I. The Second Greatest Card Tournament (Chapter Three)

You realize how quickly the heat of the desert saps away your energy, even with the sandshark cloaks on. The sun begins to set over the peaks of the dunes behind you, so you and Burt hurry through the ornate archway into Amalhasu as the guards usher you in.

“We lock the gates at dusk,” one of them yells.

“When we open them in the morning, we see how many bodies are piled up on the other side,” the other says with a raucous laugh.

“Jeez, that’s one way to welcome newcomers,” Burt says, then casts a worried glance back as the gates thud shut. “Do you think they were joking?”

You are about to reply, but the words are lost on your lips as you take in the magnificence of the desert city. Blazing lanterns light up the entirety of the bustling, sandy street, and you feel as though it is daytime again, but an upward glance reveals the indigo sky with countless twinkling stars emerging as the evening sets in. The racket of a hundred or so excitable whiskers makes it difficult to hear what Burt is prattling on about, and the rich aromas of both food and perfume waft over you in waves. You and Burt pass stall after stall of street merchants hawking their wares or hastily setting up their pop-ups.

“I guess the evening is prime time,” Burt shouts. “I’ve heard the streets of Amalhasu have cleaned up a lot since the rise of a new queen several years ago. Queen Jenna or something.”

He turns so often to look at every shop you pass that he seems to be spinning in perpetual motion. You start to laugh at his absurdity when you notice his pack hanging wide open. You gasp and grab Burt by the shoulder.

“What, adventurer? I just spotted a card dealer. I need to stock up on some decent spell cards if I’m gonna be the champion of The Shuffle,” he says. You gesture wildly at his pack. Burt’s jaw drops. “What the? I ensured it was closed when we left, and I haven’t opened it since!”

You both seem to be thinking of the same thing, and you both dive into Burt’s pack to check its contents. After a minute of panicked rummaging and much wailing, you look at each other in despair. The Atlas of Old is nowhere to be seen.

“Stolen!” Burt cries. “I’ve been robbed! Big Moves Burt has been violated!”

A few passing whiskers look around in alarm. You hastily shush Burt, but at the same time, try to think of the best course of action. How quickly could you find a messenger pigeon to inform Allard of the disaster?

“Excuse me, gentlefish, I see you might be in a spot of trouble,” a small voice pipes up beside you.

You whip around to see a sallow-looking whisker with splotched creamy skin looking uneasily between you and Burt.

“A spot of trouble?” Burt sobs at the newcomer. “It’s a catastrophe! Oh no. Allard’s going to make me do a thousand reps with his heaviest dumbbell for this, and I can’t even lift it! He hasn’t forgiven me for throwing away his Christmas present last year. No way, Allard, I never want to look like you!”

The pale whisker seems unable to make heads or tails of what Burt is babbling about, so you quickly explain that an important map was stolen from your companion’s pack.

“I see. I’m sorry for intruding into your affairs.” He did indeed look sorry. “I heard your friend mention the upcoming tournament while I was browsing the card stall, so I followed you for a bit. But I noticed his pack was already open, so it must’ve happened sometime before.”

“I thought Amalhasu had cleaned up its act,” Burt howls to the skies. “Queen Jenna, how could you let this happen to your city?”

“You mean Queen Jaina,” the pale whisker says quietly. “The streets look better on the surface, but there are still plenty of crooks waiting to pounce on unsuspecting whiskers. In reality, not much has changed; the evil has simply gotten better at hiding."

You tap Burt on the shoulder and draw away from this whisker. You’re starting to feel peculiar around him and want to start tracking this thief immediately.

“Where are my manners?” the whisker says quickly, holding up his palms. “My name is Quatal. I am a card enthusiast. I spend all my time experimenting with new card strategies and whatnot, so I’m a bit awkward around other whiskers.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “I’ll be entering The Shuffle this year. As I said before, I heard you were also entering, so I became interested in you. Say, you’re not from around here, are you?”

Your Windrosian garb shows from underneath the sandshark cloaks, and you notice Quatal’s light brown robe. It looks sturdy enough to repel wind-borne sand but light enough not to restrict movement.

“You’re entering The Shuffle?” Burt finally seems to be calming down. “Are you any good at Last Fish? What’s your favorite Instant card?”

You impatiently elbow Burt, but Quatal replies, “I’m the top-seeded player in Amalhasu. And my favorite Instant is Chrono Reversal.”

“That’s a good one, but not as good as Absolute Serenity.”

“Debatable,” Quatal says with a ghost of a smile. “It all depends on how you play it. But enough about that for now. I like you. I’m glad to know that there might be good competition this year. I want to help you, and I think I might know where your item might be.”

You urge Quatal to continue.

“Amalhasu is plagued by pickpockets. Their modus operandi is generally the same. They’ll take your valuables, then sell them to some street vendor for whatever they can get as soon as they can. There’s no one policing, so it’s little wonder that the city is rife with crime.”

Burt lets out another small sob.

“Judging by your, uh, reaction, I’m guessing your item was quite a rare one,” Quatal says. “There’s only one place something like that could end up. Follow me.”

Though your instincts are tingling, you and Burt follow Quatal through a labyrinth of sandy alleys and stone buildings. There is a quiet confidence about the pale whisker that seems trustworthy enough, but you can’t shake the feeling of something at work beneath the muted expression. You emerge onto a wide path that leads to a dead end, but to the side of the path is a portly merchant sitting in the middle of a bright red carpet with his wares placed about him. To his left is a stack of magical scrolls, and to his right is a gleaming sword. There is no doubt they are ready to be grabbed at the first sign of trouble.

“That’s Zul’grasi,” Quatal says in an undertone.

The merchant has spotted your party and instinctively puts his hand on his sword.

“Most stolen treasures end up with him. It’s a wonder how he hasn’t been shut down yet, but he probably has his connections. Now, follow my lead if you don’t want to be stabbed in the belly.”

Quatal raises his arms with his palms open and takes a careful step toward Zul’grasi’s shop. You and Burt copy his movement as the merchant observes you through narrowed eyes.

“It is I, Quatal,” Quatal calls. “We have come to see if you have been sold a certain…” He turns to you and Burt. “I realize you never told me what your item was.”

“You never asked,” Burt hisses back, then raises his voice. “Dear Zul’gumbi, a certain atlas was stolen from poor old me not an hour ago, and we wondered if it might have ended up with you.”

“Call me Zul’gumbi again, and I’ll spread your guts across the gates of Amalhasu,” Zul’grasi growls. “And you mean this old thing?”

“Yes!” Burt squeals as Zul'grasi holds up a heavy leather-bound tome—the Atlas of Old.

Burt runs forward to grab the book, but the merchant lets out a roar and swings his sword wildly at the approaching Burt.

“Stand back!” Burt skids to a halt as Zul’grasi leaps to his feet. He is as tall as his considerable width and glares down at Burt. “No sudden movements, or it’s fish skewer for you.”

“Okay, okay,” says Burt. “Well, I’m glad you have our Atlas. Can you please give it back?”

“Give it back?” Zul’grasi stares at Burt for a moment before bursting into mirthless laughter. “Give it back, says the foreigner? Listen here, I bought this item fair and square, and at a handsome sum, no less. Bring me fifty pieces of gold, or it ain’t budging.”

Burt looks as though he is about to say something rude back to the merchant, but he raises his sword again. Quatal steps forward and motions for Burt to withdraw. It seems the very sight of Burt aggravates the short-tempered Zul’grasi.

“Sir, we understand you will not part with your wares without proper reimbursement,” Quatal says delicately. “Will you hold it while we come up with the gold?”

“Negative,” came the stiff reply. “Don’t you know the turnaround on items in my shop? Most of my wares will have changed hands by the end of the day.”

“Please, oh great merchant of the south!” Burt collapses onto his hands and knees and crawls to the edge of the red carpet. “I am but a humble card-playing whisker. Since this tragedy has occurred, you must know what awaits me back home. It is this horrid golden whisker who thinks nothing but dumbbells all day long, and he’ll make me do a million reps of all of his weights put together! Now, you need to imagine my little arms trying—”

“Back off, whisker, and quit crying onto my beautiful carpet,” Zul’grasi yells in disgust. “All right, all right. I say this only because you are absolutely ruining my business. Go into the Crimson Sands. The Highland coffee tree is a unique tree that only grows there. Forage as many beans from it as you can and bring them straight back to me. Then, and only then, will we talk further.”

“The Crimson Sands?” Quatal stammers. You and Burt shrug at each other.

“Go now before I change my mind,” Zul’grasi says as he slumps back down onto the carpet. He flings his sword aside and takes a deep swig from a waterskin.

Your party quickly takes its leave, and you huddle in one of the alleyways far away from Zul’grasi.

“Okay, give it to me straight. Tell me all the ways we could maybe die from accepting this quest,” Burt says.

“The Crimson Sands are no joke,” Quatal says. His brows are knitted, and he looks deep in thought.

“That was the joke,” Burt mutters. “Okay, well, what next? We need that atlas back, don’t we, Adventurer?”

You nod and reach into your pack. You take out a travel brochure you picked up on the way into the city. It shows a small map of the southern region of the Great Pond.

“I would never have thought that would come in handy now,” Burt says.

You shoot him a look since it was he who had made fun of you for picking up a brochure like a “common tourist."

“The Crimson Sands lie north of the city,” Quatal says, pointing to the map. “It is true that the famous Highland coffee bean can only be harvested in specific areas of these sands, but there is a more pressing matter. In fact, there are a few pressing matters.”

“What, what is it? For god’s sake, can you quit stalling? I think I’m gonna vomit.”

“Firstly, the locations of Highland coffee trees are kept strictly secret by the harvesters of the region,” Quatal says as he wanders down the alley with his hands behind his back. “It is not technically illegal to look for them yourself, but only because everyone knows how stupid you’d have to be to do so.”

“And? And?” You look over at Burt. He looks quite green in the face.

“Then there are the pirates, of course, who normally target the harvesters, but they wouldn’t hesitate to attack a wandering whisker. And there are other things…unspeakable things.”

“That’s it. The Atlas is just an old book, right? Kindling for the fireplace, if you ask me. What if we rent a ship and sail away, never to return? Allard can find some other young whiskers in his guild to torture, er, mentor. He’ll be fine, right?” Burt says, exasperated.

You shake your head solemnly. You wonder if the Atlas would be safe with Zul’grasi.

“I can stay and watch for you,” Quatal says softly. "I'd like to see you come back alive to compete in the tournament."

“Hey, I’m sure there’s a better way of putting that,” says Burt indignantly. “And why do you get to stay?”

“I... have no magical powers,” Quatal says, turning red. “I failed magical school. That is why I spend my days playing cards. I will be of no use out there in the Crimson Sands.”

Burt stutters into silence as you nod.

“You can stay at my place tonight. It would be an even more certain death if you travel by night, not to mention getting past the gatekeepers.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Burt groans.

“Let us play a few rounds of cards before turning in. I have an enormous collection of rare cards I’d like to show you,” Quatal says. He turns slightly red again. “Only if you’d like to see.”

“And better it just got! Lead the way, my Amalhasu friend,” Burt says merrily. “Are you sure the Atlas will be safe with that whisker? Like, he won’t be robbed or anything himself?”

“You know how he said he’d spread your guts over the gates?” Quatal says. “Well, he speaks from experience.”