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This Used to be About Dungeons, ch 153, Setting Records
🕑 Added 2022-12-05 21:26:42 +0000 UTC~~~~
Verity’s trips to Dondrian for the concerts had been times of incredible stress, not least because she always felt like she was pushing up against a hard deadline, never able to practice quite enough that she felt confident going in. She still wasn’t sure whether the concerts had actually been any good, except that she’d genuinely enjoyed playing ‘The Brave Knight Gave’ for an audience, and had been momentarily elated by the applause before the inevitable confrontation with her mother.
This was different though, as there were no obligations. She hadn’t told her father that she would be doing ‘recordings’ for him, she had said that she would be prepared to do them, and that she would come to talk about payment and negotiate something that worked for her — a negotiation that was not to include her mother in any form.
To his credit, her father had rolled right over and said that was a lovely idea and that it would go better for both of them if they handled it in a professional way. It had made her suspicious, naturally, but only because she didn’t particularly trust either of her parents. Still, if her mother showed up, Verity had committed to simply warping out and going back home.
Isra had come along for the trip, partly for moral support and partly because she liked the city. They had almost all of the moving preparations out of the way, but Alfric was still trying to work out what he called ‘the kinks’. They’d somehow managed not to break anything, and the house was settling into its legs, transforming slightly to accommodate a full range of motion. Verity actually quite liked the idea of a traveling house, as it appealed to her wanderlust, and while they’d be bidding a fond farewell to Pucklechurch, new horizons held a great deal of interest, even if they were still staying within Greater Plenarch.
Of course, if their trip to Plenarch went well, there were always options for something more, and Alfric thought that he might be able to turn the house into a boat and sail them to either Kiromo or Tarbin. Most dungeoneers eventually did go abroad, he’d explained.
Verity had never actually visited her father’s workshop. Her mother had always treated the entad engineering business as a curiosity at best, a sort of rich man’s hobby whose eccentricity at least gave her something to talk about with other people. Verity hadn’t been around for it, but she had to imagine that any talk about the ‘other’ business had stopped when the primary business had come under the threat — and eventual completion — of seizure.
But now that the workshop had spawned a factory and was an important business in its own right, small but with many people talking about it and a suddenly-valuable national patent, Verity had to imagine that her mother had pivoted back to being proud of her husband. Perhaps the seizure was even old news, rather than blood in the water, or a boon, somehow. Verity could only imagine what the attempt to change seizure into a positive must have been like, but she didn’t doubt her mother’s ability.
“Do you think your mother will be there?” asked Isra as they looked at the building. It was soundly unimpressive, a building of gray bricks with no attention whatsoever paid to the outside, not even the wooden sign, which said in unimpressive lettering ‘Parson Musical Appliances’. It was larger than Verity had expected, but then again, it was also a place that her father had poured colossal amounts of money into, so she’d have been a bit surprised if it were small. It wasn’t out of place in the more industrial part of Dondrian, though it was a bit more shuttered, the windows high on the walls so that no one could see in, the doors drawn closed instead of left open for air.
“If my mother is there, we warp immediately,” said Verity. “It was a condition of this meeting.”
“Good,” said Isra.
“I hope she’s not there,” said Verity. “I was never close with my father, but I’m hopeful that … I don’t know. That there’s some way of having something with him, a relationship of some kind.”
Isra nodded. Verity was painfully aware that Isra was an orphan, without the luxury of even a strained relationship with a parent. It seemed unfair, in a way, for Verity to have Isra come with. She wished that she had parents to share with Isra, if that was a thing that people did, but she didn’t want to share these parents, with all their problems.
The interior of the workshop was a busy place, with hundreds of the machines lined up, and occasional sounds from them as they played bits and pieces of music during testing. They were a far cry from the prototype sitting in the house, and to Verity’s eye they were one of the few fancy things in the place, set within handsome wooden cabinets with scrollwork and a proper logo of the sort that she would have expected to see on the sign out front. This made sense: they were going to be expensive, and marketed to people of means, which meant that they needed to fit inside rooms with other fine things.
Her father was wearing only half his suit, having left the jacket behind somewhere and rolled up his sleeves. He looked nearly like a workman, except for the close shave, careful styling of his hair, and a few other details of finery about him. He wrapped Verity in a hug before she could exchange a word with him, and he smelled of sandalwood and soap, which brought back memories of her childhood.
“Verity, my one and only,” he said, holding her at arm’s length after the hug, hands on her shoulders. “It’s still so hard to believe you grew up so tall.”
“You’re looking well, father,” said Verity.
“Oh, it’s the glow of success that does it,” he said with a smile. “All the worries wash away, leaving a bit of youth in their place.” He turned to Isra. “And this is your girlfriend, Isra?”
“Ah, no,” said Verity. “We’re not together anymore. Just friends.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Isra, extending her hand.
“Yes, yes, any friend of Verity’s, and I’ve heard so much about you, of course.” He was brushing past the embarrassment with aplomb, as though Verity wasn’t about to die from shame right in front of him. She had written about Isra, once or twice, when they were dating, and then had simply never mentioned her once they were broken up, so it wasn’t his fault that he’d made that mistake. But for Isra, it was possible that would have all kinds of implications, and Verity felt herself shrinking back from a clarifying conversation. “But don’t you normally wear a headscarf?”
Isra shrugged. “I didn’t want to call attention to myself.”
“Well, that’s never a good reason, in my opinion, but as I’ve said, I’m riding the high of success, and so long as you’re successful, it can feel good to give the naysayers something to talk about,” her father laughed.
“Is there a place we can talk?” asked Verity. The main floor of the workshop was a noisy place, and there were perhaps twenty workers putting the final touches on the machines.
“I have an office, come, I doubt that this will take long, and then perhaps we can get lunch together, my treat, of course.” With that he swept away, and Verity followed. The office was in a small corner of the workshop, and surprisingly quiet inside, which must have been due to some baffling, or possibly hidden magic. The office was overflowing with papers, even though there were two filing cabinets against one wall, and it was anyone’s guess whether there were simply so many papers that they’d spilled out of the cabinets, or if the cabinets were simply unused. Her father moved papers from the desk until he plucked one of them up, and he began reading it as Verity and Isra took their seats.
“Now then,” her father said, his lips moving as he continued reading. “Let’s get this business of contracts out of the way.”
“I was hoping to do the recordings today,” said Verity. “There are a number of pieces that I have prepared, and it would save me from having to make another trip later.”
“Yes, I think we can accommodate that, the only trick will be finding a quiet enough room. The process picks up all kinds of noises, from the rustle of clothes to the cough of someone half a room away, and we don’t want those sorts of things immortalized,” he said, nodding. “There are half a dozen places we could use though, and if you’re picking the songs, all the better. You have your lute?”
“I have a lute,” said Verity. “Actually, several, but one that I prefer for playing, yes.”
“Then here,” her father said, handing over the piece of paper. “It’s a generous per-song agreement, with a provision for more should the master recording degrade, or should it prove popular. I had a man of mine draw it up, it’s in line with what an author or painter might get for contracted work, though there’s no real comparison as yet.”
Verity took some time to read the contract, then handed it to Isra.
“That’s not the sort of arrangement I was interested in,” said Verity. “And I do wish that you hadn’t had it drawn up in advance of our meeting. There’s no point in the meeting if you’re going to hand us a thing like that and ask us to sign.”
“Well, certainly there’s some leeway, chipmunk, but I’ve had to deal with barristers far too much of late, and wished to spare you.” He frowned. “If it’s a matter of compensation … I find talking about money with family to be somewhat embarrassing,” he spared a glance for Isra, as if to say ‘all the more when outsiders are involved’, “but I’d thought the sum was fair.”
“It’s the same sum regardless of how many copies you make,” said Verity. “That’s what I’d like to change. The stones you inscribe, they can be replaced within the machine, can’t they? The business model, at least as you’ve described it, is to sell the machine a single time, then a collection of stones, especially as they wear out with repeated listening. You’re wishing to treat me as a contractor whose business is concluded in a single session, or perhaps a few, taking a lump sum for my labor rather than having any interest in what happens to the final product.”
“Ah,” her father replied. “And you wish, instead, for a slice of the pie.” He leaned back in his chair. “I do admire that, in a way, but it sets a dangerous precedent going foward. The machines are sold, the workshop is doing the final assembly of them, and the first of them will be shipped out within a fortnight. I had been hoping to have you as the guiding star. You’re still the talk of the town, you know.”
Verity resisted the urge to say that she didn’t know, which would be bad from a negotiation perspective. You weren’t supposed to let other people tell you your worth.
“There are a number of reasons to use Verity,” said Isra. “Not only does she have some level of fame, she’s been a selling point for those units that have already been sold. You help tie the machine to your family name, and boost the idea of this device as being a product of the artist, of these scribings as a form of patronage.”
“I would help with that,” said Verity. “A flattering interview in local papers, a signature on the packaged stones, something like that.”
“True partnership,” said her father, raising an eyebrow. “But the money would need to come from somewhere, and I can’t increase the price of the stones, not at this point.”
“You wouldn’t need to,” said Isra. She turned the sheet around to show him. “You were prepared to pay this, as a lump sum. We would simply change the contract so that the same sum is paid out assuming the machines do moderately well.”
“You would be taking on risk, chipmunk,” Verity’s father said to her. “The payment, I can guarantee, I have the funds available to me. That the business will be a success — well, it’s already a success, we’re expanding to meet the orders, the workshop is only the place for final assembly there’s a whole factory down the street where the cabinets are being made, where the majority of the machine is put together. But the lump sum, that’s optimistic. If you ask for a portion of every stone with your song contained upon it, you might lose out in the long term.”
“I understand that,” said Verity. “But I’m young, and can handle the risk.”
“And as for the other aspects,” her father said. “You would put yourself in the public like that? Promote the machine?”
“If it were on my own terms, yes,” said Verity. “And if I had some stake in the outcome.”
“You don’t want to see your father succeed for his own sake?” her father asked with a nervous grin.
“I do,” said Verity. “But I want my music to be a piece of me, rather than released out into the wild, untethered from me. I’m sure you understand, if you’re emblazoning your name on every cabinet.”
“I suppose I haven’t thought of it that way,” he replied, stroking his chin. “But it might make the prospect of inscribing more attractive for others.”
“It will come down to the rings,” said Isra. “The question of specific amounts, more than ownership and publicity.”
Verity disagreed with that, but she let the point stand, and her father apparently jumped on the chance to talk about specific amounts.
Verity found it dreadfully boring, a question of percentages and earnings thresholds, sometimes with discussion of sales of the machine, and expected sales, of risk and certainty. For a moment it felt as if this was the sort of thing Alfric would have enjoyed, but then she remembered him saying that bartering and negotiation weren’t something he felt particularly suited to.
Verity didn’t really care that much about the money. They had made incredible amounts from the dungeons, and the concerts had been lucrative, even if the money had been going toward her parents and their legal fund. If Verity ever truly cared about money, she would have put herself through more concerts, this time on her own terms, or she’d have gone to the Church of Xuphin, which often sponsored its Chosen. She had all the money she needed though, or rather more than she needed, and arguing over percentage points and earnings potential seemed terribly dull to her, and somewhat pointless. She knew she was somewhat spoiled in that regard, as not everyone found themselves so free to not worry about their income. Her personal expenses were quite small though, which was a large part of it.
Twenty minutes or so passed with Verity saying almost nothing as Isra traded numbers with her father. She watched him, seeing him argue, and she could see how he wasn’t terribly suited to this either, even if he did have some experience with it. He gave away too much, admitted too readily that it would be nice to have Verity in a more stable position, not a contractor but a partner, someone who could write little cards about each of the songs on the stones or something to that effect. It did seem to Verity that her responsibilities grew as the two of them talked, but the percentages were growing as well, and the prospect of sharing her music — her music — held a great deal of appeal.
Verity was in the middle of composing a note about one of her songs in her head when they apparently came to an agreement.
“Does that sound agreeable to you, chipmunk?” asked her father.
“Hrm?” asked Verity. She looked between the two of them. “I’m sorry, I lost the thread there.”
“We’ve come to final numbers,” said Isra. She had written on a sheet of paper in shorthand.
“Ah,” said Verity. She looked at the shorthand and nodded as though it was meaningful to her. “I’ll be honest, I want to be out of this room and not thinking about numbers.”
Her father laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said that out loud, but yes, I’ve had many meetings with accountants that go like that. You did well to bring your friend, she has a head for business.”
“The numbers look fine,” said Verity. “I trust Isra. Most of what needs to be done aside from the recording will be done remotely, but we have some capability to travel now, especially Isra, so we can return to Dondrian once or twice.”
“Very good,” her father smiled. “I’ll speak with my barrister and have a new contract drawn, which you — or Isra — can look over. It should be ready later today, so you can do the recording before then, or after, if you prefer.”
“After would be good,” said Isra. “We’re going to see the town, and will be back in a few hours with our own barrister.”
“Ah,” her father said, deflating slightly. “Well, that is the proper thing to do.” He let out a sigh. “You know, I wish that business were less like this, terms and conditions, numbers and figures.”
“Alas,” said Verity with a smile. “Perhaps you should become a dungeoneer?”
“Oh, I had my time in the dungeons,” her father replied. “Ten dungeons, and that was it, a rite of passage which passed by.”
Verity blinked. “I never knew that.”
“It wasn’t terribly proper,” he said. “But your mother and I were young and daring.”
“She went into the dungeons?” asked Verity.
“She did,” her father nodded. “Ten dungeons. We did them together. That was ages ago though, and not the sort of thing to be mentioned in polite company.”
Verity couldn’t imagine that, no matter how she tried, and she sat there, flabbergasted and not knowing what to say.
“She had wanted to be here, of course, and had encouraged me to speak on her behalf,” her father said. “I said no on both accounts. I know your feelings on the matter, and while I don’t think you’re being entirely fair, it’s for you to decide how you wish to handle your mother. I’ve told her it’s better not to send letters, better not to push, but it’s a struggle getting her to understand.”
“I — thank you,” said Verity.
“She’s used to getting her way, and to being proactive about the problems in her life,” her father replied with a sigh. “I can’t guarantee that she’ll listen to me forever, but I’ll do my best, and if you elect never to speak to her again …” He trailed off, then closed his mouth. “I don’t want to argue in her defense. Let’s speak of her no more.”
“We need to go speak with our barrister,” said Isra. “We’ll return in, say, two hours, if that gives you enough time?”
“It should, yes,” her father replied. “I suppose lunch together is out of the question?”
“We’ll eat together sometime,” said Verity. “I don’t plan to be a stranger. And … thank you.”
“For what?” her father asked.
“For telling me that you and mother went into the dungeons,” said Verity. “For listening. For understanding, and having my back.”
“It’s motivated by guilt,” he replied, chuckling a bit. “Better late than never, eh chipmunk?”
Verity gave him a smile, and not long after, they departed.
“Do we have a barrister?” asked Verity.
“We do,” said Isra. “I arranged it ahead of time.”
“You know, I’m supposed to be the one helping you with this sort of thing.” She gave Isra a fond look. “You did most of the work. I wish there were some way to express my gratitude.”
“I’m taking a percentage of the profits for my role in the negotiations,” said Isra.
Verity rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I don’t really care about the numbers. What will we do with more numbers?”
“It’s going to be more expensive, living in a moving house,” said Isra. “I’m not sure how much more expensive, but it certainly won’t be cheaper.”
“Can I ask how you do it?” asked Verity.
“Do what?” asked Isra. She turned to Verity, eyebrow raised. She had pretty brown eyes, and Verity felt her heart beat a bit faster.
“How do you handle people like that?” asked Verity. “How do you plow on ahead? You’ve said you don’t enjoy negotiation.”
“You grind people down, that’s all,” said Isra. “You get mean about it, if you need to, make them feel like they’re cheating you, or like you’ll walk away.” She shrugged. “It’s not comfortable, but being uncomfortable isn’t the worst thing. I think I got very used to the idea of talking to people just being like that, a war to be fought.”
“Well, I’m grateful,” said Verity. “There’s no one I’d rather have in my corner. If I were alone, I would have signed the contract right away, just to get it over with.”
“I’ve seen you grit your teeth and get things done,” said Isra. “You have that expression when you begin to practice your lute sometimes.”
Verity was following Isra. She had no real idea where they were going, but trusted the druid to have a sense of the city, especially as seen through the eyes of birds and the whispers of mice. They were leaving the industrial part of the city and going somewhere a bit nicer, with at least a few parks around, though some of them were the graveyards that dotted Dondrian, tucked away in random places.
“I think hammering away at practice is manifestly different than hammering away at people,” said Verity.
“I would watch your phrasing there,” said Isra.
Verity giggled. “Well in either case, the point would stand, manifestly different experiences.”
“Here,” said Isra. “This is the place I picked for lunch.”
“Don’t we need to meet with our barrister?” asked Verity.
“We can do it afterward. He was recommended by the Overguards,” said Isra. “They hired him for the day, there’s no rush.”
“That’s generous of them,” said Verity as they slipped into the restaurant. It was a small place, only four tables, and the kitchen in back was small too, smaller than the one Mizuki usually cooked in, though much more intensive. It was Tarbin cuisine, which Verity had never eaten all that much of. Dondrian had a fair number of people either descended from Tarbin or who’d immigrated from there. It wasn’t terribly close by most measures, but Dondrian was on the coast, and a center for shipping as well as being among the largest cities in the world.
“It is generous,” said Isra. “Too generous?”
“They want to help, I suppose,” said Verity. “Mizuki got an entad to go to school, and I get a lawyer. I suppose that’s something.”
“I’m not sure whether it goes against the principles of self-reliance,” said Isra.
“Seems a poor idea to leave a one-time contract signing in the hands of someone who really has no clue what they’re doing just because of self-reliance,” said Verity.
They ordered from the small menu, both picking a kind of spicy stew served over rice. Verity could smell the food from the kitchen, pungent and strong.
“Did you choose this place for a reason?” asked Verity.
“I don’t know,” shrugged Isra. “We have all kinds of dishes that have a Kiromon flair to them, and Hannah cooks on occasion. I was thinking that I’ve never really had food from Tarbin. Even the things my father made were mostly from what he’d foraged or hunted in the woods. There are ingredients, spices, that my father would have known.”
“You’ve been thinking about that?” asked Verity. “Your father?”
“My past,” said Isra. “When we went to the demiplane … there were so many people so eager to leave their past behind, and I’m a woman without a past.”
“Nothing to leave behind,” said Verity.
“And I’ve left behind what I could already,” said Isra. “I would like to have a funeral for the cabin in the woods, if we can do it before we leave.”
“Not to spoil the surprise, but we already have something planned,” said Verity. “There was actually some debate over whether it should be a surprise.”
“Mmm,” said Isra. “They’re planning to make an affair of it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Verity. “Nothing big.” She almost put her foot in her mouth by asking whether Isra had ever been to a funeral, but the girl had buried her father, and didn’t need to be reminded of it. “We could go big, if you liked, but I prefer a subdued funeral. I can’t say I’ve ever been to a funeral for a house, but I don’t imagine they’re much different.”
“It’s a time to say goodbye,” said Isra. “To let it go, and allow it to collapse, or become a place for animals to shelter.”
Their food came, piping hot, and they ate it slowly, blowing on their spoons. Verity was more used to spicy food than Isra was, owing largely to the differences in cuisine across Inter, and so ate a bit faster. It was lamb, cooked with peppers and beans, orange-brown and rather rich, with the rice balancing out the flavor.
“Tarbin is a huge nation,” said Verity. “I’m not sure this is what your father would have had.”
“I’m not sure either,” said Isra. “He was so closed off.”
“Mine too,” said Verity. “Though I imagine for wholly different reasons.” She took another bite. There was something different about the rice, the grains longer than she was used to, or more spindly.
“Do you imagine we might go to Tarbin some day?” asked Isra.
“We’re moving toward Plenarch,” said Verity. “That’s the opposite direction. If we move with the house, when Mizuki is on break from school, it would take two months to get there, maybe more, if we’re just walking, and that’s without considering Alfric’s idea for the house to become a boat and for us to take up sailing.” She regarded Isra. “I would move mountains for you, of course. Moving a house would be no problem.”
“Maybe I would go alone,” said Isra.
“We wouldn’t want you to shoulder too much burden,” said Verity. “I feel bad enough that you’re helping me with the contract.”
Isra shrugged. “We can help each other then. I’d like that.”
“I don’t know how many songs they’d need sung in Tarbin, but I have other skills,” said Verity. She’d been hungrier than she’d realized, and was eating quickly, talking around her food in a way that was a bit undecorous. “Sewing, perhaps?”
“Mostly I would need a friend,” said Isra. “I find it easy to be cold. You provide good warmth.”
“I’d mind your phrasing,” said Verity, smiling.
“I know what I said,” shrugged Isra.
Verity cleared her throat and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of, you and that boy, that other druid you were spending so much time with in the demiplane. Did you … was that more than a friendship?”
“Mmm,” said Isra. “He liked me, in that way. We held hands once, as we walked. But … no.”
“No?” asked Verity.
“It was hard for him to see past the way I was being,” said Isra. “It was easier to be guarded, so that’s what I was. And I knew we were spies, and that we were leaving, so it was just nothing, attraction but no rutting together.”
“Just curious,” said Verity.
“Would it have upset you?” asked Isra.
“No,” said Verity, reflexively. “I mean, yes, it would, but I don’t think that’s an emotion I have a right to.” Her cheeks felt warm, which wasn’t just because of the spices in the stew. “I hate being frank about these things.”
“I do appreciate it though,” said Isra. “Is it normal, do you think, between people who’ve been together? To still feel that spark?”
“I have no idea,” said Verity. ‘That spark’ was a suggestive way of phrasing it. “I’m glad that we can at least be friends. And you should know that if you do find a cute boy, I’ll be quite happy for you, as much as I might also be a touch jealous.” It was a polite way of phrasing it. Verity thought she would be more than a touch jealous, but wanted to massage the language a bit, to communicate that she would be in charge of her own feelings.
“It might be hard to find someone, on the road,” said Isra.
“You have your lutes,” said Verity. “You can go almost anywhere you please. A hundred hexes, if you want to spend the night at your destination, that can get you right across Inter, more or less.”
“We’re sharing the room again,” said Isra. “It might be awkward.”
“We’re figure something out, if it comes up,” said Verity. “Hannah doesn’t actually use her room, she spends her time in Lutopia Two.”
“Mmm,” said Isra. She looked down at the bowl, which she’d eaten barely half of. “You know, I don’t particularly like these spices.”
“You didn’t grow up with them,” said Verity. “Give it some time and they might grow on you.”
“I wish that I had a past,” said Isra. “But I suppose the past is complicated.”
“Thinking about the contract, and my parents, and the trip across Inter, I suppose the future is complicated too,” said Verity.
Isra reached across the table and squeezed Verity's hand. It was a kind, soft gesture, and whatever doubts Verity had been having, they were washed away.
