The Longest March

The message came at dawn.

Bruce Brysworth didn’t know who had sent it, and certainly not why it had been sent, but as he read the spiralling handwriting he hypothesised.

“’’Be at the Moon by Noon.’’”

Bruce read the message several times over. “The Moon at Noon”. What was it supposed to mean? Presumably it was a metaphor for something – a place involving a celestial body and something to do either with midday or lunch. It was cryptic all right, that Bruce could be sure of. His mind was jumping to all sorts of ideas – perhaps the Noon part meant lunch, as if it were poisoned? And that would send him to a celestial place – heaven? Or maybe it was simply a matter of being somewhere with a moon at midday. He was confused. Bruce vowed as soon as he finished a breakfast of porridge he would be out of the door and on the way to see his friend Delph Magus, a famous detective.

The sun was low in the blue sky as he walked out into the fresh, wet air and started walking to Delph’s house. Although this little detour would unfortunately disrupt his daily routine of morning exercises, he compensated with power walking and stretching along the road to Varrock. That was a long walk, and made longer by the fact he lived only just north of Rimmington. When he finally arrived in Varrock he entered the main plaza, before turning left and then right to access the narrow street where Delph Magus lived. He knocked on the door, and after a brief wait heard footsteps rumble down the stairs. The eye-hatch flicked up, revealing Delph’s grey-brown eyebrows and fierce blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. The hatch flicked shut again, and the door opened.

“Hello Delph!” said Bruce.

“Bruce! Marvellous to see you again, sir.”

“How’s the case of the Mysterious Mudbeast going?”

“Oh, it’s still at large. Don’t you read the paper – there were four more robberies this month!”

“Actually, I just came back from Isafdar. The long route.”

“The mountains?”

“Yep. But anyway, I got this note earlier.” He rummaged through his bag and produced the note. “I need you to decode it for me.”

Delph took it and murmured as he read through it. After about half a minute he gave a deep sigh and lay back in the large red chair he was sitting in.

“Well,” he said after a few minutes, “I have no idea.”

“No idea?”

“Not a clue. There’re just far too many possibilities to pick any one without having several others make equal sense.”

“So what do I do?”

“Um... why not head off to the library? Perhaps that Reldo person can help you out.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.”

“No problem Bruce. I’ll show you to the door.”

A few minutes later, Bruce was back out on Varrock’s eastern thoroughfare, walking again towards the plaza. When he reached it, he was going to go straight to the library, but realised that he was very thirsty. He knew he shouldn’t get too used to the conveniences of home life, but he had to treat himself now and then. He turned onto the southern road to the bar. The clock at the centre of the square read five to twelve.

Bruce was just about to walk into the bar when he stopped and looked at the sign. The Blue Moon Inn. Moon. He looked across the alley to the Timekeeper store. The clock read twelve o’clock. Then all the church bells started to ring. Noon. “’’Moon at noon.’’”

Instantly, he felt a hand clasp his back and pull him off the crowded street into a tiny alley beside the Inn. He would have struggled if he hadn’t realised this was a contact.

“Bruce Brysworth?”

“Yes?”

“Are you aware of what is happening to the market?”

“No.”

“Where have you been recently?”

“The Isafdar Mountains?”

The figure grunted, then continued in it’s rasping voice,

“The market is in it’s worst state ever. Me and my associates blame it on the Grand Exchange.”

“So...?”

“As you know there are many Grand Exchanges. All are connected to one central command centre, where goods are sent and redirected as demanded. It’s this rapid transfer of goods that is preventing items to lose or gain value as they should normally do. Instead, items which should be incredibly expensive go three a penny, and things that used to be cheap are now through the roof in pricing.”

“You want me to destroy this central link?”

“I see you have jumped to that – correct – conclusion. Yes, we do want you to destroy it. Or at the very least sabotage it. A power failure, removing one of the teleports – it doesn’t matter as long as it can’t do it’s job. Of course the more damage you do the better it will be for the economy.”

“Will I be paid?”

“Depending on how well you do your job. Of course, we can’t risk giving you any money at all if you cause only a little damage – the inflation and deflation that has hit gold would make it pointless. But of course if you take out the entire complex then you will receive a substantial amount directed to a new tax-free bank account in your name.”

“Where is it?”

“Mount Gnarvich.”

Bruce fell silent. After a few moments he said,

“Will I get any help from you or your colleagues?”

“No. In fact, you will only see one of us at a time. You will never see me again. Now, are you prepared?”

“I can be by dawn tomorrow.”

“Then go. You will receive your map and any other information you may need at midnight. Remember, Bruce Brysworth, the more damage you do up there the better everything will be for the world.”

“I will.”

“Good luck.”

The figure backed into the deeper shadows. Bruce walked back out into the street. He no longer needed to visit Reldo. But he was still thirsty. He turned and walked into the bar, ordering a pint of lager. He drank it in one long gulp.

As Bruce walked over hills and streams, he studied the map he had been given, plotting a rough course of what looked safe for now. “Cliff... cliff... forest... cliff... extinct volcano... wolf-infested valley... ooh! An old town! I’ll go through that!” He jotted down a thick pencil line. He then folded it, stuffed it into one of the pockets in the gigantic backpack he was carrying, and looked up to see what was ahead.

In the distance, a huge mountain chain with white peaks and silver sides towered over the rest of the landscape. They were really just a continuation of White Wolf Mountain, but the mountains were so tall and so inhospitable to any life they were really a mountain range in their own right. And Bruce was going to climb them.

He walked for about half an hour, then he took his map out again. A thin blue line squiggled in parallel to his route, up to a few miles before the mountains. Somewhere just ahead of his current position was a small village around a ford in the river. A slight bend in the river gave the impression that the village had pushed the river off course slightly. Bruce put the map back and walked slightly more briskly towards the village. It took just fifteen minutes to cross the large hill that blocked it from his view and walk down the other side, into the village. The people stopped from their jobs to look at him, but didn’t see him as a threat or very interesting. Bruce supposed this was because they had adventurers like him come through quite often. A man walked up to him.

“You adventurer?” he asked with an accent.

“Yep,” Bruce replied.

“You want river boat?”

“Well, to replenish my supplies, and then the boat.”

“Must take sword, adventurer. Not safe upstream.”

Bruce looked at him, and then pulled out from his belt a long steel dagger. The man looked at the weapon, then nodded.

“Good weapon. Upstream safe for you!” the man smiled and laughed. Bruce tried to join in.

“Come, adventurer, we bring you food and fresh water. You want sleep here?”

“If it wouldn’t cause offence, I’d like to get moving as fast as possible.”

“You be safest sleeping here. Wolves and beasts attack boats during night. Safest start in morning.”

“No, really, I’d like to get moving.”

The man looked into Bruce’s eyes. “We lose three boats one night going upstream. Bodies and wood come down, full of holes! Beast-made holes!”

“Are you sure?”

“Very much so.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

The man smiled and took him to a large building, which looked identical to all the others except this one had a taller roof and wider basement.

“Our food store. You take what you need; we find bed for you elsewhere.”

“You have been very kind.”

That night, Bruce was sleeping in a rough bed. He would have thrown out his sleeping bag and slept in that instead, but he didn’t want to cause offence. So he slept on the harsh mattress instead, his bag standing up against the wall. There was a rustling; always in a cat-like state, Bruce heard it, but his half-sleeping mind dismissed it as the sound of the quilt of the mattress. But then it came again, louder. Then a footstep fell. And the sound of sword being drawn rang out. Instantly, Bruce awaked, to find a shining blade one inch from his forehead. Two young men were in his room.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Quiet! Or we kill you!”

“You’ll kill me anyway.”

“I tell quiet! We take your supplies to help us!”

“Why?”

“That is our trade! We kill passers-through, take their supplies, deal out amongst the village or sell in the markets!”

“Where is blade?” The other man spoke for the first time. “Where is blade father speaking of?”

“I never sleep undressed on an adventure,” said Bruce, moving up to show his clothed upper body, “And I ‘’always’’ have my belt on.” He reached down and pulled out the long dagger he had shown earlier. He pointed it at the men. They both fell back to the wall, shocked.

“Please! We be told do this! No hurting wanted!” They both ran out of the door. Bruce stood up, spun his bag on, blade at the ready. Suddenly, the dogs started to howl.

“Great.” Bruce said, annoyed. Suddenly, all across the village, people started to run out, brandishing weapons and holding leashes of animals more wolf than dog. Bruce ran out of his room and started towards the dock. Behind him the mass of weapons and torches came in pursuit. Bruce ran as hard as he could towards the river. Suddenly, a group of young men blocked the route in front of them. Bruce bent down and picked up a bucket on the ground. He hurled the contents at the young men. They scattered, but one still got hit. Bruce ran through, wondering why they separated so easily. Then he heard the man who had got hit yelling:

“Ah! Dung! Get it off!”

Bruce smiled as he rounded the final bend and saw the dock. The moment he reached the wooden deck that extended into the river he threw his bag in, then cut the ropes holding the dock together. Moments before it parted he threw the ropes in and jumped in behind them. The villagers surged forward, but the river’s depth dropped sharply after the bank. Bruce rowed with one hand and pushed up the mast with the other. Although Bruce was going upstream, the high hills that surrounded the village slowed the villagers down, and with a fresh night breeze filling the sails Bruce’s stolen boat sped up the river, towards the distant mountains illuminated by a sparkling full moon.