Derrick was unsure how much Stan was joking. Among the original players of Cascadia, R. M. Haldon was seen as something close to a god. What would Stan think if he could see Bob now, plodding along on a treadmill dressed in sagging sweats?

Derrick shrugged. “It has been too long since the Great Storyteller told a new story. People sate their urges with tales from other gods.”

“What need has he to offer his stories on the shadowy mesh? Can he not just use the market square as he has always done?”

“These are more exclusive. And more”—Derrick rubbed his fingers together, the universal sign for expensive.

After looking around, Stan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I would give a lot to read Eyes of the Forest.”

“Then check the Red Thread.” Red Thread was IG code for Reddit. “And follow the clues you find there.”

“Excuse me, then,” Stan said, getting to his feet. “I shall go to my dragon and check my magic box.”

Derrick spent the next few hours dropping hints. And by the time he surreptitiously checked his own magic box in his dragon, another twelve buyers had purchased the first chapter.

BOB

Haldon Cam

Shoulders heaving, Bob bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. It wasn’t easy doing jumping jacks.

Not to mention when doing them was entirely someone else’s idea.

“Okay,” Joanne said from the doorway, out of reach of the camera. Today she was wearing a fur coat Bob thought was actually made of real fur from some poor unfortunate animals. He was no expert in women’s fashion, but now that he was making good money for them, Joanne seemed intent on spending it. Every time he saw her, she had on some new, expensive-looking outfit. “The next one says, ‘Do the funky chicken.’”

Derrick was off LARPing, so Joanne was the one minding Bob. He much preferred Derrick.

Bob groaned. “What is that even supposed to look like?” His sweatshirt was sticking to the small of his back.

Joanne exhaled impatiently. “I think you’re supposed to squat and walk around with your thumbs tucked in your armpits, flapping your arms.” She demonstrated with the arm that wasn’t holding the stun gun. “You know. Like a chicken.”

Bob didn’t move.

For an incentive, Joanne pressed the button on the side of the stun gun, out of sight of the camera. A white bolt of current shot between the two poles with a tat-tat-tat that sounded like rapid fireworks.

He flinched. Derrick loved him for his writing. Joanne didn’t love him for anything, not even for the money that had made her new fur coat possible.

“Hurry up. They’re paying three hundred dollars.”