Psilocybin Twenty-Six

It was surprisingly easy to get back to the slums. Not that I just strolled in.

I was far too paranoid... no, in this case it wasn’t paranoia, it was caution. I was far too cautious to simply walk in. Instead, I took a circuitous route back towards the slums, stopping along the way to steal the jacket of a man I found sleeping in an alleyway. It changed my profile and would make it that much harder to tell me apart.

I couldn’t do anything about my height, but I had covered my head a little. Hopefully enough that anyone searching was looking for the wrong person.

There was a chance, still, that I’d be tracked. I didn’t like it, but... well, whatever. I was out.

Nearer to the centre of the city, I discovered the first major signs that things weren’t all well and good. There was a crowd. They were chanting, holding up signs, shouting obscenities.

After spending a lifetime here, I could pick out people based on their class and position in the complex hierarchy at a glance. It was a lot of little things. How clean they were, the clothes they wore, the way someone stood, talked, looked at others. In this case, I could tell that the majority of the crowd here were factory folk. A step or two above the people that lived in my slums.

These were people that had... well, maybe not decent jobs, but at least they had work.

Had. I was sure that if they could, they’d all rather be doing their menial labour right about now.

I circled around the crowd, bringing it between me and the dungeon, then continued on towards the slums. It wasn’t long until I reached them. They were expanding ever outwards.

The slums were busier than usual. A lot of little groups were gathered on the edges of streets, talking, shooting the shit, looking around each other nervously. Violence hadn’t broken out yet. But it was going to. I saw too many guys with bats, knives, and some were clearly passing around guns.

If this turned out to be a repeat of the riots after the fall of the Ditz dungeon, then... well, no, it wouldn’t be a repeat. Ratesco’s Union had taken a beating. They probably didn’t plan on taking a second one.

So, either cooler heads would prevail and they’d keep low, mind their own, and then take over what they could after the riots calmed down. Or, more likely, the Union was going to put their weight behind the incoming clusterfuck.

That would mean armed thugs. Organized, armed thugs. A lot of bullies were going to discover that this time wasn’t like the last one.

I didn’t see it lasting. No matter what happened, the city had just lost the source for maybe a tenth of its manufactured goods. Maybe a little less than that? It was hard to tell, exactly. But I suspected that the exact amount didn’t matter. There was a pattern forming, and after that first bad blow, this one was going to be much worse.

I wanted to go home, but that would be unwise. Instead I made a little detour to one of my smaller, more subtle farms and stuffed away all of the loot I’d dared to pull out of the dungeon. The new mushrooms I kept, but the potions and such I stashed away behind some loose floorboards.

Then I checked on Mister Nibbles again, just to make sure he was alright. His wounds were still rough, but less so than I’d remembered.

We returned to my main farm. I had water there, and once I had him on one of my workbenches, I endured a few weak bites in order to change out his bandages and wash his wounds as best I could with some sponges and soapy water.

“You’ll be fine, you big baby,” I muttered to him.

He bit me again, though it didn’t break skin.

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I made sure to feed him lots. An entire can of lukewarm spam, with some healing mushrooms cut into it. Then water, pure and fresh and also just as lukewarm. It was the best I could do, but it was also fundamental to healing. Food, water, sleep, and some time. I created a small blanket fort for him in the corner of the farm, then glanced around.

I was at a crossroads.

If things went south fast and hard enough, there was a very real chance that the city would fall. There would almost certainly be fires and more riots.

More importantly, my job here was done. I’d demolished the dungeons. I’d triggered two Sporemageddons. Was that enough?

I got the sense that Feronie was happy. Destroying the entire city would make her happier, but it would also be a risk.

In any case, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be here in the next couple of days.

Moving over to another hidden stash, I opened it up, then pulled out the coins I’d looted today. I stacked out all of the money I had. It was a decent amount. Some ninety-odd pounds, a lot more small change. Probably more than what a factory worker made in a year just in large-denomination coins and paper money, and half that again in small change.

This wasn’t even my only stash, I had a couple more.

So... stay, hope that we could weather it out, then leave for the next city, or leave now, while the going was good?

Now was better, in many ways. The issue was my farm, my setup, and the lack of time to plan and pack up, but honestly? I had skills that could let me start over from scratch and have everything going in weeks, a month or two at most. If I brought samples, which I also had squirreled away, then I could cut that down even more.

I locked up, then headed home.

If I was going to leave now, then I’d need to first convince my mom to come. She wouldn’t leave tonight. It would take her time. I could use that time to gather what, and who, I could.

I wasn’t exactly the most loving person around, and I tried to keep a good amount of space between myself and others, but I did like my girls. Besides, it wouldn’t cost much more to take them with us and they’d make for ready-made workers once we arrived in another city. Also, having more of us made us slightly safer.

Willow and her little sister, Daisy, would almost certainly come. They were strangely loyal at times, and they had no love for this city, and probably fewer attachments than I had. If I promised them better, they’d come.

Bet I was less sure on. Conversely, I wanted her to come more. She was clever, a good middle manager. If I wanted to set up an even bigger production elsewhere, then having her along would only help.

Besides, I had a few ideas on how to make even more money before we arrived at whatever place we were heading to. There was almost definitely going to be some nobles fleeing the city. Taking one or two out on route might mean some easy resources.

A plan for later.

My mom finished work at about the time it was, so I’d have time to get home, maybe cook something up for her, as a surprise.

Only when I arrived, there was a small curling line of smoke coming out of our chimney. I opened the door, then slipped in.

My mom was sitting at the counter, nursing a steaming metal mug. She looked up when I came in.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re home early?”

“And you’re back,” she said. “Did your... thing go well?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Did you leave work early?”

“The factory closed early,” she said. “I... don’t know why.”

“I do,” I said. Then I took a deep breath. Feronie help me, this was going to be difficult. “Mom, ah, here, let me start with supper? But we need to talk.”

“Do we?” she asked.

“Yes. Ah... we need to leave.”

“The house?” she asked.

“The city.”

“Love, why would we--”

“Because it’s about to go up in flames,” I said simply, cutting her off. I winced. That wasn’t tactful of me. “Because... if we don’t, we’ll be caught up in it all. The Wendell-Smith dungeon was destroyed and.”

My mom stood up suddenly, so quickly that her chair scraped back. She was staring at me, her expression blank. Then she crossed the room to my small corner of our place. I was confused, until she pulled out a drawer and grabbed a small stack of loose papers I had within.

Maps of the very same dungeon, and some of the things I’d researched before going in.

She looked at them, then turned to me. “What did you do?”

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