The Unfortunate Decisions of Dahlia Moss by Wirestone Max

Author:Wirestone, Max [Wirestone, Max]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction / Mystery & Detective / Amateur Sleuth, Fiction / Action & Adventure, Fiction / Coming Of Age, Fiction / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2015-10-20T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kurt, by the ancient rule known as firsties, was stationed at a very nice computer indeed, and I was splayed out on the carpet using a laptop of yesteryear, which meant that I had a frame rate that made Steamboat Willie look like Pixar. However, given that I wasn’t actually playing, and that I just flittered about the dangerous fields of Zoth with a harp, it didn’t matter terribly much.

It did not take long to find out that the Horizons were in chaos.

Everyone had gotten Bejeweled Spears of Infinite Piercing. That was wave one of the shock.

“It’s fabulous,” said Clemency with a reverence I hadn’t yet heard from her. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s beyond fabulous, Clem. It’s mythic. We are now living myth.” Threadwork was not made speechless by the spear exactly, but even he was choosing his words with a solemn care. And he sounded a little less catlike and a little more plain than was his custom.

All the Horizons were there, all logged on. I haven’t mentioned most of them, as they aren’t strictly relevant, but taken altogether they made quite a group. They seemed very international, sort of like the X-Men. There was their leader, who was some Canadian kid given to saying things like, “Pretty flash, eh?” There was Terrible Southern Accent Guy. And speaking of dreadful accents, Orchardary and Threadwork seemed to be in a war of seeing who could dominate the conversation most.

“It is, without a doubt,” she was saying in a thick Indian American accent, “the most outlandish thing I have ever seen. How much would such a thing cost? It is unthinkable.”

Canada Guy was stammering. Kurt sounded like he was going to cry. Threadwork kept spitting out superlatives—this group, who was usually very restrained about everyone talking over one another on Teamspeak—was utterly disarmed. It dissolved into a cacophony of conversations.

Only Ophelia was unamused. “This is the least practical present anyone has ever been given.”

“It’s just an ornament,” said Orchardary. “Granted, it is too heavy to put on my mantel, at least when nieces and nephews come to visit.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Scarred for Life with His Southern Accent Guy. “I mean, I was slightly pissed at him for stealing the spear, but I never imagined this.”

“He was full of surprises, wasn’t he?” said Clemency.

And that was just wave one. At eight PM, on the dot, everyone in the guild got mail. From Jonah.

It happened like this—the wave of burbling about the spears, it mostly died out into a stunned silence, which was solemn and felt meaningful. Until Orchardary broke it with a speech, going on about the spear’s market value, which suggested she had planned to hock the thing later in the evening. I interrupted this speech and reintroduced myself—because, frankly, I think everyone had forgotten about me.

“Guys, I’m here to plan a funeral for Jonah. I’ll email you all the details about that, but I’m also here to talk to you about the theft of the spear.

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