a team of four, that meant that they’d each get twelve pounds. That was a handsome reward, actually, but not for nearly two weeks worth of life-risking work. They’d have expenses too. Food, potions for various things, camping supplies.

“No one’s going to take my bid,” I said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the old man said with a grin. “Plenty of us want to see the bottom. It’s a rite of passage. Bad for business to go all the way down, but great for the bragging rights. Good class options too, if you make it to the core room and back, then get rid of your class. Some strong, clever delvers have taken that risk and it’s paid off before. Keep your hopes up, kid.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Think you know anyone dumb enough to give it a shot?”

He hummed, then there was a glimmer in his eyes. “I might. But you’d have to wait a month or two.”

“I can do that,” I said. “I have all the time in the world.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I bet you feel that way. Go on kid, get ready for your big adventure. There’s far too few of those nowadays.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

He was right. I had to get ready. If this whole thing was going to be a weeks-long affair, then it would be best if I had all the supplies and levels I could squeeze to be ready for it.

It was time to get down and practice and to push myself to be as ready as I could be.

***