Emily rode through a grove of fruit trees and then down a long stone path, past stables and fields, and at the very back of the ranch, she arrived at a white A-frame house, almost like a church. She dismounted Pixel, and she rang the bell. A man in a white cowboy hat answered. He was in his sixties, noticeably older than almost everyone in Friendship; a bit bow-legged, befitting a person who had spent most of his life on horseback; not at all stooped. Under his hat, he had a shock of thick, dark gray hair. He looks, she thought, like his father, Ryu. The NPC tipped his hat to her. “Howdy, pilgrim. Having horse trouble?”
Emily explained that her horse needed shodding, and they discussed materials and horseshoe prices before coming to an arrangement. The NPC offered her his hand, and she kissed him on the cheek.
“You won’t get a lower price that way,” he said.
“I miss you,” she said.
“Shucks, ma’am, you’re making me blush.”
“What’s your favorite part of The Iliad?”
“What’s The Iliad?” He paused, removed his hat, and a second later, as if possessed, the NPC had transformed into a different version of himself: “Then first of all came Andromaché, his wife, and cried—‘O my husband, thou hast perished in thy youth, and I am left in widowhood, and our child, thy child and mine, is but an infant!…Sore is thy parents’ grief, O Hector, but sorest mine. Thou didst stretch no hands of farewell to me from thy bed, nor speak any word of comfort for me to muse on while I weep night and day.’？” When he was finished, he bowed and returned his hat to his head.
“It was good to see you,” Emily said.
“Come back any time, little lady.”
Emily found the exchange with the NPC unsatisfying, but then, most encounters with NPCs are.
And yet, were it not for the Breaker of Horses, Sadie may never have decided to set Emily’s affairs in order.
One of Sam’s innovations in Pioneers was the way a gamer could leave it. Sam hadn’t liked the way a gamer, even someone who’d inhabited Mapleworld for years, could just vanish. A resident might one day decide to never log on again. It was healthier, Sam felt, to allow for the possibility that a person might want to leave a game. No matter how good an MMORPG was, gamers eventually did leave. They moved on to other games, other worlds, sometimes even the real one. When Sam built Pioneers, he expanded the category of Ceremonies to include Divorces, Wills, and Funerals.
The Editor read Emily’s will: “My beloved son, Ludo Quintus, has swum out to seek the end of the sea, and I suspect he will be exploring for many years to come. I am but the avatar of a mortal woman, and since LQ’s absence, I have been plagued by severe intestinal distress. I can only think this is my body saying that I no longer wish to live without LQ. I have, therefore, decided to leave Friendship. To my friend, Alabaster Brown, I bequeath my farm, my store, and both their contents. To my wife, Dr. Daedalus, I leave my horse, Pixel, and the glass simulacrum of same. I wish to add that I do not entirely regret the time I have spent in Friendship, nor do I regret the time I passed with Dr. Daedalus. I am resentful of her constant deceit—she knows very well what she has done—but I shall always remember those evenings playing Go with great affection. When I came here, I was as drained of hearts as I have ever been, and the tedium of Friendship and the kindness of its non-strangers gave me life. I am thankful to have come to a place as gentle as this, where the bison can be assured safe passage.”
The Editor folded up the will. “She speaks in riddles,” he commented.
A headstone for Emily was placed in Friendship Cemetery. The inscription read:
EMILY MARKS DAEDALUS
1875–1909
SHE HATH DIED OF DYSENTERY.
X
FREIGHTS AND GROOVES
1
“But, Sadie, be honest with yourself. On some level, you must have known it was him,” Dov said.
At a certain age—in Sadie’s case, thirty-four—there comes a time when life largely consists of having meals with old friends who are passing through town. Dov and Sadie were having brunch at Cliff’s Edge, in Silver Lake. The restaurant looked like a tree house—an enormous, Ent-like, Ficus sprung from the middle of it, and the tables were on tiered wooden platforms that surrounded the tree. The waiters who worked at the restaurant were known for their epic calf strength and their feats of balance. Sadie had often thought that working as a waiter at Cliff’s Edge must have been like being a video game character in a dull level of a platformer. As Dov was speaking, the tree caught his eye, and he grabbed one of its thick, smooth branches with his hand. “This is the most Californian place I’ve ever been. They must think it will never rain,” Dov said.
“It never does,” Sadie said.
“Do you think the restaurant was built around this tree?” Dov asked.
“I think it would have to have been.”
“But the tree could have been brought in,” Dov insisted.
“It’s such a big tree. It’s hard to imagine anyone moving a tree this large.”
“Sadie, you’re in California. It’s a desert. Literally nothing should be here. If someone has a dream of a restaurant that looks like a tree house, Californians make it happen. I fucking love California.”
“I thought you hated California.”
“When did I ever say that?”
“When we were breaking up. I distinctly remember being regaled about all the apocalyptic ways I was going to die out here.”
“Oh well, I’m full of shit. I didn’t want you to leave. Let’s ask the waiter about the tree when he comes,” Dov said. “Marx was smart to move Unfair out here when he did. If I’d had an iota of sense, I would have followed you when you left, gotten on my knees, begged you to take me back.”
“You’re not the getting-on-your-knees type,” Sadie said.
When the waiter came to take their orders, Dov inquired about the history of the tree. The waiter said he hadn’t been working at the restaurant very long, but he’d ask the manager.
“Truly,” Dov said. “You must have known it was him.”
“I did and I didn’t. I think it’s like when you’re watching a true crime show. People always think the cops are so hapless. How could they not see who the killer is when there are so many clues pointing in that direction? But you, the viewer, are looking at it from the point of view of knowing the solution. It isn’t so obvious if you’re walking into the situation, and it’s dark and there’s blood everywhere.”
“But of all the games in the world, how did you end up playing an insipid casual game like Pioneers?”
“Well, unlike you, I play across the spectrum of games, and it had elements that attracted me.”
“Such as?”
“I had heard it was an open-world, resource-gathering game with a social component. I heard it was loosely inspired by Oregon Trail, The Sims, and Harvest Moon, and so I wanted to play. Sam probably knew I’d be an easy mark.”
“You’ve always had an immature fixation on Oregon Trail.”
“Yes, Dov. It is entirely possible for me to love a game that you don’t get.”
“So, Sam builds an MMORPG to lure one gamer? Brilliant. Crazy, but brilliant.”