With a solid plan finally in place, Max decided not to waste a single day.
The next hour of experiments with Sculptor on logs and stones allowed him to get a basic feel for his superpower and understand its main capabilities and limits.
Mostly in the form of pleasant surprises.
Its perfect responsiveness and the almost instant speed of surface molding.
Or the way it calculated distance from his skin, which meant he could theoretically create pipes up to 12.5 meters long.
Or the confirmation that embedding small rods of wood and stone into his shoes would allow him to mold stone and wooden roads and rooms, giving Sculptor potent AOE capabilities.
But there were unpleasant discoveries too.
Yes, Sculptor let him sense a given material within a volume of one cubic meter. But Max had hoped this would work like a kind of mental map — for example, if he touched a basket with ten different kinds of stone, each type would light up in a different color or something like that.
However, reality crushed his dreams of working with composites. What he got was just two sensations: the feeling of his skin touching a modifiable material. And a rough spatial outline of the type of touched material, with the possibility to “slide and change camera” over it; up to 1 cubic meter of overall volume and a 5-meter radius from the touched place.
Sculptor’s combat capabilities were also rather unimpressive. With material extrusion limited in maximal speed, he couldn’t shoot out needle-thin spikes at will. And even excellent defense and fortification uses still needed seconds of his time and, more importantly, his constant attention, without which the forms began to wobble and unravel until his full focus returned or control was reestablished.
Leaving deeper experiments for later, Max got dressed, grabbed a linen sack, and headed to Winter Town’s market square.
After a short wander among the stalls, he bought a set of new clothes: short-like medieval underwear, a linen shirt and undershorts, dark-gray woolen trousers, and a thin dark-blue cloak. Which cost him 7,5 silvers total. His new clothes were rather cheap, but because of their newness, created the illusion of being a class above what they really were.
Then Max went to the bathhouse: rows of small booths where porters brought buckets of warm water on request.
After washing and drying off in a heated room, he put on his new clothes and stuffed the old ones into the sack.
Following another round of questions to people on the street, he soon found himself in a barber’s chair, watching with immense interest as his new — and, as expected, handsome — face was revealed.
Finally, after carefully checking his internal checklist, he went to the Smoking Log, a couple of hours later than the day before.
This time there were more people in the alehouse, and —
'…TWO young barmaids? Great. Just fucking great,’ Max thought irritably. ’Fine! Let’s spin the wheel.'
When the more attractive of the two — yesterday’s barmaid — looked his way, Max raised his hand to her.
And as she walked toward his table, he studied her closely.
All of his attention was immediately drawn to her dirty-blonde hair, more ash than brown, long and branching, swaying slightly as she walked. And, of course, to her tall, slender figure, with a high, full chest, strongly emphasized not just by a narrow ribcage and waist, but by some kind of hidden push-up that made the upper part of her bosom slightly spill over the wide square neckline.
Her face was pretty too, though in a more normal, “girl-next-door” way than her excellent hair or figure.
Overall, her looks, her lively, chatty behavior, laughter, and loose, spontaneous movements and mannerisms faintly reminded him of Phoebe Buffay from Friends. In a much younger and extroverted everyday-girl form.
When the girl reached the table, her eyes went straight to the five silver coins ($350 analog) lying there.
But instead of placing an order, Max said in a calm, even, almost indifferent tone: “If you sit down for a minute and listen to me, those are yours.”
“I’m not a whore,” she sharply replied, clearly guessing where this might be going.
“All I’m asking is for one minute of your time.”
After a few seconds of consideration, her hand quickly snatched up the coins, and she sat down, eyeing Max with clear suspicion.
“Listen carefully. In one month, you will receive from me five gold coins.”
Her face tightened — surprise, disbelief, and anger mixing together, clearly assuming this was some kind of scam.
“For that, all you have to do is stay silent about what you hear and see from me. No more.”
After a short pause, Max continued.
“I am, probably, the new Bran the Builder or something close to that.”
He let that hang in the air for a few seconds, giving her a moment to process what he had just said.
“I recently woke up with powers and knowledge about the past and future that I never asked for. Watch.”
Max opened his palm, revealing a small stone cube. When his other hand covered it from potential prying eyes, the cube slowly began to change. First into other basic geometric shapes. Then into increasingly more complex forms, laced with intricate patterns and fractal designs.
The girl flinched in shock, but didn’t scream or run — something Max counted as an important win.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you even if you scream. Not that I want to. What you’re seeing…” he said very slowly, stressing every word as the stone continued to shift, now into figurines of basic tools and weapons, “…is something I can temporarily let you do as well. Take it.”
He returned the stone to a cube form and placed it in the middle of the table.
“Take it,” he repeated, as she stared at it like it was an angry rat.
After a few seconds, her trembling finger touched the cube. When it didn’t bite, she picked it up.
“Focus on it. Just it. Don’t be afraid. Everything is fine.”
Thinking, ’Please don’t melt the table! Though that would probably just get me to Ned faster than I want to,’ Max passed Sculptor to her via P.M. duplication.
The girl gave a small squeak and almost dropped the cube.
“Focus on the cube,” Max said quietly but firmly, glancing around the hall. The other barmaid and a few patrons were watching, but no one, so far, was stepping in.
“Imagine it becoming round. Like a loaf of bread.”
Soon the cube turned into something like an uneven sea pebble, with wobbling like jelly surface.
“Rounder.”
It shifted again, closer to a still wobbling half-sphere.
“Good. That’s enough,” Max said, taking the power back, which led to another, now smaller, flinch.
“I… I don’t know what to say, milord?” she murmured.
“Call me Max. What’s your name?”
“Kyra, mil — Max?”
“Kyra. You don’t need to understand everything. Only three things matter.
First: in one month, you get five gold for silence and nothing else.
Second: I can make you very rich and powerful if you do what I ask.
Third: you can refuse the second with no consequences.”
“What do I have to do, M… Max?” after a short pause she asked in a confused voice.
“Why do you think I came to you instead of a blacksmith or Lord Stark? What do you think I want from you?”
“My father?” she asked.
'What the heck?!' Max thought.
“I don’t even know who your father is.”
“The best blacksmith in town,” Kyra said proudly.
'If this is some kind of cosmic joke, it isn’t funny,' Max thought.
“No. I don’t want your father. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and I need a release. A lot of it. You understand what I mean?”
“Aye?” Kyra said uncertainly, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Are you in a relationship?”
“No? I guess?”
“What does that mean?”
Kyra blushed even harder. “Um… Bessa… Theon Greyjoy’s bedwarmer. Once… I don’t even know if I should say this, but… she got me drunk and… when I was drunk… I… w-with Theon Greyjoy. And… so… he… thinks I’m his? I think?”
She rushed it out, getting redder by the second, and at the end covered her mouth in embarrassment, trying to stop herself from speaking.
'Shit,' Max thought. 'That complicates everything. Bessa? Is she a named character or not?'
“But are you his?”
“No?” she said hesitantly.
"Kyra, look at me." She did, and Max held her gaze.
“You don’t have to agree. You’ll still get the money.
But if you do agree… what time do you finish work?” he asked in the same calm, flat, confident tone he had used from the start.
Kyra hesitated, and Max immediately took that personally.
For this to work, he had to offer her neither too little nor too much — enough that she wouldn’t be tempted to sell him out, but not so much that it sounded impossible.
The five gold dragons he’d offered for silence alone were the equivalent of about $75,000 — enormous, but still a plausible amount of money. Especially coming from… well, by Earth standards — a kind of Leonardo Da Vinci clone who was also an alien from a post-scarcity civilization.
So, from Max’s perspective, if she refused, it wouldn’t be because of the deal itself, but because of fear, doubt, or panic related to his proposition.
“The hour of the beaver?” she finally said, which Max translated to 19:00.
“If you decide to agree, meet me at Kerrn’s bakery at that time,” he said, beginning to rise from his chair.
The worst thing he could do right now was show doubt or look needy.
He was halfway up when a strained “Wait” stopped him.
He looked at her — she seemed to be staring at him and inside herself at the same time, clearly arguing with herself.
'What now?! It was going so well so far,' he panicked.
“I cook for my parents after work. If I don’t come back, they’ll come looking for me,” she said.
“So that’s a yes?” Max asked.
“I… it’s very sudden… but… maybe? If this is all real. I’m not really that kind of girl, but… it’s magic, right? Wait… the shadows — they won’t come back, will they?” She was spiraling until Max cut her off.
“People are watching. Calm down.”
Then something clicked in his mind. “Theon’s bedwarmer… that’s the other barmaid?” he asked, silently begging, 'Please no, please no!'
“Yes.”
'Fuuuck!' Max’s stomach dropped. 'The odds that conflict between Theon and Ramsay began over Theon’s main bedwarmer are way higher than over some other girl. Therefore, my window to find the right barmaid without substantial complications has shrunk to today’s evening.'
“Do you think she’d take five silvers now and 25 tomorrow to keep quiet about me?”
“Aye. But she’ll still tell,” Kyra said with certainty.
“Can you ask off and leave with me right now?”
“Why?” Her blush was turning into a full flush.
“It’ll prove you actually mean it. I’m risking by trusting you, and you also have to risk by trusting me. That’s how things like this work.”
Kyra went quiet again, her eyes and mouth twitching as if she were arguing with herself. Then she studied Max carefully.
“Alright,” she said, smiling shyly.
“Then get ready.”
Kyra went back to the bar, said something to the bartender and the other barmaid, and disappeared behind the counter. During that time, the second barmaid came closer and studied Max.
He studied her too — tall, with sharper features and a slightly cunning face, perfectly matched by her short, bright-red hair. Much less curvy and flatter than Kyra, but a little prettier in the face and exotic.
Soon Kyra came back out, wearing a light-gray long coat that perfectly matched her hair. She walked to Max, and together they headed for the door.
“What did you tell?” Max asked once they were outside and a little away from the alehouse.
“That a friend of my friend has a shipment of goods, and I get first pick. But I don’t think they believed it. You don’t want Bessa and Theon to know about you, right?”
“No. For now. Soon it won’t matter.”
Once they were far enough from the Smoking Log, Max glanced around and said, “Give me your hand,” holding his own out to her.
Without hesitation, Kyra placed her hand in his. He squeezed it gently and led her down the Kingsroad toward the western exit of the town.
Opening the Powers window, Max saw something that both pleased and disappointed him:
Charges: 0.02
'So it really is lewd stuff with named characters…
It’s… simple? Difficult? Obviously? Strange? No, it’s too early to draw any conclusions,' he pondered.
“Where are we going?” Kyra asked.
“Do you know any secluded spots nearby?”
“No.”
“Then to my home.”
“Are you really like Bran the Builder?” she asked.
“I woke up with knowledge of the past and the future. And I have the power to shape stone and wood, which could be used to create wonders like Winterfell. Does that sound like the new Bran the Builder to you?”
“Yes?”
“So do I. I don’t him, but I can be like him.”
In the northern part of Winter Town, they walked in silence, but once they started circling Winterfell, Kyra suddenly came alive, curiously firing off question after question.
Max answered a few, then explained that the more she knew, the more his enemies might try to learn his secrets through her.
She obviously didn’t like it, but accepted. To keep her talkative nature busy, Max instead told her, related to her questions, a story about a self-fulfilling prophecy and about his life before his sudden awakening.
She eagerly listened, hanging on every word. Because of this, her inquisitiveness and lack of pretense, he quickly found himself rather enjoying her company.
Somewhere in the middle of Winterfell, Kyra grew visibly nervous.
“Don’t be afraid. Soon my powers will let me get almost anything I want…” Max stopped and touched the road. Kyra looked down and saw the stone beneath them slightly smoothing itself. “…so why would I risk hurting you?” he reasoned.
“I guess…” she said.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen namedays.”
“And Bessa?”
“Same.”
“Did you have such an experience, except with Theon?”
“No.”
“How could someone as pretty as you not have had suitors?”
“I had. But because of my father, not for long.” She quickly caught herself and corrected. “I mean, they walk away once they realize I’d never marry them.” She squeezed Max’s hand.
After the first handshake in Winter Town, Max let go so they wouldn’t attract attention from anyone who might recognize her. Once they were outside Winter Town, he took her hand again and began squeezing and massaging it, firm but gentle, but the charge number never rose again.
“And sex?” he asked.
“You… you know, people shouldn’t ask fair maidens… things like this… not so bluntly,” she said, looking away.
“…”
“I… I was saving myself for my husband,” she finally said. “And my mother takes away most of my money.”
'Money? Wait.'
“You need to take moon tea before or after sex?”
“Better both, but after also enough… though it costs more. About four silvers. To be sure.”
'Four silvers?!' Max thought. 'No wonder Westeros is such a frustrated place.'
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay you back soon.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“I don’t know… everything? The unknown?”
'Me too,' Max thought, but said nothing.