I didn't have much time. Still, my eye kept being drawn to a row of important-looking buildings sporting large signs. AlterWorld Bank. OlderBank. Drow Bank. Now that was a thought. I had to be on the Olders' black list as it was, and after our upcoming mission they would circle my name in red. As it was, all my financial interests, including the texting contract and Internet search, were concentrated in our enemy's hands. How dumb could that be? I opened up Wiki, searching for bank rankings. Drow Bank was a private shop, ten million bucks security capital, the sixth biggest in the virtual world. Nothing to sniff at. That was it. Time to shift my capital to the Dark side, LOL.

I pushed the bank's door. A bell tinkled. A well-mannered nonentity took me to an available teller. I opened an account and transferred all twenty thousand of my remaining cash to it. After a moment's thought, I auctioned off all of the remaining tobacco supplies which by then had to have reached or nearly reached the top price. That was another eight grand. I asked about their safe deposit boxes—they did offer them, insured up to a hundred grand, no instances of theft or robbery as yet. Very well, that could wait. It wasn't as if I had too much stuff. All my earthly possessions could easily fit into a bag or my room at the Vets'.

In order to connect to third-party services I had to go upstairs to a department that proudly bore the name of RealService. Their full package worked out even cheaper than the Olders'. They were apparently in the process of setting up a video stream enabling one to watch pre-recorded TV programs and real-world films. The mind boggles.

I spied another sign next to it. RealShop. The name triggered a complex domino effect in my memory. I blushed. Damned if I didn't owe somebody a favor.

I walked over to a respectable-looking salesman, his face reflecting his eagerness to help me solve any problem, provided the price was right.

I pointed at the sign. "Is this what I think it is?"

The man gave me a dignified nod. "Most likely."

"I love your sense of humor. Basically, I need some information about a certain lady. I need to know if she is still employed at the same place. And if she is, I'd like to have a small gift delivered to her."

"That's not a problem. Order processing is twenty gold. The rest is entirely up to you."

Excellent. I strained my memory trying to remember her job title and the company name. My defective real-life memory had failed to preserve her phone number. I had to give them their due: after some initial data processing and a phone call, the worker confirmed that Olga was still employed by Chronos. She was expected at work tomorrow morning.

"What would you prefer to give her?" the salesman asked, flexing his fingers over his virtual keyboard.

"A bunch of flowers, a really nice one," I said with pride.

The salesman cocked his head, studying me. "How long has it been since you've given anyone flowers? Here, we don't operate in generic terms of 'I'd like that bunch of roses over there' or 'I need a few nice carnations'. We work personally with each client. We're able to process any request worth any unlimited amount of money. A million, if necessary. We can stud every petal with diamonds, encase the stems in platinum and present them in a Ming dynasty vase..."

He couldn't have cut me down to size any better had he tried. "No diamonds, please. Rhinestones, why not. Preferably in moderation. How much will it cost?"

He paused. "A hundred twenty gold a flower. Plus ten percent commission."

"Good. I'll need twenty-one of those."

"Accepted. Anything else?"

"I'd like some champagne, please. Demi sec."

"Anything in particular?"

My memory struggled, forcing a single name to the surface. "Veuve Clicquot."

The salesman nodded his understanding. I seemed to have redeemed myself in his eyes a bit.

" White, demi sec. Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin. Nine hundred gold. If the lady is someone very special, I'd suggest Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame Brut. Unique 1998 vintage. Eight thousand gold a bottle."

My inner greedy pig hiccupped and slid down the wall. I lovingly supported him by the elbow. "I think the lady prefers demi sec," I told him firmly.

"Very well. Anything else?"

"A quick message would be nice."

"No problem. I'll take it down."

"Hi Olga. This is Max. Flowers and champagne, as promised. Thanks a lot for the tip. It worked. Laith, High Elf, Level 52. That's it."

He nodded. "With delivery and our commission, that'll be three thousand nine hundred. Your order will be delivered tomorrow between 10 and 12 a.m. Anything else?"

I concentrated, skimming the virtual mall pages, then created a large gourmet hamper for my Mom. Her favorite chocolates, some caviar, smoked sturgeon and foie gras. I racked my brains trying to remember Mom's favorite treats that she normally couldn't afford. I felt no regret whatsoever shelling out another two grand. My inner greedy pig ouched but chose not to interfere.

I checked the clock. Half an hour had disappeared up its own backside. I had to move it. I asked him to email me the customer service contacts, bid a hasty farewell and hurried out.

I had barely taken a few paces.

"You, Snow White! Wait up a sec," a voice said behind my back.

Was he speaking to me? I didn't care. It's not as if I had friends here. Without slowing down, I kept moving along the square, searching for someone sufficiently official-looking to ask my way to the residence of the House of Night.

I could hear a few people catching up with me. I swung round, just in time to parry a hand reaching for my shoulder. "Problems?"

A huge Level 92 Barbarian gave me a gap-toothed smile. "Are you always so quick? We just want to know what a Snow White like yourself is doing in our town. You look nice and friendly enough. As a matter of fact, we were about to set off for your part of the world. Ever heard of the Dark Hunter achievement? I'm actually one blond scalp short of it," he guffawed, eyeing my crown.

"What's the problem? Can't you dye your own hair? I'm sure your friends will be more than happy to help you with the scalp thing."

He frowned. "No need to be so vocal, buddy. What if we go outside the gates and you can help them. We're not asking you for much, are we? What's fifty deaths between friends?"

"Guys, please," I said. "Have you boozed your brain cells away, starting a punchup in town?"

The hoods didn't like it. They stepped in my way. How stupid could they be?

"No violence within the city limits!" Attracted by the brawl, a patrol was already scurrying toward us. The chief guard's practiced stare brushed over me. He lowered his head in respect. The Princess' Mark seemed to be working. He peered at my opponents. His face twitched. "Gont the Barbarian! This is the second verbal warning for disturbing public order. Another one, and you'll have to appear in court. The decision is final. Dismissed!"

The Barbarian glared at me.

Warning! Gont the Barbarian has added you to his personal enemies list. +5 to Fame!

 

Would you like to add Gont to your list? Killing a personal enemy will add +20 to Fame. However, being killed by your personal enemy will result in your losing 40 Fame points. Adding limit: 1 person every 24 hours. Potential trophy: the loser's ear as part of the Avenger achievement.

 

So! I didn't even know we had this sort of option. In any case, I didn't need it at the moment. If his kick was picking enemies fifty levels weaker than himself, he was welcome to it. Decline.