Twelfth Knight

14. And Now for Someone Completely Different

I sat there, frozen, while all of Jack’s messages poured in. Elation over being able to run. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like. Then pressure, frustration, fear. How am I supposed to help with this? Part of me thought okay, this is good. Perfect. He’ll go back to football, the little blip with you will be easily forgotten, and it won’t even matter that you lied. He won’t have time for gaming or for ASB tournaments or for any of it. Maybe he won’t even have to find out.

But then I hear his voice on the phone and it changes something. Maybe everything.

“Is the park on Main okay?” he asks. He sounds urgent. “I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything. It’s walkable.”

Given the handful of things I have gathered about the world, walking alone this late at night seems like a dumb idea for both of us. Ugh, maybe Jack is dumb. Maybe I’m dumb. No, I’m definitely dumb. He hasn’t even addressed the stupid apology text I compulsively sent him, which was about… nothing. But also everything. “I’ll pick you up.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t test me, Orsino.” I hang up and suffer some jitters, closing my laptop without even bothering to wonder if he’ll say more to Cesario. At least for the time being, it’s me he wants to talk to.

The real me.

I slip downstairs and into the car, starting it with the headlights off and pulling out into the street. The suburbs are so uncanny at night; the way lights flash over neat hedges and oversized sidewalks, glinting off custom mailboxes and manicured lawns.

I pull up to his house and flip off the headlights again, texting him, and he immediately slips out the front door like he was waiting for me just inside. He shivers and pulls open the passenger side, still in his running gear.

“Do you want to go somewhere specific?” I ask him.

He jiggles his knee. “I don’t know.”

“You’re killing me.”

“It doesn’t matter, I just—” He fidgets, rubs his hand over his head, stares at the road. Then he turns to look at me.

“I can run,” he says, and I know him well enough to know there’s more, so I listen. “I can run, I know I can. Which means I could do this—keep my spot at Illyria, make it work. Take things into my own hands. Or I could do nothing and see if they’ll miraculously want me anyway.” He scoffs, like he doesn’t believe that’s actually possible. “But if it’s just a choice between gambles, why shouldn’t I pick the one that wins big? No risk, no reward, right?” He slumps down in his seat. “Which also means a big loss if I lose.”

I nod. It’s not like this is my choice to make, but—

“What do you think?” he asks me, and I blink.

“Who cares what I think?”

“I do. Obviously.” He gives me an unnervingly long look.

“I’m not an expert on knee injuries,” I remind him.

“So? I know plenty of experts and they’re not helping.”

“How are they not helping?”

He bounces his leg up and down again, then shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, throwing the door open. “Let’s walk.”

I step grudgingly out of the car. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, Viola. There’s nowhere to go.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances at me. “You cold?”

“No.” Kind of—my stupid brain notes that it’s interesting, in an ultimately dismissible way, that he’s concerned about me in this moment of severe personal crisis—but that’s not important. “Okay, so, I take it the experts say…?”

“Four weeks until I can play.”

I frown. “But you ran today anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re… superhuman?”

“Maybe.” He flashes me a glance that’s pure Duke Orsino.

So, naturally, I pause to smack him in the arm. “Seriously?”

“What?” he says, and then sighs. “Fine, I know what.”

“Yeah, you’d better. You really think your ability to regenerate exceeds basic anatomy?”

“So you think no, then.” He continues down the sidewalk, brow furrowed in thought. “Is that your vote?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think I’m being irresponsible.”

I shrug. “What else is new?”

The expression on his face morphs from concentration to something else. “I kinda thought you’d cut me a little more slack,” he says tonelessly. “You know. After everything.”

“You oversaw one dance, Orsino,” I sigh. “This is what the gods call hubris.”

This time he stops, turning to face me when we reach the corner.

“Viola,” he says.

“Jackary,” I reply.

“You get that this is serious, right?”

“I mean, it’s football. So, no, I don’t.”

“It’s not just football, though. It’s my life. And I know you’re disparaging of the sports industry but honestly, it seems a little childish. We’re talking millions here, billions.”

He’s rationalizing, so I rationalize right back. “I’ve always thought the economy was ridiculous. It’s just fake. We don’t even have a gold standard anymore. Paper money is worthless enough, and now what? Bitcoin? Please.”

His eyes dance with the laugh he’s too focused to give me.

“You’re seriously off topic,” he replies, suddenly breathless.

“Maybe what you really need is perspective.”

He squares his shoulders, which has the effect (unintended?) of shifting him toward me. “Okay, then give me yours.”

Oh sure, put this on me. I’m used to being the bad guy, but even so, these stakes are higher than I’m used to. (When did Jack Orsino’s happiness become so important to me? A blistering thought, easily reduced to annoyance.)

“I’m not going to make up your mind for you,” I reply testily, lifting my chin.

He’s standing close, like he’s been doing lately. He smells clean, a little salty.

I wait for him to argue. To push back, or to leave.

“I wish I had your certainty,” he says.

Too close. Too much. My breath catches, and I’m in very real danger of doing something I’ll regret, like reaching for his hand. Or being honest.

So I turn and keep walking.

“I’m opinionated, not certain,” I correct him, crossing the street to get some distance from whoever I almost was for a second there. “I’m not sure of anything.”

“So what’s your plan, then?” His tone is bouncy, like he’s amused.

“I don’t have one. I don’t need one. I know what I like, what I care about, what I’m good at, and that’s enough. I’m allowed to want things, Jack. To change my mind. And,” I add, whirling to face him, “don’t make this into some kind of manic dream girl situation, okay? I’m not here to inspire your life choices with my generosity of spirit or whatever.”

“I’d have to be crazy to dream up you,” he replies without hesitation, facing me again.

He glances down. I look up. The effect of meeting in the middle undoes me, and I’m nearly positive he’s looking at my lips. Or I’m looking at his.

Nope, nope, nope.

I turn and walk again, faster this time. “You know what your problem is?” I snap.

“Yes, Viola, now we’re on to something!” Jack exhales, trailing me in a mockery of relief. “Please tell me what my problem is. I already know you know.”

I turn away, annoyed. “If you’re just going to be obnoxious about it—”

“No, I’m serious.” He catches my elbow, rooting me in place.

We’re in front of someone’s house. I think I went here once, maybe in fourth grade, for a class pool party or something with someone I’m no longer friends with. God, I hate the suburbs. Or maybe I just hate feeling like this, like I’m teetering on the edge of something that could so easily be destroyed.

“I just think,” I say, my voice more brittle than even I expect it to be, “that you don’t know what you want, Jack, because there must be part of you that already knows the right choice, but for whatever reason, you don’t like the answer. You say you want to move forward,” I remind him, launching myself into the empty street to cross over to the park. “And you say you want to be more than just football, but the truth is you’re afraid, aren’t you? You’re afraid to admit that you don’t know who you are without it. And you know what’s honestly hilarious about that?” I demand, whipping around to face him.

He’s standing in the middle of the road with me, hands in his pockets, waiting.

“It took you getting hurt and almost losing everything for you to actually let someone see you,” I tell him bitterly, my breath a thin fog in the night air as the truth—part of it—suddenly comes pouring out. “But whoever Duke Orsino was, whatever he becomes, whatever trophies he wins or championships he earns or whatever legacy he came from, he will never be to me what you are—”

“Which is?”

I stop, almost choking, before I go too far. “Nothing. Never mind. The point is—”

“What am I, Viola?” he presses me, taking a step closer.

I glance at my shoes, the manicured roundabout, the empty road. “I’m just saying, it’s a complete waste of time,” I mumble over the morbid grossness of my near-confession, “trying to gamble your entire life on your fear of starting over. What if you get hurt again, Jack? What if it’s worse the next time? Is it really worth throwing away your mobility at seventeen?”

“Vi,” he says. His eyes are soft, and I am wretched.

“You were more than that knee before you tore it, Jack, and you still are.” I’m staring at something behind him, at nothing. The glint of a hubcap, I don’t know. Anything but his face. “You’re—you’re more than just a collection of working or non-working parts, you’re—”

“Vi.”

“I just think,” I say, and realize I’m sniffling; the air is cold, and given everything that’s coming out of my mouth, I’m obviously violently ill. “I just think that it’s your decision. And honestly, it’s very rude of you to ask me to make your choices for you.”

I turn away, furious or feverish or something else altogether, but he reaches out and touches my cheek, like he cares. “Yeah, true.”

And maybe I want him to.

“You should do what feels right.” My voice is softer than I planned. “You’re smart enough to know the costs.”

“Yeah.” His fingers track the edge of my jaw, finding the back of my neck and toying with my ponytail until a sigh parts my lips.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Jack.” He leans in and my traitorous eyes fall shut. His cheek is warm against mine, reassuring.

“No, you can’t,” he says in my ear.

“Besides, I barely know you.”

“Oh now, Viola.” I can feel the motion of his throat when he swallows. “That’s just not true.”

I’m not sure how or when I reach for him. How my fingers become coiled in his sweatshirt, my forearms braced against his chest. Why I breathe when he breathes, almost like we practiced this. Like every contact until now was just a rehearsal for what we might one day do, for what we’d maybe feel. For how close we could one day get.

“This is stupid,” I exhale. I’m not sure if I mean standing in the middle of the street or any of the other stupid circumstances.

“Yes,” he says gravely. “Very.”

“Did you know when you called me…?”

“I had a feeling. A lot of feelings. Wasn’t sure about yours, though.”

“What are yours?”

He tilts my chin up; leans halfway down.

“Well,” he says, his lips floating above mine. “You had me almost right, Viola. It’s just that I’m not as afraid of starting over as you think I am.”

“Funny.” I swallow. “I’m a little petrified.”

“You?” He shakes his head. “You’re not scared of anything. Of anyone.”

“You mean I’m not nice to anyone.”

“You don’t try to please anyone. There’s a difference.”

His nose brushes mine. My lips part, then snap shut.

“You’re waiting,” I observe aloud, noticing he hasn’t moved. He’s just standing there, frozen, me in his arms and half on his lips but not completely. Not quite.

He shrugs. “I don’t think you’re where I am yet.”

“And where exactly is that?”

“Meet me halfway and find out.”

I inhale sharply, the distance between us crackling like static. He doesn’t know about Cesario. Doesn’t know who he’s really been talking to.

Just say it,Bash’s voice tells me. Just tell him before it’s too late.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, attempting to be rational. “About… your knee. About Illyria.”

He shrugs. “Meditate on it.”

“Seriously?”

“Nah. But it’s my call, you’re right.” He tilts toward me, half swaying like the pull of a tide, then thinks better of it.

“You’re not ready,” he says, leaning away.

I nearly follow, pulled into his orbit.

“But I’ll be here,” he adds. “If and when you are. This isn’t a one-time offer or anything.”

“Gonna recruit someone else to try and see inside my head?” I joke, incensed by him, enraged by me.

“No. I know what’s in your head. What I want is something else.”

It bruises me. Cracks me open. Jack, there’s something I have to tell you—

“Jack,” I attempt, but he shakes his head. He untangles his fingers from my hair, his thumb stroking my shoulder before dropping to brush the knuckles of my hand, and the motion is so thoughtful, so fundamentally patient, it makes my chest ache.

“I appreciate you helping me,” he says. “I think maybe you’ve already let me in more than you usually do, and that means something to me. But—” He touches the edge of my palm, then shrugs. “I don’t want to push you into something you can’t give me.”

I don’t know how to explain this, but I know he means me, the real me. Not me-Cesario or ASB-me. Not me on a good day, when I’m tamed or when I’m smiling. Not fractions of me.

He means all of me. Every version.

“Jack,” I say desperately, “you know I’m like… a bitch, right?”

He snorts a little. “Sure, Vi, if that means you never give up. Never accept defeat. Never bend just because someone expects you to.” His hand still dances near mine. “If that makes you a bitch, Vi, then fine, I hope you never change. In fact, I hope you change me. I like to think you already have.”

That, more than anything, hits me like a blow.

“But look,” he says, about to release me. “Let’s just get out of the road, and then—”

I tighten my hand in his and tug him back.

He crashes into me, nearly stumbling. “Vi, are you—”

It’s graceless, I know. I circle my arms around his neck and practically bruise his lips with mine—and the things I do, the motions I attempt, it’s all a mess. For all I have to say about romance narratives or morality arcs, I don’t actually know how to kiss someone, not like this. Not the way I want to kiss Jack Orsino, which happens to be with my entire self, my whole heart.

The laugh that escapes from his mouth to mine almost crushes me with sweetness. It’s tender and sharp, authentic and free. He cradles the back of my head, relieved and amused and helplessly fond, and I feel it, emanating from him to me: joy.

“Just so you know,” I say, pulling away for a second to scold him, “this doesn’t mean that I—”

“Yes it does,” he cuts me off, and kisses me again.

This time it’s slow and honest, like he knows exactly what it means to kiss me and he’s planning to do it right. He touches my cheeks, my jaw, my hair, the side of my neck, and it’s only when headlights flash from afar that I jolt back to myself, up from oblivion and down to reality, tugging him to the sidewalk just in time to stumble out of the road.

I’m out of breath, choking out a gasp when Jack’s laugh rips through the night.

“Come on.” He bundles me under his arm. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

“What? But—”

“We’ve got tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after.” We trip our way forward and he kisses me between words, trying hopelessly to word between kisses.

“Jack, I should tell you…”

But the words die on my tongue. I can’t do this to him.

I can’t be the person who tells him none of this was real. Not now.

“I know,” he says, and he doesn’t. He couldn’t possibly. There’s no way he can feel the mix of things inside my chest, ugly and garish and bright. But then he opens my car door, jokingly straps my seat belt for me, and draws into the moisture of my window: I LIKE YOU VI REYES.

I know it’ll be there in the morning, and for as long as I never wipe it clean. For as long as I never screw it up—which of course I will eventually.

Because I’m going to tell him. I have to tell him.

But not before he kisses me through the window one last time, and I think Okay, Mom.

Okay, so maybe you were just a tiny bit right.

“Oh shit, I’m dead,” says Curio, frowning as his knight (which I have already cleverly told him not to name after himself) gets stabbed in the chest by a mage staff. “Damn, that looks brutal.”

“I told you,” I sigh, “if you just use the mouse to turn—”

“You didn’t tell me shit, Orsino—”

I look up and spot Vi watching me from where she’s sitting at her usual lab table. I wink, and she groans silently from afar, though I catch a trace of a smile on her lips.

“I’m shocked this isn’t banned on school computers,” Curio says mundanely, unaware that the entire universe has shifted since I kissed Vi Reyes two nights ago. “So we can’t get on Twitter, but computer games are no problem?”

“It’s educational,” I say. “Practically intro to computer science.”

“You do know that we have an intro to computer science class, right?”

“Oh shit, we do?” Damn, probably worth paying attention to our elective options. “Whatever, it’s not rocket science, Curio.”

“Maybe not for you.” He kicks out his legs, turning to face me. “Not really what I had in mind, by the way.”

“Well, you said you wanted to be out of the quad.” He caught me as I was on my way into the leadership room with a mock-up of our tournament posters. “Besides,” I add, pointing to where Curio’s avatar winds up right back in Camelot, “I can’t have you embarrassing me like this during the tournament.”

“I am definitely going to embarrass myself,” Curio assures me, “but I guess if it’s for a good cause.”

“My ego? Definitely.”

He laughs. “I’m just glad to see you relax a little bit. I take it you’ve worked something out with Illyria?”

I’m aware from afar that Vi’s feverishly clackety presence on the laptop has paused.

“Honestly? Probably not.” I force a cheerful tone, which isn’t quite as hard as I expected. “I guess we’ll see what they get back to me with.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“The truth.” I try to make it sound easy, although it wasn’t. My reply was essentially that while my rehab is going well, it’s also going slowly, and I don’t think I’ll be ready to play for any portion of the postseason. I attached a letter from Eric and Dr. Barnes about the likelihood that I’d be back to playing strength within eighteen months and added that if that was too long for them, well, I understood and wished them luck.

Illyria is my dream school, I said. Nothing about that has changed, but I’ve learned I can’t make promises about things I can’t control. I will be sticking to the training plan assigned to me by my doctors and I will continue to treat my physical therapy regimen with the same dedication and effort I gave my four seasons of Messaline Varsity. I can promise that if Jack Orsino is the player you want, I will still be him in every way that matters come the fall. But if you prefer to judge me by the health of my knee or by the risks I’m willing to take, I understand if you choose to go a different direction.

I guess you could say I gave them an out. One I’m hoping they won’t take, obviously. But the possibility doesn’t seem as terrifying as it did before.

“Huh,” says Curio. Not rudely, just thoughtfully. “Well, I’m here for you. If you need it.”

“Eh, I might.” My dad took it with silence. My brother was a little bit angrier. He demanded to know what I was thinking, adding that in college there was real money on the line, real stakes, and it wasn’t about being a Boy Scout. I figure that has something to do with him being knocked out of contention for the NCAA playoffs and left off the final list of Heisman candidates, but it still hurts a little. More than I thought it would.

Nick’s supportive, though he’s finally gotten the hang of college and isn’t available as much. He’s busy studying for finals and trying to get into the architecture program, which as far as I can tell is a real drain on his time. He spends more hours in the design lab than he ever used to spend on the field—which is maybe a good thing, since he says it doesn’t feel exhausting. It just feels exciting and new.

As for Vi… I’m giving her a breather. No point making her life revolve around mine; I learned that lesson from Olivia. Instead I’m waiting to see if she’ll tell me what she wants from this, if anything. After we kissed, I texted her that the ball was in her court, and she didn’t answer. Well, she said this: a sports metaphor, really?

Since then we’ve been sort of orbiting each other. I think she’s making excuses to be near me, but I also want to see what happens when she’s ready to do it on purpose. When she’s ready to tell me something real, I’ll be here.

Until then, let’s just say I’ve learned a lot about patience this year.

“Wanna play again?” I ask Curio.

“I think I’ve taken enough of a beating for now. Let’s see you play.” He rises from the desk, swapping places with me, and I sign in. “You said Valentine got you hooked on this?”

“Apparently it’s, like, the thing to do when you’re injured.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Curio drums his fingers on the seat. “Hey, just so you know, I’m not like… I don’t really approve of Volio or anything.”

“Hm?” I’m barely paying attention.

“Volio, with Olivia, I’m not… Oh shit, that’s you? You’ve got hella jewels.”

“Relics,” I correct him. “And look, Volio’s got his own problems.” If I’ve learned anything about Olivia, it’s that she’s not a damsel who needs rescuing. I don’t know what befriending Vi Reyes did to her, but I don’t think she’ll have any trouble shutting him down.

“Sure, but I’m just… Whoa,” Curio says, leaning forward. “And you’ve only been playing for, like, a few months?”

“Oh, here and there,” I lie, as if I haven’t been sacrificing the majority of my sleep to the Camelot Quest. We’re almost done with it—only two realms are left, including our current crusade for the Holy Grail, which I was surprised to learn wasn’t the final relic in the game or the solution to the mystery of the so-called Black Knight. I asked Cesario if he knew anything about how to actually beat the game but he said no, it’s apparently a huge secret. So who knows what happens after we make it to Avalon.

“Who do you play with?” Curio asks.

“Hm?”

“I mean, do you play alone, or…?”

“Oh.” Hm, how to explain this. “I’ve got a partner, sort of.”

“Someone you know?”

I notice that Vi is listening again, which makes me want to laugh. For all that she pretends she doesn’t care…

“Hey, sorry, I actually just remembered I’ve got to finish something for Bowen,” I tell Curio, shutting the laptop. “Mind if we do this another time?”

“Oh yeah, sure. I should get going anyway.” Curio slings his backpack over one shoulder, then offers me a salute. “See you at practice?”

“You know it.”

When he’s gone I meander over to Vi, who pointedly keeps her eyes fixed on the screen of her laptop.

“Busy?” I ask, pausing behind her lab stool. If she leaned back even a fraction of an inch her spine would meet my chest, so to make sure she knows it, I rest my arms on either side of hers, pretending to linger there casually.

“Obviously,” she says.

“What’s this? English paper?”

“Mm.”

“Looks finished to me.”

“Well,” she begins snottily, “obviously to the untrained eye—”

I lean closer for further pretend inspection, my chin brushing the line of her shoulder, and she inhales so sharply I think she scares herself.

“Nervous?” I ask in her ear, and she elbows me.

“All this just to get out of admitting your secret gaming life?” she grumbles when I double over, ironically forcing me to curl around her so she’s more securely in my arms.

“Nope. Just figured it had been a while since I last antagonized you.”

“What happened to the ball being in my end zone?”

“Court, but you know that. You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Nah, it just comes naturally.”

I wonder if she feels the way she gives in to me, vertebra by vertebra, breath by breath. It’s like she’s calculating each degree she relaxes against me, slowly, and I relish it.

Temporarily. Then I step away and she catches herself. “Dickhead,” she mutters.

“As a reminder,” I point out, “you could have me if you wanted.”

She lifts a brow. “Aren’t there some kind of Neanderthal sportzboi rules about admitting things like that?”

“Probably.” I tip her chin up and mirror the face she makes, a little scrunched-up look of irritation. “Cute.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” she sighs.

“Yes.” I lean forward like I’m going to kiss her, then stop, waiting for the telltale stutter of her breath that says she wants me to. “See you later,” I say, releasing her in the same motion as I step away, pivoting to grab my bag and returning the borrowed laptop to its charging port.

“Dickhead,” she calls after me again, and I hide a smile.

DUKEORSINO12:everything good with you?

C354R10:it’d be better if we had the friggin grail

The Grail is allegedly somewhere inside this massive castle, for which I thought the Ring of Dispell relic Cesario used before would be helpful. It isn’t, because of course that would be too easy. There’s a bunch of magical traps lying around, for which our only source of light is the Corbenic Sword with a glowing red hilt; a relic of this realm that we had to win off a particularly nasty sorcerer.

This is not why I asked how Cesario was doing, of course, though I feel weird about bringing up things I notice in real life. I caught Bash and Vi Reyes arguing in the parking lot from inside their car; I don’t know what it is, but I’m much more attuned to whatever Vi is doing these days. It’s like my brain zeroes in on her if I so much as catch her profile out of the corner of my eye.

DUKEORSINO12:I’m serious

C354R10:I’m seriously fine

C354R10:a little pissed about this week’s WoT but fine

It’s the second-to-last episode before the season finale, which is supposed to be epic. Nick’s going to be home for winter break by then, so he asked me if I wanted to come over and watch it at his house. I haven’t decided if I’m going to go; I want to, but I also kind of want to watch it with Vi. I haven’t brought it up to her yet, but I have a feeling she doesn’t want to be at Antonia’s house.

DUKEORSINO12:still mad the writers sent cesario on that random side quest?

C354R10:pissed about liliana this time actually

C354R10:sucks whenever they take the only interesting female character and make her ~eViL~

C354R10:you know what I mean

C354R10:they made her suffer for so long and now I bet they’re going to kill her off for rodrigo’s story

C354R10:or maybe even cesario’s

DUKEORSINO12:no way, they can’t just kill her off

DUKEORSINO12:she’s way too important

C354R10:yeah well writers always think killing off a female character is “new” and “edgy”

C354R10:since that way she never actually becomes anything

DUKEORSINO12:you have a lot of feelings on this

C354R10:I have a normal amount of feelings on this

C354R10:it’s bad storytelling

DUKEORSINO12:it hasn’t happened yet!

C354R10:k but it will

C354R10:just watch

DUKEORSINO12:if it does vi is going to lose her shit

C354R10:for sure

The thought of it, Vi getting angry at something that isn’t me for once, nearly makes me smile. I dig out my phone and text her: what do you think about watching the WoT finale with me?

It’ll be the weekend after the tournament. Which is the week after State. So I guess by then, I’ll know whether or not Illyria is planning to cut me loose.

Before I can think about it too much, her answer comes in: k

A woman of many words. I roll my eyes, adding, nick asked me if we wanted to watch at his house but I’m guessing… no?

She answers just as succinctly: no

are you ever going to tell me what happened with you and antonia?

She types for a second.

it was my fault

I don’t believe that,I reply.

I’m not actually that great of a person, Orsino,she says.

again, doubtful,I tell her, because as mean as she wants to think she is, I don’t believe she’s capable of hurting anyone. I’ve already seen her in action—she’s impatient, she’s prickly, she’s rude, but she’s never cruel. I’m about to remind her that I actually do know her, but then my computer screen flashes, a red invading the dull tones of shadowy blacks, and I look up, startled.

C354R10:uh, hello?? quest??

“Shit,” I say aloud, realizing it’s an ambush; not combat, from another player, but an environmental challenge from a non-player character, built into the quest. The game is attacking us, which, on the plus side, must mean we’re getting close to the Grail.

It’s a sorcerer, someone who looks very much like a jacked and possibly possessed Merlin. Are we supposed to kill him? Not if he knows something.

DUKEORSINO12:don’t we have a relic for this?

DUKEORSINO12:something that can get him to talk

It hits me that the Ring of Dispell would probably work at the exact moment Cesario decides to use it. The shroud of sorcery lifts, and then, like a bolt of lightning, the sorcerer’s appearance changes; the game shifts to tell us he’s been freed from a curse. Would we like to ask him anything?

Uh, hello? Yes.

where is the Holy Grail?I type in.

The sorcerer steps aside, revealing a stone passageway we might never have found.

C354R10:well, check you out orsino

C354R10:you’re not nearly as useless as you look

It’s funny, but I almost hear it in Vi’s voice. I guess she’s just on my mind, though right now I’m focused on getting the hell out of this castle.