The Adventuring Adventures of Paul and Richard
See what waking up at 1 AM does to you...
[Paul Reinheart]
I put my paper down, and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hello; I am Richard Bollingbroke," said the voice at the other end of the line. "I wish to speak to Paul Reinheart."
"Speaking," I said.
"I'd like to hire you for a job," he said.
That much had been obvious. Richard Bollingbroke was an amateur adventurer-not a professional like his late father had been, but so far more successful. It was said that he had, by now, managed to pay off his father's debts. A relatively impressive feat, and one that gave me confidence enough in his abilities to consider agreeing to work with him.
"What is the job?" I asked him.
"It is Quoiruvian," Richard began.
"What is the pay?" I asked, before he could get into unnecessary details.
"All expenses, and half of the profits," he said. Not a great incentive, but he had, after all, only recently managed to pay his debts. All expenses seemed fine, considering I wasn't doing anything more profitable at that moment.
"I'll do it," I said.
"Excellent; thank you," he said. "I'll call you later with the flight details."
"That is fine," I said. I put down the phone, and picked up my paper.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
This was my second time hiring adventuring help, and so far it was the best. I had rung a number of people before I had got to Reinheart, and so had to arrange things quite quickly. He hadn't complained about that, nor the third-class plane ticket to Quoriu. I had at least got him a first-class train ticket to our rendezvous (one has to keep up appearances at home), and he had seemed to take advantage of the ride, tucking the last of his complementary sandwich into his coat pocket as he came up to shake my hand.
I glanced over at him. To make up for the fact that we were in third class, I had given him the window seat, and he made full use of it, when he wasn't reading his paper. He wasn't, I had gathered from the first three hours of the flight, very talkative, but neither was he condescending, rude, disdainful, or affected in any way. The brevity of his speech did not leave him much room to be anything. I had received no feeling about what he was like, apart from efficient. That was what the people who recommended him to me had said: he is efficient. I had learned to like that in my ventures, and hoped that he would bring that to our job as well as his personality.
I couldn't help but be nervous, however. After five years of hardship, I had finally managed to get out of the red, shaking free of my inheritance and managing to keep my mother's wretched townhouse in the process. Hiring an adventurer to help me in this voyage was a risk, an extra expense and an extra share gone in a not-certain profit. My very first venture I had hired help, and ever since I had done this thing alone. It was harder by yourself; many were the times I had got myself stuck on a rock face, or lost in a jungle, or fevered and delirious in some country whose language I did not speak. I had managed to survive it, but this was becoming my profession, and I was beginning to long for some, if not comfort, then lack of hardship in these things. I was hoping that having Reinheart along would provide that.
It would certainly not provide any conversation.
[Paul Reinheart]
My employer had organised our trip with, if not efficiency, much forethought and research. The last adventure I had been hired on had been delayed by some weeks due to an oversight on my employer's behalf, and I had been ready for delays, setbacks, and work beyond my job description. Richard Bollingbroke, however, left nothing out of his plans, and though things were not arranged as I would have done them, they were arranged well enough. I was left, as we travelled, wondering what my purpose was in this venture. Possibly I had been hired as an adventuring companion, but I doubted this. I did not have the necessary qualities; surely any person recommending someone for that position would have suggested a more talkative, personable individual. In addition, Richard Bollingbroke, once we had set foot in Quoiru, had become focused on our goal, and any attempt at conversation would have surely been an unwelcome distraction. So it was that I was left following silently in my employer's footsteps until we reached our goal, a small valley in amongst the forested, sketchily mapped mountains of Quoiru's western coast.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
The valley, to my utter disappointment, turned out to be inhabited.
Though the trail to the valley we had had to make ourselves, the way into the valley was paved with rough-hewn stone. A sentry gave a call from somewhere to our left, and soon a delegation from the valley-natives came up the wide stone path. They spoke a strange mixture of Yelvish and Quoiruvian, which I could not get my head around but Reinheart quickly got the hang of.
"They welcome us to their village and ask us if we are invaders," he translated.
"What? Why that bit about invaders?"
"I do not know," Reinheart said. "I told them we were not." The chief, bedecked in beads and wearing two hats, a short-brimmed straw one over a shapeless wool one, spoke again.
"'Then why are you here?'" Reinheart translated.
"We were here to look for abandoned treasure," I said. "But we do not want to trespass, and will go back the way we came."
Reinheart translated this for me. It took a while, because occasionally it was hard to predict what word from which language they knew. The chief smiled, and shook his hands 'no'.
"He says it's going to rain tonight, so we can have dinner at his house," Reinheart said. In truth, I had been eyeing the clouds with misgiving for a while now.
"That is very kind of him," I said. Reinheart told the chief that we accepted his offer, and we all trooped back to their village.
[Paul Reinheart]
The valley people's village appeared to be built in many different styles, which was soon explained over dinner. Apparently they had been invaded many times over the years, by people who were convinced that their valley was a half-way point in a new path over the mountains. In truth, the path to the valley was one-way, and the mountains grew impassable to the other side. The invaders eventually gave up and left, or died from eating the poisonous berries that grew around the valley (which looked a lot like blackberries), though the valley people had learned to warn strangers about them early on.
The village leader's extended family had been interested in my work, and I had told them about a few of my adventures and a little about my demolition-work back home before the elders and the young started yawning and we all went to bed. Richard Bollingbroke, although interested in the history of the place and admiring of their multi-origined lifestyle-he had traded his pocket knife and his jacket for the Tina-style Quoiruvian coat of a young man of like stature-seemed a little out of sorts.
"I am sorry that we came all this way for nothing," he said to me as we got ready for bed.
"How so?" I asked.
"The treasure obviously belongs to the valley-people," he said. "Or is the valley-people, or this mythical mountain path-you know how metaphorical those old wanderers got. I'm afraid you will not make a profit from this trip."
I shrugged.
"Sometimes you don't," I said.
Richard sighed, and settled down to sleep.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
We were halfway down the mountain when the top of it erupted in an echoing, thunderous explosion.
"Good God," I said, staring up at the dust cloud rising from the slope. "That's where the valley is!"
"About half a kilometre away from it," Reinheart said. "The valley-people paid me to destroy the path to them."
"Knowing their history, I can't say I blame them," I murmured. I shook my head. I knew Reinheart was an explosives expert, but why did he have enough with him to make an explosion like that? And how had he managed to smuggle it through customs?
We began walking again. A thought occurred to me.
"Paid you?" I asked. "With what?"
He tossed me something that shone gold in the late morning light. I caught it, and stared down at a real Yelvish gold doubloon.
[Paul Reinheart]
I sorted out my pile of gold that night, as a light rain pattered down on our tent.
"I believe the best way to do this is for us to split it evenly in order to minimise the total tax we need to pay on it, and when we arrive back home you can bill me for my expenses," I said. Richard looked up from his notebook, startled.
"I'm happy to take some back home to reduce the tax," he said, "but I was under the impression that it was yours."
"I agreed to half the profits," I told him. He frowned.
"But--"
"Would I have it if you had not paid me to go there?"
"Well, no..." Richard stared at me for a little while. "Thank you," he said at last.
"No problem," I said, and began sorting the gold out into two equal bags.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
Paul Reinheart was a very satisfactory adventuring partner. I would be very happy to hire him in the future.
[Paul Reinheart]
I put my paper down, and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hello; I am Richard Bollingbroke," said the voice at the other end of the line. "I wish to speak to Paul Reinheart."
"Speaking," I said.
"I'd like to hire you for a job," he said.
That much had been obvious. Richard Bollingbroke was an amateur adventurer-not a professional like his late father had been, but so far more successful. It was said that he had, by now, managed to pay off his father's debts. A relatively impressive feat, and one that gave me confidence enough in his abilities to consider agreeing to work with him.
"What is the job?" I asked him.
"It is Quoiruvian," Richard began.
"What is the pay?" I asked, before he could get into unnecessary details.
"All expenses, and half of the profits," he said. Not a great incentive, but he had, after all, only recently managed to pay his debts. All expenses seemed fine, considering I wasn't doing anything more profitable at that moment.
"I'll do it," I said.
"Excellent; thank you," he said. "I'll call you later with the flight details."
"That is fine," I said. I put down the phone, and picked up my paper.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
This was my second time hiring adventuring help, and so far it was the best. I had rung a number of people before I had got to Reinheart, and so had to arrange things quite quickly. He hadn't complained about that, nor the third-class plane ticket to Quoriu. I had at least got him a first-class train ticket to our rendezvous (one has to keep up appearances at home), and he had seemed to take advantage of the ride, tucking the last of his complementary sandwich into his coat pocket as he came up to shake my hand.
I glanced over at him. To make up for the fact that we were in third class, I had given him the window seat, and he made full use of it, when he wasn't reading his paper. He wasn't, I had gathered from the first three hours of the flight, very talkative, but neither was he condescending, rude, disdainful, or affected in any way. The brevity of his speech did not leave him much room to be anything. I had received no feeling about what he was like, apart from efficient. That was what the people who recommended him to me had said: he is efficient. I had learned to like that in my ventures, and hoped that he would bring that to our job as well as his personality.
I couldn't help but be nervous, however. After five years of hardship, I had finally managed to get out of the red, shaking free of my inheritance and managing to keep my mother's wretched townhouse in the process. Hiring an adventurer to help me in this voyage was a risk, an extra expense and an extra share gone in a not-certain profit. My very first venture I had hired help, and ever since I had done this thing alone. It was harder by yourself; many were the times I had got myself stuck on a rock face, or lost in a jungle, or fevered and delirious in some country whose language I did not speak. I had managed to survive it, but this was becoming my profession, and I was beginning to long for some, if not comfort, then lack of hardship in these things. I was hoping that having Reinheart along would provide that.
It would certainly not provide any conversation.
[Paul Reinheart]
My employer had organised our trip with, if not efficiency, much forethought and research. The last adventure I had been hired on had been delayed by some weeks due to an oversight on my employer's behalf, and I had been ready for delays, setbacks, and work beyond my job description. Richard Bollingbroke, however, left nothing out of his plans, and though things were not arranged as I would have done them, they were arranged well enough. I was left, as we travelled, wondering what my purpose was in this venture. Possibly I had been hired as an adventuring companion, but I doubted this. I did not have the necessary qualities; surely any person recommending someone for that position would have suggested a more talkative, personable individual. In addition, Richard Bollingbroke, once we had set foot in Quoiru, had become focused on our goal, and any attempt at conversation would have surely been an unwelcome distraction. So it was that I was left following silently in my employer's footsteps until we reached our goal, a small valley in amongst the forested, sketchily mapped mountains of Quoiru's western coast.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
The valley, to my utter disappointment, turned out to be inhabited.
Though the trail to the valley we had had to make ourselves, the way into the valley was paved with rough-hewn stone. A sentry gave a call from somewhere to our left, and soon a delegation from the valley-natives came up the wide stone path. They spoke a strange mixture of Yelvish and Quoiruvian, which I could not get my head around but Reinheart quickly got the hang of.
"They welcome us to their village and ask us if we are invaders," he translated.
"What? Why that bit about invaders?"
"I do not know," Reinheart said. "I told them we were not." The chief, bedecked in beads and wearing two hats, a short-brimmed straw one over a shapeless wool one, spoke again.
"'Then why are you here?'" Reinheart translated.
"We were here to look for abandoned treasure," I said. "But we do not want to trespass, and will go back the way we came."
Reinheart translated this for me. It took a while, because occasionally it was hard to predict what word from which language they knew. The chief smiled, and shook his hands 'no'.
"He says it's going to rain tonight, so we can have dinner at his house," Reinheart said. In truth, I had been eyeing the clouds with misgiving for a while now.
"That is very kind of him," I said. Reinheart told the chief that we accepted his offer, and we all trooped back to their village.
[Paul Reinheart]
The valley people's village appeared to be built in many different styles, which was soon explained over dinner. Apparently they had been invaded many times over the years, by people who were convinced that their valley was a half-way point in a new path over the mountains. In truth, the path to the valley was one-way, and the mountains grew impassable to the other side. The invaders eventually gave up and left, or died from eating the poisonous berries that grew around the valley (which looked a lot like blackberries), though the valley people had learned to warn strangers about them early on.
The village leader's extended family had been interested in my work, and I had told them about a few of my adventures and a little about my demolition-work back home before the elders and the young started yawning and we all went to bed. Richard Bollingbroke, although interested in the history of the place and admiring of their multi-origined lifestyle-he had traded his pocket knife and his jacket for the Tina-style Quoiruvian coat of a young man of like stature-seemed a little out of sorts.
"I am sorry that we came all this way for nothing," he said to me as we got ready for bed.
"How so?" I asked.
"The treasure obviously belongs to the valley-people," he said. "Or is the valley-people, or this mythical mountain path-you know how metaphorical those old wanderers got. I'm afraid you will not make a profit from this trip."
I shrugged.
"Sometimes you don't," I said.
Richard sighed, and settled down to sleep.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
We were halfway down the mountain when the top of it erupted in an echoing, thunderous explosion.
"Good God," I said, staring up at the dust cloud rising from the slope. "That's where the valley is!"
"About half a kilometre away from it," Reinheart said. "The valley-people paid me to destroy the path to them."
"Knowing their history, I can't say I blame them," I murmured. I shook my head. I knew Reinheart was an explosives expert, but why did he have enough with him to make an explosion like that? And how had he managed to smuggle it through customs?
We began walking again. A thought occurred to me.
"Paid you?" I asked. "With what?"
He tossed me something that shone gold in the late morning light. I caught it, and stared down at a real Yelvish gold doubloon.
[Paul Reinheart]
I sorted out my pile of gold that night, as a light rain pattered down on our tent.
"I believe the best way to do this is for us to split it evenly in order to minimise the total tax we need to pay on it, and when we arrive back home you can bill me for my expenses," I said. Richard looked up from his notebook, startled.
"I'm happy to take some back home to reduce the tax," he said, "but I was under the impression that it was yours."
"I agreed to half the profits," I told him. He frowned.
"But--"
"Would I have it if you had not paid me to go there?"
"Well, no..." Richard stared at me for a little while. "Thank you," he said at last.
"No problem," I said, and began sorting the gold out into two equal bags.
[Richard Bollingbroke]
Paul Reinheart was a very satisfactory adventuring partner. I would be very happy to hire him in the future.