The message crystal attached to the floor of my coach beeped twice, and I glanced up from my seat to stare at it. I had expected this call for the past hour now. Most employers like to follow up after my contract was up, and it appeared Mr. Fisher was no different in that regard. With a snap, I shut the leather-bound book in front of me and reached over to touch the crystal before I settled back in my seat.

  In moments, lights coalesced, and formed an image of a man sitting in the seat opposite of me. He was an older gentleman, with crow’s feet, and a large bald spot he did little to hide. Between the grey jacket, coated with oils to help it remain waterproof, and the way the image faintly rocked, I knew my ex-employer was calling me from a ship.

  It took effort to stifle a sigh. Of course, he was out on the water again. No matter how many times I told him it would be more efficient for him to be at his headquarters in Crecia, he insisted on going out to fish with his workers.

  “It’s about showing them you can lead,” he would tell me during our, thankfully, sparse in-person meetings. I still couldn’t get the smell of dead fish and his foul tobacco that wafted from him out of my nose. “If they see me on the ships, they’ll work harder. A man wants to know if his employer will work with him.”

  I smiled and nodded, though I never spoke the words going through my head. “A man works hard for two things. Gold and opportunity. Both of which you hired me to cut down on.”

  “Mr Fisher. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I gave him my most charming smile, all the while smoothing down my suit jacket as I tried to ignore the multiple bumps my coach continued to hit. My voice contained little of the drawl that was common in the southern kingdoms, a lifetime of practice had made my accent more neutral to accommodate dealing with various merchants and businesses.

  My old driver, Fernaz, would have done a better job. He was a quiet, hardworking man, who accepted my coin without caring much where it came from. Unfortunately, he had boarded a ship towards The Middle Ocean to spend his twilight years with his family. A shame. Both because I appreciated the man, and because his last-minute replacement, Lopiel, had the horse handling skills of a drunken fool.

  Before I could delve into what my father would have said about the man I had hired, Mr. Fisher spoke. He didn’t sound pleased, which surprised me. Most men I worked for wouldn’t have considered an additional five-hundred thousand gold in their business account a poor showing of my work.

  “You know exactly why I’m calling, Mr. Burling.” His tone was flat, though he didn’t lose any of his southern drawl. “You left town.”

  Contrary to him, my voice was confident and courteous. I had no interest in souring my reputation with the man, despite my distaste for his business strategy. His eyes narrowed, and he gripped at a desk I couldn’t see. Unthinkingly, I copied his actions, and rested my hand on the case by my side.

  It was a masterwork that cost me well over ten thousand gold from a crafter I had visited in Peol, our Capital City. The case was pitch black, made from the wood of a shade tree that grew in the western kingdoms of Wretsi. It was my most prized possession by far.

  I gave the thin case a pat before I returned my attention to an unimpressed Mr. Fisher. “Our contract was up. There was no reason for me to stay.”

  “And if I wanted to extend your contract with me?” He asked, though I knew that thought had never seriously crossed his mind.

  “Did you? I’m only a few hours out. If you have good terms, you might convince me to turn around.”

  Mr. Fisher’s words dripped with disdain. “Provided I can feed the right amount of gold into your pockets.”

  “Yes.” I kept my smile, aided by my Poker Face skill. “I am a Level Twenty-Four Fixer. Money and business are my specialty.”

  “Not until you go for your class advancement.” He smiled, and I resisted the urge to sigh at the pitch I knew was coming. “My Nephew is starting a fishing company on the edge of Sunret and—”

  “—Thank you, but I’m not interested,” I finished for him.

  He leaned forward; the projection shifting to accommodate the motion. “Is my offer not good enough? His company is new, and you already know the pitfalls of the fishing business. With the two of you, it could become an empire. An easy one million gold to upgrade your class, and I’ll even give the monster cores myself. You know I have an uncle who works on a kraken hunting ship up at Northlodge. We both know dangerous beasts fill The Middle Sea. I can slip some rewards your way.”

  “Because the idea bores me.”

  My words came out polite, as I hid the shudder at his talks of monsters. If I wished for that kind of life, the system would never have granted me The Fixer class. Though my father made his displeasure known that I didn’t get picked to be a rider, like he had at that age. I tried not to let that memory linger and instead enjoyed the look of incredulity on the man’s face.

  “It would be boring?” He asked, sounding gobsmacked, like I told him the price of fish would soon drop. Which, incidentally, it would. My bribes would mean the local pirates would allow him to bring more catches to shore, thus demand would go down. But not until after the books showed him a rather substantial increase in profits.

  “That’s what I said.” Another bump made me shift in my chair, and I was grateful my skill stopped the scowl. I could have sworn that the main road wasn’t this bumpy, though with the blinds drawn, it was impossible to check. The gloom helped the image of the crystal coalesce. “I’m not interested in repeating a task. My experience of learning about fish was interesting, but I believe I should move on.”

  The expensive crystal captured his cheeks turning red, and I was glad I had listened to The Enchanter, who had wheedled the extra gold from me. “How dare you? I made you.”

  “You made me fifty-thousand gold. Which, I grant you, is a lot. Enough to buy property anywhere, including the capitol, and stop me from having to do more than dabble to fund my retirement. But make me? No. I want to be clear, Mr. Fisher, our business relationship is over, and no one made me the man I am aside from me.”

  “And my father’s discipline, middle-class upbringing, and system granted skills,” I thought, but didn’t add.

  “How dare you speak to me like this? I—”

  He ranted, and I let him, no longer caring much about burning this particular bridge. This wasn’t the first time an employer reacted badly to me rejecting their incredibly generous offers. Be it to continue on at the company as an employee, plans to aid me in my class upgrades, or sometimes more romantic endeavors. I wanted to run my hand through my blonde hair, tell him to leave, and be done. But I didn’t get the chance.

  We hit another bump, and this time, I heard something crunch. A curse flew from my lips, and my hand went instantly to the flintlock pistol hidden in my suit jacket. Across from me, the image of Mr. Fisher winked away. The crystal understanding that structural damage to the coach was a case to end my call. Another upgrade I had found myself talked into.

  It always amused me when an employer complained about how expensive an Enchanter could be. So short sighted. You had to spend money to make money, and why not on something that can do things the universe isn’t sure it should allow while you do? I pushed open the door and poked my head out, frowning at the sight before me.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  We weren’t on the road, and we must have been travelling quicker than I expected, as Crecia was little more than a spot in the distance. An impressive feat, seeing as we were riding through plains. Wildflowers and tall grass surrounded us, and I made a mental note to send a thank you message to the coach builder for his work.

  “Mr. Lopiel, why are you taking us off the road?” I asked, as I climbed out, my gun heavy in my right hand, as the blackwood case hung loose in my left.

  He didn’t answer, and I walked around the coach to try and determine why. What I saw made my blood run cold. My horses lay dead. Both of them with crossbow bolts in their necks. I hadn’t even heard them fall. A calculating part of my mind thought about how good the sound proofing was inside, but the rest of me could only focus on the grief and disgust. Both Buttercup and Whitesock had pulled my coach for the past year, and I had grown fond of them.

  That anger grew only greater when I saw my driver holding his crossbow. The rage inside of me wasn’t fiery, it didn’t compel me to act. My father had beaten that sort of recklessness out of me.

  “If you get angry, and tug a horse in the wrong direction because some idiot walked in front of your coach, it’ll injure the animal. Think before you act. Stay mad if you like, but never, ever, act without thinking.”

  I knew what I needed to do, and the rage inside me agreed. The horses didn’t deserve this. From his spot on the driver’s bench, his black coat blending in with the material that made up the vehicle, he stared at me. His eyes were cold and calculating. Similar to my own.

  “That’s not my name,” he said, words blank. “How do you not know my name?”

  “It’s the name you gave me,” I said, as I studied him.

  The man wasn’t much to look at. Average height, build, with messy brown hair, and hazel eyes. He was the type of man I must have passed by one-hundred times. Even as he held a crossbow at me, I found my attention slipping away from him. That caused a stir inside me. Was it a skill, or an enchantment?

  “But you know my real name,” he insisted, as he waved the crossbow at me, not even reacting when I raised the gun at him. “How do you not know?”

  I didn’t move as I answered him, though I was tempted to shrug. “Why should I?”

  “You fired my father the day he brought me in to show me his work! He introduced us before you told him he was dead weight. That his dismissal would raise the company’s value. He worked there for twenty-five years. It was his life. His class. How could you do that to him?”

  Tears filled his eyes, and that drew me in. I found I could watch them slither their way down his cheeks, and by extension focus on him. An enchantment then, and not a skill. Enchantments often had flaws if they were cheap enough. I bet it only activated when he was calm, or if he wasn’t shouting. Either way, it meant a back alley job. Perhaps ten gold? Maybe a bit more, depending on which city he got it.

  “Pay attention! Tell me you know his name! You should remember! You fired him!” He demanded.

  I shook my head, and his scowl deepened as I responded. “Do you know how little that narrows it down?”

  That he missed is something I chalked up to his shaking hands and tear-filled eyes. His bolt punched through the case and knocked it from my hand. I shouted as he wiped his eyes and reloaded. Too bad for him, I was quicker. My gun went off, and its single payload lodged into his chest. He toppled from the driver’s seat, not that I paid him much attention.

  “No, no, no,” I cried out as I pulled the case open. “Please, no.”

  The contents were unsalvageable. His bolt had hit the bottle of ink, and it spilled over all the papers inside. Contracts and notes of recommendations were now a soggy, destroyed mess. By the way his bolt glimmered, it was clear that he had enchanted it to pierce through armor. He clearly hadn’t wanted his attempt to fail. Coins spent unwisely, unlike those spent on my bullet.

  I stalked around and checked the horses. Both were dead, and I was thankful that I could say they went quickly. Neither suffered. A cough told me my target was still alive, and I found him. The bullet had caught his lung, and he was drooling blood. Without caring for the dirt that would stain my suit pants, I knelt beside him and took the crossbow.

  My item identification told me it was worth three silver pieces. He had clearly worked to acquire something of reasonable quality. A search of his person found me no coins, nor any more bolts. His eyes tracked me, and he continued to struggle to breathe.

  “Kill me,” his eyes begged me. “Please.”

  That idea made me tremble, and I turned away from him. My eventual class focus would be on business. I was a Fixer, someone who reorganized an accounts book, or worked to shave off the chaff among the employees. What I wasn’t was a killer. Not that I hadn’t used my gun on someone before. But it was one shot for a reason. Load, fire, run. That was the plan.

  I could bribe guards, negotiate with criminals, and hire protection. Most times, there was simply no need to get my hands dirty. The gurgling sounds stopped behind me, and I let out a sigh of relief. Mr. Lopiel, or whatever his actual name was, no longer remained a threat. Though that forced onto me a new question. What to do next?

  Without the horses to pull it, my ride wasn’t going anywhere. At the speed he was driving us, I didn’t know how far away Crecia was. Though I at least knew the direction. None of what I had in the coach was salvageable, and he had ruined my case. The legendary item I had hoped to use for my class advancement was no longer fit for purpose. Annoyed, I let it fall among the surrounding flora.

  Desperate, I opened my class status menu. It wouldn’t have anything that would help me, I knew, but still I let my eyes scan the familiar words. Taking comfort in a system that told me what I was supposed to be, and in the end, what I was supposed to strive for.

  {Name: Chad Burling}

  {Class: Fixer}

  {Level 24}

  {Requirement to unlock your advanced class: Fixer - Business Focus

  - Assist in building up a business from scratch to one earning one million gold a year without the use of personal funds

  - Have three large monster cores in your possession

  - Have a Legendary Item relating to your wanted profession in your possession}

  {Current skills 6/6:

  - Instant Report

  - Instant Contract

  - Poker Face

  - Trade Value Identification

  - Item Value Identification

  - Polyglot}

  None of the skills helped, not that I expected them to. My place was an office among civilizations. A glance at the case showed me the paperwork was unsalvageable. What papers it once contained were little more than a black sludge. Perhaps if I had acted quicker, I could have saved them. But I hadn’t. They weren’t, and here I was.

  Overhead, the sun beat down, and I glanced at the city in the distance. It was my best bet, though an hour of hard riding was going to be a pain to walk. With a quick decision, I left the cumbersome crossbow where it lay. The silver of resale value wasn’t worth the difficulty that carrying it would add. A sigh escaped me as I took off my jacket and pulled it over my head. If I was lucky, it would at least act as some form of shade. It helped, but not much.

  Grass crunched under my feet as I walked, and I hummed a marching song I had heard when visiting a play. It was one of the few entertainments my father had agreed to attend. Though his tastes were less refined than mine. Even at a young age, if the poster prominently displayed a buxom woman, or violence, I knew we would see it.

  They were enjoyable, but my current cohorts preferred soulful operas and reproductions of old ballads. The bards were happy to oblige, as the same cohorts paid them handsomely for the privilege. I was still thinking of minstrels and songs when I reached the road. One free of any holes or things that would make my carriage bump like it had.

  “Goddess Malycka, curse me. I should have known,” I said, knowing the goddess of night and luck might not appreciate me taking her name in vain, or perhaps she would enjoy it. That was the risk with her, one never knew. But when you wrote the contracts I did, sometimes a fortuitous meeting was all one needed to make a fortune.

  The sounds of rustling grass that came not long after unnerved me, and I gripped the empty gun. I had bullets, but they were still in my jacket. The plains were meant to be safe, with the kingdom’s patrols keeping monsters away from the main road. Like the one I was supposed to be standing on.

  I stepped backwards and watched as the green skinned, toddler-sized, humanoid stalked out of the field towards me. It was a squat, ugly thing, with a squished in face, and bulbous belly. Strands of grass that it had wound round its long ears trailed behind it, and it glared at my weapon with pupilless yellow eyes. A long line of drool dripped out from beneath its sharp teeth.

  “Shiny food,” it whispered, my polyglot skill translating the gibbering speech.

  With a feral squeal, the goblin opened its jaw wide, and I saw the dirt and worms it had apparently been previously feasting on. My legs locked up, and I knew I needed to make a decision. However, before I could, the goblin pounced.