Chapter 60: Chapter 60: An Important Negotiation

Even the chickens wait silently for Mrs. Threadgood to make up her mind about the imps.

She stands still for a moment, her careworn but still pleasant face betraying nothing. Then, she approaches the lead imp with businesslike steps.

“You. What is your name?”

“Dex,” the lead imp replies. “This is my clan. They will behave for now.”

The other imps grumble, but they apparently know better than to contradict Dex. As one, they bow. I have to bite back a laugh, because it’s funny to see these miscreants suddenly becoming polite and meek.

“Dex.” Mrs. Threadgood curtsies. “My name is Elsie Threadgood. Now, I don’t mind giving second chances, and maybe even third chances, but I like to see people making an effort to do better. You understand, don’t you?”

“I think so,” Dex replies.

Briskly, Mrs. Threadgood explains, “When you and your clan acted up before, it upset the chickens. They hate that. And the cows couldn’t give milk. They don’t like that very much. And I couldn’t get my produce to market because I didn’t have any. That doesn’t make my customers or me very happy.”

“We didn’t mean any harm,” Dex says, holding up his hands. “Only you didn’t listen to us.”

Another brave imp speaks up. “You just kept on working. No rest. No fun.”

Now that I’m seeing these little imps, I realize that I encountered them in the game when I played in my human life…

* * * * *

THREE MONTHS AGO

Damon shakes his head when I click my mouse and select “Attack”. His scowl would do justice to our parents.

“Big mistake, bro.”

“Okay, Dad,” I quip. “Relax. This is an easy win. Leveling up is the name of the game.”

“Actually, it rewards strategy and problem-solving, too,” he answers.

I scoff. “Yeah, but not as fast.”

He pops some spicy potato sticks in his mouth and crunches disapprovingly. “If I were your law school professors, I’d flunk you for that kind of thinking.”

I want to point out that he wouldn’t be caught dead in law school because it would be too much like what our parents want. However, I’m too focused on the game.

Onscreen, my tiger pounces, shooting glowing digital stars. Digital fire and explosions. The imps scream. “AAH!”

A dialogue bubble appears, and one of the imps says, “We just wanted to have fun. To teach you how to play.”

I keep shooting stars, racking up points, until the imps are all gone and my tiger is halfway to leveling up. Pumping my fist in the air, I feel an ache in my heart. Probably a pulled muscle from the gym.

Damon shakes his head, sorrowful. “You’re going to find out that the game isn’t fooling.”

I snort. “Whatever. It’s just a game.”

“Then why do you look like this?” He imitates my resting serious face. “You look like this game is life or death.”

“Come on. Of course I know it’s not.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, bro. I worry about you. You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m good. Really.” I brush off his concern. “But what about you? Gone on any dates recently?”

It’s a cheap deflection, and I know it.

Damon’s face registers hurt, and he throws aside the game controller. “I’m just trying to help. You don’t want my help, fine. I’ll never say anything to you again.”

“Damon. Don’t be so sensitive.”

He leaps up, eyes blazing. “Just so you know, you can fool Mom and Dad, but I know you.”

Oh no. I’ve gone too far. Even if Damon is overreacting, I should probably fix this before it turns into a full-blown fight. I can just hear Mom and Dad: “Look out for your little brother.”

Getting up, I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. Please. I really want to continue playing.”

For a moment, he lets me suffer. Then, he shrugs. “I wanted to see you grovel a bit more, but you look like a sad puppy. How can I say no?”

We both sit back down and continue the gameplay as if nothing happened. However, his eyes track my movements, and even though I’m closer to leveling up, I feel as if I’ve missed some critical opportunity. That’s ridiculous, right? It’s just a game.

The next session, the farmer loses her farm because she’s too sick to work anymore, and the farm is sold to someone that no one likes, and who is mean to my character and the beast taming family. I miss the old farmer. But it’s just a game.

* * * * *

PRESENT

I re-focus. Mrs. Threadgood is talking to the imps, especially Dex.

“You hire help,” Dex reminds her. “Good help.”

Mrs. Threadgood blushes, her suntanned careworn face turning red. “Yes, my farmhands are very capable. But it’s my farm, you see. Mr. Threadgood wanted me to keep it up. And it’s been in my family forever. If we’d had children, I suppose it would be different.”

Dex nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does. “But you are this farm.”

“They’re right,” Kaline comments. “Everyone in the village knows you work the hardest, and you grow the best produce and the freshest eggs.”

The hens cluck as if they understand, which they do. Of course, they’re disgruntled at hearing a human woman be praised for something that they alone do, to wit, laying eggs.

“I mean you sell the freshest eggs, of course,” Kaline corrects herself with a blush. “But the chickens lay the eggs because they like being here.”

I nudge Kaline. [Tell her that if she gets sick and can’t work the farm, someone else might buy it, and they wouldn’t treat the hens as kindly as she does.]

Kaline recites what I told her to say, in her own words, of course.

Paling, Mrs. Threadgood sinks to the ground. “I never thought of that. Someone else buying my farm? That is the last thing I want.”

“Us too.” Dex ambles over, still a little sore and stiff from me landing on him. Patting Mrs. Threadgood’s arm, he says, “We like you. We don’t want another farmer.”

She blows her nose with a homespun handkerchief. “Thank you. But how can I run my farm with the ground all wrecked?”

A rough, mean woman’s voice interjects, and Mrs. Threadgood tenses up. “Well, well. Seems like the reports of trouble on this farm don’t lie.”

Kaline recognizes the voice, and her anger hits me like a broadsword through the bond. “NO. Not her.”

I rotate around, ready to pounce, and see a haughty woman built like a barrel. Not that Mrs. Threadgood is any pin-thin woman, but she’s healthy. This mean woman just looks like a tank.

“Jessamyn Wheelwright,” Mrs. Threadgood says, the words like the crack of a whip. “Have you got business on my farm?”

Smug, Jessamyn Wheelwright looks like the kind of person who likes stomping on flowers, juts because. “I’m aiming to buy your farm cheap.”

“You get out,” Kaline shouts. “I can have my parents here in no time. We get all our eggs and produce from Mrs. Threadgood. You leave her alone.”

That’s my Kaline. A friend is always a friend in her eyes. And I’d like to see this woman try to throw her considerable weight around with Minette and Lamant.

Mrs. Wheelwright’s smug face falters, but she quickly recovers. “Run back home, girl, and play with your little kitten.” She gives me the stink-eye.

Little kitten, am I?

[Kaline. Say the word and I’ll chase her away.]

Kaline doesn’t even bother answering me. “Blaze. ATTACK.”

NOW my attacking can be put to good use.

Before Mrs. Wheelwright can open her venomous mouth to say something, I use my Super Jump power to spring at her.

The imps jump after me, enraged. They screech in their Impish language, a battle cry. I don’t understand the words, and the language makes my ears bleed, but I grasp the meaning.

Mrs. Wheelwright is going down.

The imps grab onto Mrs. Wheelwright with their grubby, greedy hands. They claw, pinch, and squeeze, while I poke her with my claws. Her shrieks split the air. Then, the chickens join in, pecking and clawing. Even the sleepy cat and dragonet contribute.

“GET THEM OFF ME! GET THEM OFF ME!”

Flailing, floundering, she can’t shake us loose. In fact, her shape hinders her, because there is more of her to grab onto. She’s going to look like a bruised pincushion tomorrow.

“NO MORE! NO MORE! I’M BEGGING YOU!”

Mrs. Threadgood whistles sharply, and we all freeze, our attack on pause.

“That’ll do,” Mrs. Threadgood says, quiet triumph in her voice. “Leave off.”

Reluctantly, I leap down and stand glaring at Mrs. Wheelwright. The imps and chickens also come back down and band together like a miniature army. The cat and Butterbur the dragonet also stand up to her. The farm hands have come running with pitchforks and shovels. Kaline joins them, a look of vindication on her face. Finally, Mrs. Threadgood stands nose to nose with her former enemy.

“I wouldn’t come back here again if I were you,” Kaline tells Mrs. Wheelwright. “It’s going to be even worse for you next time, because my parents will be waiting. And so will my beast, and the imps, and the chickens. The cows and pigs might join in next time.”

Mrs. Wheelwright has nothing to say to that. Whirling around, she stomps away from the farm.

Cheers erupt from the imps, the chickens, the dragonet, and the farm hands.

[Side Quest Completed. Blaze XP +5.]

Mrs. Threadgood turns to Dex. “Now I think we should talk about you and your imps staying on this farm. After we clean up this mess.”

Damon, I wish you could see this right now. Maybe you are. I finally learned my lesson.

Suddenly, I feel faint…

“JOSH! JOSH! Can you hear me?”

That’s my mother’s voice. My real mother. What is happening?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep