The Incompletionist

As I walked down the alley with my looted plaque, it was easy to identify the window on the bookstore landing. Initially I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but when I got closer to the wall that ran along the alley to feel for a keyhole, a wooden door just sort of emerged. It had a substantial feel to it, but it also had nine panels of glazing and a small, but charming rounded awning above the door.

Some later experimentation would reveal that without the key the door could not be perceived and with the key it couldn’t be identified outside a range of three to four feet. Looking back, the fact that both the shops in this space had full brick outer walls was a clue that there was potentially something different about them worth investigating, but this was a very tough spot to find. For now I felt that I had really unraveled an unexpected puzzle and I was too excited to see what was inside to do more than twist the key free of the plaque and give it a try on the door.

The key turned in the lock and when I tried the handle it swung inward silently to reveal a bolthole hidden between the bookstore and the magic artificer. I called out a couple of quick hellos with no response. The space was spotlessly clean, but totally silent as the door closed behind me. There was a coat rack with several coats on it as well as some boots and shoes in the entry space. There was a set of stairs leading up to a second floor space and another set leading down to some sort of basement.

The ground floor had a sitting area and a small kitchenette. The second floor space had a sleeping area, dresser and closet as well as two very large flush mounted skylights currently letting in the light that I was using to search the space. There was also a three quarter bathroom separated from the sleeping area with a pocket door, but again with cool water. Had no one perfected the magic water heater?

The basement was separated from the living space by another sturdy door. It contained a second shower along with a utility sink that I suspected was for laundry, some drying racks, a storage area and an “airlock” type situation with an additional sturdy door leading to what was, for lack of a better word, a fortified door that led out to a long dark tunnel. I didn’t have an additional source of light and I wasn’t about to go poking around in that tunnel, but it seemed logical to guess that it was an external access point.

While working in a government courthouse while in school, I had to pass through two checkpoints to get into the inner offices. Everything was ornate and looked architectural, but that door between the second checkpoint and the inner offices was something else. When you opened it, it was so heavy and so substantial. It had been designed to withstand an actual bombing and the door leading to that tunnel felt just as sturdy. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to keep something dangerous on the other side.

The most prevalent feature of any of the floors in this little bolthole was the gear. There were lots and lots of long guns, pistols, ammunition and many other related items. I was not an expert in firearms or a huge fan really, but even I could tell that these were collector’s pieces and bespoke equipment that was crafted rather than mass produced. The guns ranged from something that looked like Rip Van Winkle’s musket to models that made Kaze’s Magun look simple by comparison. There were all manner of crystals, gems, tubes full of liquids, gauges and brass fittings integrated into the weapons. The stocks were crafted with woods with wild, exotic grains and precious metals like silver and gold alongside others I couldn’t identify.

Many of the pieces were locked in heavy display cases with drawers and adjoining lockers chock full with a vast array of ammunition, optics, and accessories. I am even pretty sure I found a laser pistol mounted on the wall. It didn’t quite feel like plastic, but it was light and there wasn’t anywhere that I could see to load any ammunition. There were also shelves in all the spaces and in both the sitting room and the bedroom a fair number of them were covered with all manner of books. My haul from the bookstore paled in comparison, but it would require some earnest time and focus to take an inventory of everything.

As I explored further, I found that the sleeping area was stocked with clothes and linens and that the sitting area had cabinets full of backpacks with basic supplies and some useful gear, but nothing perishable. The clothes were different styles and sizes and the supplies were also an odd mix of materials and manufacturing quality. Nothing was junk, but it certainly didn’t look like it all came from the same place. There was a lot here to work through and a host of questions to answer about who created this space, why they did it and if they were coming back. I cared about and trusted my friends, but I was already looking for a plan to conceal this place and a rationale to justify it to myself.

It would take some serious time to go through the contents of the space and I’d share what I found with everyone else, but I wasn’t planning to let folks know about the space itself if I could avoid it. If one of them was like, “Man, I wish I had a magitek rifle that shot rounds of what looked like test tubes full of glowing purple flowers,” of course I’d make it happen for them, but I wasn’t going to volunteer any more details than needed. In part this is a function of my deep paranoia, but in part it was about the nature of a secret place. The value of a secret place is diminished when others know that it may exist, but it is entirely lost when it is no longer secret.

I wasn’t sure what the next year would hold and I resolved to freely share the resources that I’d found, but not the existence of this location. Toward this end I decided not to remove anything that seemed easy to identify as totally out of place in the safe zone. I took a few minutes to gather clothes, two of the most basic looking pistols, two nearly identical repeater rifles, a sampling of ammunition and supplies into a couple of the backpacks. I stashed some of the ammunition, clothes and gear in the backroom of the bookstore to give myself a cover for replenishing what I needed from the bolthole. I was planning on maintaining my privacy, but I wanted to be able to answer the question of where things were coming from if it became necessary. I also decided to nickname the bolthole the Treefort because frankly I was tired of thinking bolthole and it seemed just confusing enough to be unhelpful if I ever slipped up.

The pack that I had selected for general use was a nice leather number with some good age and patina to it. I rolled the canvas knapsack that I had just emptied up and stowed it in the large bag and carried the rifles on my shoulder as I continued to search around the town. I explored the artificer’s shop next to the bookstore, but it was a complete bust. My next big score was through a trapdoor that my map suggested led to the cellar of what was going to be a general store. There were shelves lined with canned goods. I opened a can of beans with a can opener I had conveniently swiped from the Treefort and found the food fit for human consumption.

I loaded up my canvas knapsack with as much as I could carry and snuck back over to the Treefort to stash it in the kitchenette there before reloading the bag with canned food and lumping everything back to the hotel. All told, my scavenging took about 7 hours to accomplish and I was in need of a shower, some lunch and a bit of a nap. When I made it back to the hotel, I dumped my stuff in the lounge. Most of my friends had already returned and the lounge looked like a cosplay convention. They had found armor, weapons, some utility items and some clothes.

Lando had a cuirass that somehow fit him. Sara had a wand that sparkled a bit on its own strapped to a holster on her leg. Erin had a recurve bow and a quiver of arrows. Folks were chatting about their various quests and adventures, generally in a better mood than they should have been for how hungry and tired they had to be. Nobody even batted an eye at the knapsack and rifles that I dumped onto the floor of the lounge, until I started sorting out the canned goods for lunch. Apparently no one had found much in the way of food and I was hailed as a bit of a hero as Karen hustled off with all of it. The sounds of her banging around in the kitchen with Jim to get lunch going were music to my ears.

It was clear that we were going to need to learn to hunt and forage if we wanted anything fresh, at least until some of the stores were populated and opened, but for now the canned goods at the general store were the best food that we had going. I told the team where I had gotten the canned goods and where we could find more. Any depletion from the morning’s activities quickly vanished from my friends as enthusiasm at the prospect of more food took hold. Everyone that wasn’t helping cook agreed to make another can run before lunch. Well, everyone but Queakers. Sarah said that Queakers was already having a nap in her room and since she couldn’t really carry anything, we may as well let her sleep. I was already starting to catch the smell of something delicious wafting out of the kitchen and I was pretty sure that we’d find Queakers in the lounge begging for lunch by the time we got back.