As Derrick cast his eyes over the crowd, he heard an exaggerated evil laugh. Before he looked, he knew it belonged to Blackheart Doombringer. Inwardly Derrick groaned when he saw he was still wearing the same half-assed costume made from an inside-out T-shirt. What an idiot. With that laugh, he was just putting people on their guard. He should be portraying himself as a valiant man wanting to right the world’s wrongs. In fact, the best bad guys probably considered themselves good ones.

It was clear Blackheart hoped to begin near the top of Cascadia’s hierarchy. But that wasn’t the way it worked. New players had to put time and effort into their costumes, always stay in character, and take their role-playing seriously. Those who did found it wasn’t long until the old-timers noticed, hiring them for a quest or as bodyguards. With luck, tales of their adventures might someday be retold by storytellers over cups of spiced cider.

Putting aside his annoyance, Derrick zeroed in on Baltus, sitting alone in a back corner. In real life—not that Derrick thought Cascadia was any less real—Baltus was named Stan, and Stan was a lawyer who drove a brand-new BMW. Which meant he must own some serious coin OOG. And he was in his sixties, meaning he probably didn’t spend much time on Reddit.

“What ho, Baltus?” Derrick called out.

“Come sit with me.” Baltus patted the empty bench next to him.

After they exchanged their respective stories of that day’s adventures, Derrick leaned nearer, conspiratorial. “Have you heard that the Great Storyteller is working on the next volume to his saga?” Great Storyteller was their name for R. M. Haldon. In game, out-of-game things were referred to by other names. Pens were quills. Cars were dragons. Phones were magic boxes. The internet was the mist market.

Stan waved a hand. “That’s been bandied about since I was knee-high to a steed.”

“Nay, ’tis true. And it is being sold segment by segment.”

“What? You mean like online?”

A woman in a wimple turned her head at the forbidden word. “Keep it in character please,” she murmured.

Derrick continued. “Not on the mist market, but its darker twin.” How to put it? “The um, the shadowy mesh. For the coin of the realm which is known as a bit.”

Baltus’s forehead wrinkled. “You mean for Bit”—Derrick laid a hand on his arm, and he lowered his voice. “For Bitcoin on the dark web?” When Derrick nodded, the other man reared back. “Why wouldst the Maker do that?”

“Does he not need coin, the same as any man?” It wasn’t even exactly a lie.

“Nay! You blaspheme! He is no mere mortal.”