“I want to say that the Mobile Omen idea must have been yours,” Lucien said, looking at me. “Is that what you were plotting when I sent my little greeting?”

He didn’t wait for me to answer; he just continued talking in a casual, overly friendly way, as if he couldn’t recognize any reason for hostility between us.

“My staff were telling me that I needed to stock the casino with the biggest and baddest Omens to prevent you from waltzing in here, to put you in a bad way, make you desperate so that you would agree to anything I asked.” He looked at each of us and stopped when he saw Daphne. “But I told them the casino has defenses of its own… Pretty girl, how in the world did you swing that?”

It was a good question. Daphne was beautiful and smart. I wondered how I ended up with her every single day. It would get pretty annoying if everyone commented on it.

“She didn’t have a lot of options,” I said. “I figured I’d better shoot my shot before we rescued somebody too handsome.”

Lucien laughed.

“Women have a way of making it all worth it, don’t they? But of course, they also have a tendency to break your heart. I’d watch out if I were you. But I suppose introductions are in order, even if they are kind of hollow at this point. Lucien Graves is my stage name. You can call me Lucky. I’d tell you my real name if I remembered it. It starts with an H, I think, I have it written down somewhere.”

Calling him Lucky sounded a little too informal.

No one reacted. People in this group had stared down werewolves, mutant bed bugs, and serial killers, but it was this man, this seemingly average man, who paralyzed our tongues.

“Ohh, come on, people! I even dressed down to try to seem relatable. What has Riley here been saying about us? No harm will come to you if you speak to me, I assure you of that. Is it the dinosaur thing? I was going for playful.”

Playful? Terrifying us and killing dozens of NPCs just to send a cute little greeting was not playful.

“We came here to hear a pitch,” Antoine said.

“But shouldn’t we begin by getting to know each other?” Lucky asked. “Follow me. I had some food prepared, though you may not want to eat too much if you’re going to fit into your tights.”

Antoine suddenly lost his nerve.

Lucien, or Lucky, waved us over to a table that looked like a craft services table, lots of sandwiches and finger foods.

“Come on, at least pretend to be friendly,” he said. “You’re supposed to be fooling me into believing that you might accept my offer, surely? To what end, I could hardly say. But, in Carousel, we commit to our charades, by god.”

He was trying to read us.

“We just want to know the options,” I said.

“Of course you do,” Lucky responded.

Still, even with his pushy yet still technically friendly insistence, none of us got any food other than Lucky himself.

Except for Jules, who filled up a plate.

I wasn’t exactly sure if she knew what the Narrator was, or if she was even able to know, but if she did, she didn’t seem to care one way or another.

Daphne was almost petrified, which was very unusual for her, as she was usually so confident and charming.

I put my arm around her and whispered, “It’s okay. If he were going to kill us, he would have done it already.”

She looked at me, confused.

“We’re meeting with a Narrator,” she said, almost in disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” I said. “Why do you think we ran this Storyline?”

She seemed to think on that, as if she hadn’t really believed it would happen.

Lucky found one of the many chairs that populated the auditorium and sat himself down, gesturing for all of us to do the same. It wasn’t exactly the perfect place for a meeting, but if we were being informal, it would work.

He gave the impression of a cool college professor with no respect for rules or propriety.

“Let me introduce myself, then,” he said. “I was born in a world a lot like yours. A bit earlier, though. I was a merchant seaman, I think. I usually tell people that I was a gambler on a riverboat, but I don’t remember if that’s true or not. It’s funny how memory works. You can hardly trust it sometimes. Best to go by what you see in front of you. But I certainly worked at sea, worked in the water, because it was on one night, when I was alone on deck, staring at the stars and contemplating my future, that I came across the Barker.”

He turned to me very quickly and said, “You have told them about the Sweepstakes, right? This isn’t going to confuse them?”

“They know,” I said.

“Good, good. Well, the Barker, he asked me for a whole month’s wages. Mind you, the Barker had not been in my world for long, and I had no idea what kind of bargain I was striking. But I’ve always been the type of man who says yes, and a month’s wages wasn’t much to lose. I had a feeling that I wouldn’t regret it. I still don’t know if I was right. He gave me some tickets, trifles, mostly, but among them was the most important ticket I have ever received in my many years.”

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He pulled from thin air an elaborate, golden ticket on a bone-white background and held it up for us to see.

And what I saw, I did not expect.

The title on the ticket was A Touch of Destiny. I was expecting something like Congratulations, You’ll Live to See the Extinction of Everyone You Love.

“A very rare ticket,” Lucky explained. “You see, it didn’t just grant me immortality, it granted me immortality until my destiny has been fulfilled. Most people wonder about their fate. Mine is written in ink. And as the years passed, I haven’t aged. Not even a day. All the while, I have been guided by the hand of fate in all of my dealings, blessed with extraordinary luck. The path carved for me by the Sweepstakes has led me here. I aim to find my destiny, to find the ends that justify my means. And I believe that they exist in Carousel.”

I squinted, trying to read the ticket. There was so much text, beautifully woven into the graphic design of the ticket. A small box was in the upper left corner, where it seemed someone had poked a round spike through it in lieu of a hole punch.

“What could Carousel possibly offer you?” Logan asked, waking from the stupor we had shared.

“I have no idea,” Lucky said. He smiled. “But I hope it’s something glorious. What else could warrant what the years have done to me?”

He didn’t look worse for wear. He stood up in front of us.

“You wanted to hear my pitch,” he continued. “Well, here it is. I’m currently seeking to find something I lost whenever Carousel had its temper tantrum. I’m looking not for an object, but for a place, a refuge. You see, we present to the audience that I am some sort of gambler or risk taker, it plays pretty well with teenage boys, but in truth, my role at the Company is to seek the secrets of Carousel. But not its origin, or the underlying magic that makes it tick. There are better minds for that. My job is to peel back the layers and try to get a better picture of the full beast.

“On my last throughline, before I was so rudely interrupted, we had just found a sanctuary. A neighborhood in Carousel filled with meta-aware NPCs who live in a survivor’s community, fighting against monsters that roam free. Now, we have no idea why Carousel created such a place. Perhaps it’s farming NPCs or farming monsters, I could never say, but I intend to find my way back there. To understand what it is Carousel is up to. To help them if they need help. To learn the magic that sustains their existence, if possible, so that we might be able to create more colonies in Carousel with refugees from the Many Worlds. But finding it again would require a small throughline. And that is where you come in.”

He snapped his fingers, and some NPCs carried out a large roll of paper, hastily unrolling it and holding it up for us.

Lucien Graves’ Carousel Safari: A Throughline Adventure.

The poster depicted Lucien dressed up like an old-fashioned explorer on safari. Monsters roamed the fields in the back of the image. They might have been werewolves or some sort of ancient beasts, I couldn’t tell. Vaguely tribal art words surrounded the poster, featuring depictions of animals and temples.

“Mr. Stone,” Lucky said, “it is my understanding that you’re angling for an Adventurer advanced archetype. Well, here is your chance. We don’t tell the audience we’re looking for an NPC community hidden deep within Carousel; we tell them that we’re looking for the monsters. That we’re going on a hunt. You see, I believe that will give us the cover we need for our true purpose, and it will attract lots of viewers who will empower your tropes and give you narrative momentum.

“The best part is, I don’t think it would take too long to find the community I’m looking for. Four or five stories could possibly do it, but it might be more than that. You’d be in and out in no time at all, a matter of weeks. Yes, I’m not trying to find any of my dead spouses or cure space zombies, but it is a simple, attainable goal. That’s something most Narrators will never offer.”

We all digested what he said. No one quite knew what to say. The only sound that could be heard was Jules eating.

“Now is the part where you talk,” Lucky said.

“We’ll think about it,” I said.

“Splendid,” he responded.

“When you say meta-aware NPCs,” Bobby asked, “are they scripted, or are they somehow free? And if so, how are they NPCs and not just normal people?”

“We are certain that they’re Non-Player Characters. But they aren’t matched to any story or script, as far as we can tell. However, they do seem to have an awareness of how Carousel normally works. Current theories among my staff are that they might have escaped Carousel proper. They were afraid of my team. The players I had at the time were very well suited for killing monsters, but not so great for being ambassadors. But that’s to be expected with volunteers.”

Volunteers?

“What would helping them involve?” Kimberly asked. “Are they in trouble?”

“Every day of their lives,” Lucky answered. “The monsters that roam in their midst are incredibly dangerous, and it isn’t clear whether or not they’re attached to the script or even have tropes. The survivors have limited weapons and supplies, and they must scavenge what they can. We don’t know how they do it, but we suspect they know Carousel’s inner workings in the way that many meta-aware Non-Player Characters do.”

He turned to look at Jules.

“Maybe you could give us some insight,” he said.

“I’m just here for the sandwiches,” she said. “I’m certain I can’t even understand what you’re saying.”

“Of course,” Lucky said. “Our ability to amend the script is quite comprehensive, but our ability to ascertain what Carousel has already written on it is yet underdeveloped. It is possible that these survivors don’t want our help, but it is worth attempting contact, both for what we can learn and what we can offer.”

It was strange. I had pictured that this man would ask us to find him gold or magical objects. There was something businesslike and straightforward about his approach.

“And what do we get in return?” Antoine asked. “Aside from an advanced archetype.”

“My protection and guidance,” Lucky said. “This is a chance for you to grow as players. As the throughline develops, so too will the difficulty, and the rewards will be commensurate.”

“So it’s a side quest,” Logan said. “A distraction.”

“Would you like me to lie to you and say it’s something else?” Lucky asked. “It is exactly how I’ve presented it, an opportunity to learn about Carousel and possibly to help a group of people trapped here with you.”

“And if we did decide to join your throughline,” I said, “would that exclude us from choosing Carousel’s throughline later?”

Lucky thought for a moment.

“I don’t suspect so. But you will have to wait until after mine is complete. Multiple throughlines is one thing, but multiple Narrators is another.”

We all looked at each other, unsure of what to say next.

“There’s no reason for you to decide hastily,” Lucky said. “We aren’t in a hurry here, and you do have a storyline to finish. I wouldn’t want this beautiful bride to miss out on her wedding day. Most people don’t get too many of those in one lifetime. Myself, I’ve had at least a dozen wives, probably more, and outlived them all. But in a way, I think it’s better that I lived longer. There is nothing more troubling than a young widow.”

Was that a threat? I couldn’t tell. Daphne held me even tighter.

“We’ll get back to you,” I said.

I should have said something that sounded tougher, more intimidating. But I suppose that anything that came out of my mouth wasn’t going to intimidate an immortal sorcerer. Should I have said more? Should I have asked more questions? If we seemed too desperate for answers, would that give him leverage in any future negotiations?

We walked back out of the betting hall as one of the NPCs marked down the results of yet another bet that I couldn’t see.

I wondered if it had anything to do with us.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep