Stumbling Up: A Loser's Guide to Progression - Chapter 48: Flirting with Disaster

“We never should have split the party,” Meredeath muttered for the tenth time. I didn’t see what the big deal was.

Tandy wanted to investigate the sewer junction, looking for rats. I thought observing the warehouse operations for the night would be beneficial.

It didn’t hurt that I ended up pairing with Meredeath. Or that Richard went with Tandy because he had a nose for rats. Whatever that meant.

It was a win for me, and honestly, I needed a win.

Too bad I couldn’t capitalize.

“So, what is your new class?” I tried to change the subject, and like some dumbass, I decided chatting about stats was the way to go.

I could hear Richard’s imaginary taunts.

What are you going to do next, Cole? Ask her about her shoe size?

I had an inner demon, his name was Richard.

"Did you even know my original class?" She was still irritated, but at least she was talking about something else.

We were crouched behind a pile of crates in the underground warehouse. In the end, we didn’t join the guards huddled around torches. It was pretty obvious after 5 minutes why the pay was so low, and why they hadn’t caught any thieves.

"Point taken, but I've been curious. It's important to know your capabilities," I pushed, not needing Richard’s help to triple down on my stupidity.

Meredeath’s secrecy bothered me. When she’d admitted to being from another world, I thought that was it, that she’d start opening up. But since she gained Rhi Voss as her [Sponsor], she’d become even more secretive.

We already knew Rhi was a [Lich], I wasn’t sure how much worse her secrets could get.

"I'll make you a trade: you give me the details of your class, and I'll give you mine."

Well, fuck.

I didn’t want to talk about being Richard’s pet. Or that my class relied on me dying or pretending to die. It wasn’t sexy. I didn’t have a hero’s class.

“Uh…” I scrambled for an excuse.

"Exactly,” Meredeath read my hesitation accurately. Tandy never made being smart look so sexy.

Shifting my weight, my boot squelched in the mud. For a city sophisticated enough to have an underground goods delivery network, they sure hadn’t thought through the logistics of having the port of entry so close to a river.

It was wet, cold, and as dark as Richard’s soul.

Meredeath had insisted I not use the torch function on my hammer, insisting it’d ruin our night vision. Personally, I didn’t have any vision to ruin.

Maybe her eyeliner was enchanted?

"How about a counter? A guessing game. We share our theories, and promise to admit if the other person is right?" I asked.

I’d spun theory after theory in my head about what Meredeath’s true build was, before and after her [Sponsorship]. This seemed like a no-lose gamble.

She turned her head towards me. The faint smell of patchouli and mint hung in the air. She was close enough to kiss. My heart thundered in my ears.

"Deal, but I go first. You've got a skill that allows you to come back from the dead. It's not an undead skill, but it lets you cheat.” Her words slapped the imagined intimacy right out of my head. She continued with her cold analysis, “You died fighting the tidemaw. I saw the notification pop before it vanished.”

"I-- uh..."

"I already know I'm right, so just out with it." I could hear the grin in her voice. Damn it. Every time I thought I had the upper hand, she proved me wrong.

"Yeah, the skill is called [Cheat Death].” Resigned, I admitted the truth. “But it’s less of a cheat and more of a trade. The [System] doesn’t give handouts.”

I shuddered, my mind reliving the undulating skin and tissues as my lungs realigned. It was a trade from hell. A tiny part of my humanity had vanished. I’d spent weeks trying to get a full breath before my senses adapted.

Reaching out, she ran her fingers lightly against my gills, acknowledging the price.

The touch was sensual, on the verge of ticklish.

Maybe gills weren’t so bad after all.

“There’s always a cost,” Meredeath whispered, touching her amulet. Her eyes rose to mine, faintly glowing green. Her voice caught as she finished her thought, “Even when you stand still.”

The words cut, especially after Richard’s revelations about skill use. I don’t know how close I was to losing [Cheat Death], but I was going to have to figure out some way to practice it.

What price had she paid for standing still?

Shadows danced in our corner of the warehouse, forestalling my questions.

A delivery wagon rumbling out of the southern tunnel. Wood creaked as a lone horse and driver plodded along. A small, dimmed lantern hung from the driver’s seat. The whole outfit was painted black, as though a reaper from the land of the dead had made an appearance.

Delivery and operations had shut down hours ago. A delivery from an all black wagon at the witching hour? This was exactly what we’d been waiting for.

“Your turn,” I whispered as we watched the slow-moving wagon. “I know you’ve got some sort of night vision skill. But you’ve refused to use any other new skill since we left the swamp.”

"It's [Dark Vision], and it's a passive that I can't turn off, which is irritating…” for someone who likes to hide in the shadows. She left it unsaid, but I got her point.

“And the rest of your skills?” I pushed.

Her eyes flared, angry.

“The rest of my skills haunt me,” she said as the air chilled around us. It was so cold my breath fogged, and my lungs ached. Then it was gone the next instant as she said, “Did you see the stain on the tailgate?"

"No, I don’t have [Dark Vision],” I said calmly, willing the icicles from my lungs.

"I think we've got our first clue. Let's follow the driver. I'd like to take a look at that cargo.” Meredeath stood, mapping out a path to follow the wagon.

She’d gone from threat to business in an instant, not unlike her [Lich] of a [Sponsor]. She might have more reason than I to be cautious.

"What color was the stain?"

"Red," she whispered, her voice wavering.

The wagon wove through boxes and crates, steadily aimed at the riverside exit while avoiding the posted guards. It moved with the slow confidence of routine. No one challenged the driver.

The river entrance was tucked under the southern bridge. We'd completely missed it while getting ripped off entering the city.

Meredeath and I watched as the wagon rolled unimpeded out onto the boardwalk connecting the docks. We stood in the shadow of the bridge pylons, silent witnesses to the exchange.

With the help of the moon, we had a perfect view as the uncovered wagon pulled up not thirty yards from the bridge.

A figure popped out of one of the river runners, not bothering with a lamp. The driver and boat owner exchanged words. This was a planned rendezvous.

Moving to the tailgate, the two looked at the wagon’s only cargo, a long, narrow box.

"They're unloading her. She’s alive, I can feel it. We’ve got to do something." Meredeath was standing, anger and outrage pulsed through her voice.

Before I could respond, she ran down the dock, glowing daggers in hand, like a vengeful spirit.

That escalated quickly.

Of course, she charged. Why ask questions when you can kick ass first?

"Unhand her!" Meredeath shouted, her voice carrying over the docks.

As I caught up, lights were coming on in the surrounding boats.

The driver faced Meredeath’s anger, hands out unthreateningly. He looked rough, with a greasy beard and several white scars across his face.

"On whose authority? We're conducting legitimate business," he sounded bored as though he was used to being accused. It wasn't what I expected from someone smuggling a girl out of the city in the middle of the night.

Meredeath, all five-foot-three of her, stood pointing her ominously glowing dagger at the man.

"I'm an [Adventurer], and I’m not going to let you kidnap her. I don’t need formal authority to stop human trafficking." Her teeth were clenched.

"Oh, Tad, another one of those?" someone called from one of the boats. "Everyone, go back to bed, it's just Tad delivering another body."

Groans and complaints issued from the boats around us as lights flickered off.

"Well, Miss [Adventurer], my name's Tad, and I'm the undertaker for the city. This young woman," he gestured to the feet he'd begun to pull from the back of the wagon, "is an Unfortunate. No one claimed her at the morgue, and no one has reported her missing. So, unless you have the burial fee, I'm going to hand her off to Lennie here and be on my way."

I put a hand on Meredeath’s shoulder, trying to will her to calm down. Instead, she whirled, her daggers up.

Sharp, green, malevolent eyes saw only an obstacle to cut down.

"It's okay,” I said calmly, lowering my hammer to the ground. Trusting Meredeath not to stab me, I talked to the undertaker, “Sorry, sir. Just an honest mistake.”

"I saw her move," Meredeath hissed between gritted teeth. I stepped back, no longer certain I was safe.

For the first time all night, I wished Richard were here. He’d defuse Meredeath with some witty joke.

"Well, we can check," Tad said, possibly saving both our lives. "But she's been dead three days. Kept her in the cooling caves, but that still does a number on the body."

He pulled the woman out of the wagon, laying her on the ground. A stained linen shroud wrapped her body. The woman, the body, was limp and lifeless.

Meredeath and I stepped forward, and I was immediately overcome by the sweet smell of rot.

I coughed, stepping back, but Meredeath was undeterred. She used a dagger to pull back the linen.

The woman was dead. What had been a youthful face was marred by the discoloration and bloat from decomposition. Cloud eyes stared sightlessly at the night.

Meredeath sheathed her daggers, bending down to touch the girl's face, "How'd she die?"

"Stabbed in the kidney. One of the delivery drivers found her bled out in the tunnels near the spice district," his voice was softer, kinder, speaking of the dead. He sounded as though this was not an uncommon occurrence. "The rats had already gotten to her, or I'd have kept her longer. But times being as they are. Thank the Everbear for Lennie here, and his soft heart."

Lennie, the boat captain, had joined us. He walked with the arthritic gait of an old man.

"I'll take her. It does her soul no good to gaze upon the stars." Lennie bent next to Meredeath, whispering, "You carry that pain deep, don't you? May you honor your loss."

Squeezing her shoulder, he covered the nameless woman and motioned to Tad to grab her feet. Meredeath stood, joining me as they loaded the body into a protective cradle, cushioning it from the rocking of the boat.

The two men shook hands, then Tad unwound the mooring lines. Lennie used a long pole to push off from the dock, gliding into the current.

A soft glow of a skill lit the boat as it moved upstream. He stood on the aft, glowing with magic like a mythical ferryman for the dead.

"Lennie's a good man," Tad said, joining us as we watched. "He lost his daughter years ago. He takes all the unclaimed women and gives them a proper burial on his family land. It’s a kindness in the world. Even death is expensive these days; the city only pays for a mass grave. This is better."

Silent rivulets of tears ran down Meredeath's usually stoic face.

Here was one of her secrets, laid uncomfortably bare.

I wanted to reach for her, say something clever. But grief wasn’t a monster I knew how to fight.

Instead, I turned to Tad, trying to give her a moment, and asked, "You said rats got at her body? Is the rat problem particularly bad in any one spot?"

[Partial Rapport] gave a distant tug. I ignored it, hoping to get a lead.

Tad studied me, white scars reflecting in the moonlight.

"You're both a bit green to be taking on a problem like that, aren't you?"

"I think we can handle some rats," I said, my pride stung.

He leaned in, his breath heavy with garlic. I tried not to gag as he finished, "They’re heaviest in the southern sewer junction. Down by the restaurants.”

He grabbed my shoulder. "There's more'n rats in the sewers. They're fleeing something." His hand squeezed, emphasizing his last words. "Do you know what rats are scared of, son?”

I wordlessly shook my head.

“Neither do I,” Tad said, as he let go of me.

The undertaker turned back towards his wagon, pulling a toothpick out of his pocket. He set himself stiffly on the bench, the toothpick between his teeth. With a nod, he shook the reins.

“That’s where Tandy and Leo are,” I said to the night air.

The itching in the back of my mind that I’d associated with [Partial Rapport] vanished. Leo, Tandy, and Richard were gone.

“I told you we shouldn’t have split the party.”