The Lag (The Game Master: Book #1) (28 page)

Wayfarer nodded. "The vent," he said, hurrying along the concave wall.

They stopped next to him and tilted their heads back, staring up at the cast-iron grill about ten feet above the floor.

"The hall has no windows," Attila said. "There's no ventilation here. Logically, this should be the top-floor vent. Which means we can use it to-"

"Wait!" Beast hurried back to the table. "Let's drag it over, this way we can climb to the bars!"

Another arrow clattered against the door. And yet another. Shimmering purple spots began spreading over the metal, merging quickly.

Wayfarer and Attila hurried after Beast. "What happened to Styx, their Paladin leader?" Attila asked on the go. "I didn't see him outside."

He gasped, unable to breathe, and shut up. He just couldn't speak on the run any longer. His heart would flutter, then slow down; his left side was in stitches. To top it all, his hands began to shake. What kind of world was that? The virtual hands of a cartoon avatar — shaking!

He remembered what the guidebook said.
If you choose the full immersion mode, you will be guided by logic and intuition alone. A user's physiological parameters will affect his or her gaming experience.
" And affect them they did.

They had barely managed to drag the table to the wall and help Beast climb it when the door collapsed in a shower of purple sparks. The clerics barged inside.

Barged
wasn't the right word, actually. They ran in one by one, all businesslike, moving their feet in synch as they fanned out into a neat semicircle. Then they stopped and raised their staffs, pointing them at the table. The staffs' tops began to glow with blue and purple light.

The archer was the next to enter, followed by Styx with his black staff.

The lights grew brighter, swirling around them.

"I'll smoke the bastards!" Beast whipped out the golden jar he'd received from the alchemists. He ripped off the lid and hurled the jar at the clerics like he would a grenade.

The throw was good. The jar shattered at Styx' feet.

"Climb the table!" Wayfarer leaped onto the tabletop.

Attila followed suit. The jar exploded, consuming the clerics in a raging tornado of energy. A few of the staffs had already gone off, but they were aimed away from the table. Bolts of light-blue lightning rushed around the room, hitting the walls and the ceiling and leaving spots of ice behind which continued to spread.

One such spot formed next to the table. Icy hands reached out of it and began feeling around blindly. They seemed to be made of bluish glass — and they grew long lithe limbs as they reached further and further.

"That'll teach them! Come on, I'll give you a hand," Beast knelt and bent forward, pressing his hands against the wall under the grill.

Any other time Attila would have thought nothing about leaping onto his broad hunched back. But now he had to grab at Beast's collar, forcing himself onto his friend's back. Beast's club was getting in the way; Attila slipped and very nearly fell off. Finally, he stood up on tiptoe, reaching for the bars. Only then he realized they had a problem.

Attila leaped back down onto the table. "We're idiots! How are we going to get past the bars? They're too narrow, aren't they?"

Beast jumped to his feet and stared at him in bewilderment. Then he glanced up and whipped the club out from behind his back. Avoiding its swing, Wayfarer stepped to the edge of the table.

The whirlwind of magic energy had subsided, having swept all the clerics off their feet, including the archer — but not Styx. Before the lightning had struck, the Paladin had wrapped himself and his staff in his cloak and crouched on the floor. Now he stood up straight, alive and in one piece, and began walking toward the table.

In one powerful blow, Beast smashed the grill into the vent and dropped the club, crouching back into his old position. Attila climbed onto his back.

A hand reached out of the spot of ice on the floor and grabbed Wayfarer's leg.

By then, the spot had grown — it wasn't just arms that protruded from it now but entire torsos complete with muscular shoulders and glassy-blue heads. Two ice creatures grasped Wayfarer and pulled him off the table.

Attila dove into the vent. His clothes kept catching on the bars' ragged stumps. Wriggling in the narrow hole, he turned around and leaned out, reaching out his hands.

Wayfarer managed to struggle himself free of the icy monsters' grip. He leaped aside — and faced Styx. Wayfarer took a swing with his staff, aiming it at the Paladin.

The staff's top traced a wide scarlet arc through the air. The red crystal exploded at Styx's feet in a cascade of blood-colored fragments. The soul of Kromik bellowed its fury, escaping its cramped year-long prison.

The scarlet energy whirled to the ceiling, revealing for one tiny moment the ancient orc shaman's face. The room's floor turned into a lake of fire that consumed the Paladin who struggled, slapping the flames with his hands. Reaching out, he grabbed Wayfarer's waist and pulled him in, engulfed by fire. The table broke into flames like a dry twig.

Beast hung on, clutching at the edge of the vent hole, his feet scraping the wall. Waist deep in flames, Wayfarer turned toward Attila and threw a small black book to him.

"Press all the crystals!" he shouted. "Then throw it at the Firewall!"

He collapsed. Two bodies thrashed amid the roaring tongues of fire escaping the burning lake.

Attila shrank back, giving way to Beast who scampered into the narrow vent, shielding the light. Both struggled to breathe with the heat. Attila shoved Wayfarer's Book into his pocket.

Beast pushed him deeper into the passage. "My butt's on fire! Move it, man! Ouch!"

Finally Attila managed to turn round and crawled down the hole on all fours. Further on, it bent at a right angle. The floor began to rise. Behind him, Beast puffed like a steam engine climbing a steep slope.

"What happened to them?" Attila asked. "Did you see?"

"They were fighting in the burning lava like two chicks mud-wrestling. But... if even the staff didn't kill Styx at once, then I don't know... what if he smokes Wayfarer and decides to climb after us? Move it, man, don't stall! Oh, look, another grate. You think you can break it out of the wall? I wish I could get past you, there's no way you can do it on your own. Oh, I completely forgot! Wayfarer didn't tell us the bank account password, did he?"

"Quiet now!" Attila slid the light grate aside and peered into the large round room.

Seven bodies lay in transparent coffins that stood in a circle like the petals of a flower. The great Conclave Wizards didn't move. The Great Portal towered at its center, throbbing with a deep blue light.

Y
anna froze, her fists clenched in her lab coat's pockets. On the other side of the street stood Baboon Face and Ginger, glaring at her.

Just her luck! Imagine if they stopped her now, a mere few hundred feet away from her goal!

The police station's door swung open behind her. The two riot cops who'd just flagged her through walked out.

"Ah, that's a good girl!" the flirty one grinned good-naturedly. "So you decided to give me your number after all?"

Yanna pulled a frightened face on — which didn't take too much acting skill. She leaned toward the man and blurted out in a quiet voice, "D'you see those two on the other side of the street? Just please don't stare! One with ginger hair and the other bald with a face like a septic tank."

As the cop's gaze began scanning the street, she went on,

"They're trying to kidnap me. That's why I came to the station, but they're too busy there, no one seems to care. And these two, I think they want to sell me into slavery... to some Arab sheikh..."

"I got an eyeball on them," the cop pulled his partner's sleeve. The other one raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I think we've got a job to do," he began whispering into his ear.

Then he turned back to Yanna. "You go, girl. No need to be afraid. We'll take care of them."

Good looks shouldn't be underestimated, Yanna thought as she headed toward Attila's house, hugging the laptop. Money and good looks: those were the two most powerful things in the world. Both could make men act out of character.

Baboon Face and Ginger were following her along the other side of the street, probably eager to put as much distance between them and the police station as possible. They didn't even notice the two riot cops who were crossing the street behind them.

Yanna felt a wave of anger coming over her.
You wait, you bastards! You'll answer for everything in a minute! You'll have to pay for every second of my fear and humiliation!

She checked the road for any cars, waited for one to drive past, then ran across. Baboon Face and his partner walked faster. They'd probably catch up with her sooner than she could reach the corner.

She glanced up at the street sign. Yes! This was Attila's house. She'd made it! She kept walking, pretending she didn't see her pursuers while checking inconspicuously their reflections in shop windows.

They kept coming closer, hurrying toward her. Closer... only a few feet behind her. Baboon Face reached out to grab her...

"Keep your hands to yourself, you creep!" the riot cop barked.

Baboon Face swung round, reaching under his jacket. In a swift practiced motion, the cop sent him to the ground.

"Hey!" Ginger whipped out a gun. The other cop grabbed his hand and twisted it, simultaneously sweeping his feet away from under him. Ginger's legs arced through the air as he thumped onto the tarmac.

Yanna slipped round the corner and looked around. They couldn't see her anymore. She slid toward the building's locked front door. A list of apartments hung over the door, Attila's number among them.

The door dinged, then opened. A woman backed off into the yard, pulling a pram. Yanna clutched the laptop under one arm and held the door for her. As the woman thanked her, Yanna slid inside and hurried toward the stairs.

As she approached, the doors of a service elevator opened, as if inviting her inside. She stepped in and pressed the button for the 8th floor. This type of apartment block normally had offices and shops on the ground floor and ten flats on each level: which meant that with any luck, Attila's #77 was on the eighth floor.

The elevator moved up. Floor numbers flashed on the display. Only now did Yanna realize she was shaking.

The elevator stopped. She stepped out and checked the numbers on the doors. She was right! She hurried toward #77 and rang the bell, then pressed an ear against the door. All quiet. Predictably so.

So how was she supposed to get inside? She had no plan. All her ingenuity had been spent on trying to get out of RussoVirt and escape the police.

Attila lay behind the door, mere feet away, but... Desperate, she continued ringing. In an apartment next door a dog began to yap. Yanna heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.

She moved closer and began banging her fist on the wall. The dog kept barking. A lock clicked. Yanna shoved the laptop under her lab coat and pressed it close to her body.

The neighbors' door opened a crack. An unshaven man in worn-out sweatpants and a tank top peeked out. "Who do you want?"

"I... I'm looking for Atti- for Ivan. Your neighbor," she nodded at the door.

Then she remembered. What was it Attila had said about a neighbor having the spare keys?

The man looked around the landing. His stare stopped on Yanna.

"Seryozha? Who is it?" a woman's voice asked from within his apartment.

"Someone to see our neighbor," the man said.

"She's away, isn't she?"

"Not her. Her nephew. The guy in the wheelchair."

A plump woman in a housecoat appeared in the doorway. Her hair was in rollers. She was holding a Pekinese in her arms. Seeing Yanna, the dog resumed its yapping, trying to struggle free. The woman stroked it. "Quiet, Tintin, it's all right. Hi, Miss. You must be from social services."

Yanna hid her shaking hands in the pockets. "You're right. We tried to call but no one seems to be picking up. So they sent me to check on him. I wonder if he's okay? No one opens the door."

"He must be playing on his computer," the woman said. "Why are you standing there, Seryozha, give the girl the keys! Actually, I can do it myself now. You go back inside."

The man shrugged and left. The woman disappeared for a few seconds, then reemerged with a bunch of keys. She sorted through them for the right one and removed it from the ring. "There. I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Thanks," Yanna ignored the comment as she reached for the key. Whatever she said, it would have sounded false.

Under the neighbor's stare she unlocked the door with shaking fingers and pushed it open. "Ivan?" she called. "I'm from social security!"

No one answered. Leaving the door ajar, she walked inside. The neighbor followed. Yanna checked one room, then headed for the next.

Attila lay prostrated on the couch in his helmet and clinging suit. The neighbor stayed outside in the corridor, craning her fat neck. The Pekinese in her arms kept woofing softly, squinting its eyes.

Yanna swung the room's door open to make sure the woman saw Attila. "It's okay. You were right: he is playing on his computer. He actually might have fallen asleep. I'll wake him up now."

The woman nodded and headed for the exit. "Don't forget to bring the keys back," she dropped over her shoulder.

"Of course," Yanna shut the door behind her and rushed back to the couch.

She leaned over Attila. He didn't move. That wasn't good. But first, she had to see to the virus.

Yanna hurried over to the desk, opened the laptop and pressed the On button. The green light blinked and went out.

Empty battery! And she didn't have the charger!

She began opening the desk's drawers. The desktop's monitor was on, flickering with messages. She didn't look. Leads and cables ran from the computer toward the figure on the couch.

This guy was supposed to be a professional hacker. He must have had a ton of leads and chargers. Where were they, then? Just some papers, disks, screwdrivers, a Swiss Army knife, a burned-out video card... but what was this? Yes! Cables!

A large tangle of leads lay in the lower drawer. Yanna pulled them all out and tried to sort through them. There had to be one she could use. Normally, there were tons of cables and leads in every house, especially if they had several computers. What she needed was an adapter... would this one do?

She tried to connect it to the laptop. No. Wrong type of plug. Dammit! And this one? Yes! It fit!

The lead entered neatly into the socket. She plugged it into the only available space on the multiplug under the table. The black box of the transformer glowed a little green light.

Gingerly she pressed the On button. The laptop hummed and began to click while warming up. Now she had to connect it to Attila's computer. Yanna reached for the lead while the laptop's screen flashed the Windows logo, booting up. She connected it to the desktop computer that stood behind the monitor. She glanced at the screen... and froze.

Something strange was happening there. She saw some transparent coffins — glass or crystal, she couldn't tell — on carved legs. There were people lying in them. A fat beam of blue light reached toward the high ceiling, and... and she saw Beast! He fired some kind of gun, aiming at Yanna. Mechanically she shrank back. The monitor filled with a purple smoke, darkness filling it from the center, leaving a thin strip of light by the edges which then disappeared. What was going on? The picture on the monitor jumped and shifted. Now all she could see was the ceiling, gray and distant, which faded, growing dark.

Suddenly she knew. Hooked up to the suit, the monitor showed what Attila himself was seeing in the game.

And now he was dying.

Yanna shrieked and rushed toward the couch. She should have checked on him first! She reached for the helmet on his head, then realized she couldn't remove it. That would interrupt his contact with Gryad, and then he'd die for sure. Or would he? What if he was already dead?

Yanna turned her head to the monitor. It was dark gray. Then it blackened, like a TV screen showing a channel with no reception.

The body on the couch jerked and froze, unmoving.

Attila and Beast jumped to the floor and pressed their backs against the wall, raising their weapons. Attila had his mythogun; Beast had his hands. But nothing happened. No one had reacted to their arrival.

"I've lost the wretched club again," Beast mumbled.

"Take this," Attila pushed the gun into his hands. "It's too heavy for me now. I can barely hold it."

"Got it."

They stared at the shaft of light that reached from the center of the room to the unattainable ceiling which made the whole room look like a chimney.

The shaft of light — the broadband channel — stood surrounded by the crystal coffins of the Conclave wizards. The great Magriv, the High Elf Ashileth, his wife Nea, Eschaton the Drow, Gromir the Dwarf, the blue-skinned shaman Varik and the fair-haired Assur Jaar. All seven of them lay staring at the ceiling, their feet pointing to the shaft of sapphire light — or rather, as the gaming convention stated, to the Great Portal opening into the mysterious and inconceivable Magosphere: the source of mobs, monsters, artifacts and aberrations, the birthplace of Gryad's magic. A blue glow filled the coffins; each emitted a thin thread of light that connected the wizards' minds to the Great Portal.

The firewall — a squat mesh cylinder made of pulsating silver lightning — was mounted at the beam's base. All seven flows of magic connecting the wizards to the Portal had to pass through it.

Beast clasped Attila's shoulder and gasped. "It's just like the water filter over my kitchen sink."

He took a few deep breaths and raised the mythogun, taking aim. "I'll shoot, okay?"

"I don't think it's gonna do anything."

"So how d'you want us to disable it?"

"I got Wayfarer's Book," Attila leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. "Apparently he's changed something in it. He said,
Press all the crystals, then throw it at the firewall
. No idea what to do next."

Beast shrugged. "What's the Book got to do with it? It's only a magical communication device."

He squeezed the trigger. The mythogun spat a charge of lightning which pierced the silver cylinder. It blinked, then went back to normal. Nothing happened. Beast made a face and slung the mythogun over his shoulder.

"Won't work," he said. "Even the mithrinol magic isn't powerful enough against it. Wait. I've got something better," he produced a small glass jar shimmering with silver. "Flammel gave it to me. He said it wasn't as good as the gold one but still quite a powerful thing. Good enough to blow this wretched place to smithereens."

Trying to step noiselessly, Attila walked around the coffins. He had a feeling that the sound of his footsteps might awaken the great wizards. They'd been lying motionless for years, guarding their world. People used to think that Earth rested on the backs of turtles or elephants. Well, Gryad was resting on this shimmering column of light and on the seven dead wizards encircling it. And he, Attila, now stood at the heart of this virtual universe, about to shatter its foundations.

Shatter — or indeed restore it?

Beast cried out, concealed by the column of light.

"You okay?" Attila peered from behind the Portal.

Beast stood on his knees, pressing his hands to his temples. He then collapsed on his side and growled, twitching his legs.