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 Isdafar. 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 Isdafar 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.