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This Used to be About Dungeons, ch 137, Demi
🕑 Added 2022-09-26 13:45:24 +0000 UTCAnd we're back ... for a bit. My South Korea trip looms, which will unfortunately mean another schedule interruption next month. If these trips had been less serendipitous and more planned, I would have scheduled two very rare bouts of international travel much further apart, but sometimes vacations fall into your lap and it behooves you to take them. (The South Korea trip will be only my third time leaving North America, which yes, means that 66% of my overseas travel will have taken place within a single month.) I finally have some backlog so ideally won't be missing huge swaths of chapters, but my son is sick and staying home, so we'll see, I guess.
(After the South Korea trip, it should be smooth sailing.)
Thanks for being understanding about the schedule interruption.
~~~~
Alfric had once been in love with demiplanes, and then he had visited one, and realized that he was only in love with the idea of demiplanes.
They were like fish tanks, in a way. Alfric, as a young boy, had adored aquariums, particularly after visiting the Dondrian Zoo, which had the Piscine House where all kinds of exotic creatures had swum behind thick windows. He’d bought a set of books called The Lake on a Table and The Ocean in a Glass, and as he’d read through them — he was only eight or nine years old and they were quite advanced — he’d begun to despair.
Aquariums were not actually like having a lake on your table or a piece of the ocean in a bubble on your shelf. They were delicate, careful things which required incredible amounts of time and attention. Air, heat, nutrients, salinity, acidity, water circulation, all these things needed careful balancing and monitoring, and once you had your aquarium set up, you couldn’t be away from it for too long, not unless you left someone careful instructions. Most of the problems with an aquarium could be solved through some combination of ectads and entads, with a few of those being more or less a requirement, particularly the vent stones, which were called ‘bubblers’ for aquarists. Alfric had kept a few tanks, for roughly two years, learning as he went, but the carefully engineered environment grated on him, and he found himself wanting to keep a bigger tank that would feel more natural and less curated. The larger tank hadn’t actually helped though, because it needed more thought and care. It was a more complex system to be tended.
When Alfric had first heard of demiplanes, his reaction had been more or less the same. The idea painted in his mind was of new worlds, most of them the size of a hex, but some even larger. The world might have been explored, but there were still wild pockets, bubbles of newness and wonder.
The first one he’d been to, which belonged to a family friend, had felt wild. An enormous castle had been built along one edge of it, and a river flowed by the thick stone bricks, painting a bucolic scene. A large meadow could be reached by crossing an arched bridge, and the grounds continued on after that into woodlands. They had been there for a wedding, whisked in by the owners, and had been given the grand tour, which had taken quite a bit of time. A hex was twelve miles across, more or less, which sometimes seemed like not that much, but amounted to more than a hundred square miles. The tour had taken them an entire day, with more walking than a young Alfric was used to, and he’d marveled at everything the owners had thought to put into it. They had made one section of it a ‘map’ of the world in miniature, set inside a large lake, with different buildings in the styles of the cultures of the world. Alfric’s favorite feature had been the ‘folly’, a set of deliberately constructed ‘ruins’ that were meant to replicate something that had been overgrown after being abandoned eight hundred years ago.
When they’d gotten home, his father had complained that it was entirely too much money. Four dozen people lived within the demiplane, almost all of them employees of the owners, or family members of the employees. Most of the things that Alfric had found so enchanting were used once or twice a year, if that. But what his father had found most galling was the sheer amount of time, effort, and money that went into keeping the place running.
Demiplanes almost always came with their own internal ‘sun’, a ball of light that moved through the sky as if on rails, showing none of the seasonal drift and variation of the real world. Light alone wasn’t enough though, if you wanted a forest. You needed weather, or at least a way to water the plants, and circulation was a major issue for both water and air. The river that Alfric had admired wasn’t a natural thing, it took enormous amounts of work to make something like that, either a portal of some kind, or a tightly controlled system of water generation and destruction, or something.
So Alfric came to understand demiplanes as being something like terrariums or aquariums, controlled spaces that needed careful monitoring and intervention to keep running. When he visited his second demiplane, this one belonging to an uncle, he looked at it with a much more critical eye. This one had a larger community, ten thousand, spread out into small villages, living idyllic lives that were mostly supported by entads to give them food. Most of the machinery that made the place ‘work’ was artfully hidden, but Alfric had been on the lookout for it. Even if he couldn’t see the exact bit of artifice, he could see where artifice must have been used, and he’d gotten to know aquariums well enough to see that someone was behind the scenes making the lake have a workable ecosystem. That particular demiplane also needed to have more in the way of solutions, since the sun didn’t orbit anymore (if it ever had), leaving sunlight at a perpetual fifth bell. A large tarp was deployed to create a fake night, which was quite noticeable.
It was after they’d visited that Alfric’s mother, Ria, had given her thoughts, which ran in totally different directions.
Demiplanes were, essentially, the dregs of the old ways of living. They were fiefs, tiny kingdoms, outside the direct reach of Inter or any other nation, as much as attempts had been made to bring them under control. Much of the reason for why demiplanes were the way they were came down to how disconnected they were from the rest of the world, exempt from the Editors’ attempts at instituting change, with no magical census, no voting, or anything like that.
It was all made worse by the demiplane ‘core’, which very definitely could be owned and controlled. The core was what allowed entrance to and from the demiplane, and put bottlenecks on immigration and emigration that were managed by a single person or group of people. Once established, and especially with a surfeit of entads, a demiplane could be ruled over by a singular figure or small group. If it became known that something untoward was going on within a demiplane, Inter would do their best to bring the hammer down, but that largely had to come in the form of taxation and embargos, which were difficult to enforce, and depended in part on the demiplane owners having assets and business outside the demiplane itself.
Alfric’s mother hadn’t thought that was what their ‘uncle’ had been doing, she was more worried about the appearance of the thing. A chrononaut becoming wealthy enough to own a demiplane, which happened at the level of wealth where talking about things in terms of rings was almost meaningless, and especially lording over ten thousand people who had their movement in and out of the demiplane limited, was a problem when it came to the image of chrononauts as a whole. The demiplane was run as a democracy of sorts, and certainly no one was prohibited from leaving, but ultimate control did rest with Alfric’s uncle.
In some sense, Alfric thought that, too, was like an aquarium. Try as he might to provide a good home for the fish, shrimp, snails, and whatnot, he was ultimately their master. They weren’t thinking creatures, no, but the feel of it was a bad one, like he had trapped the creatures for his own amusement.
When Verity had related what Cate had said, he hadn’t really understood what it meant for a demiplane to be ‘fossilized’ or ‘dead’, or what this one being ‘living’ might mean. It was intriguing though, and rekindled feelings that he’d had as a boy.
He listened closely as Verity recounted her first few days.
~~~
“What does it mean for a demiplane to be living?” asked Verity.
They had adjourned from the overlook into the ‘palace’, which seemed as though it had been carved into the side of a rocky mountain. It was rough and raw carving, but the interior was splendid, and Verity was hoping that the village was just as nice.
She wasn’t staying in the demiplane, of course. She wasn’t going to live in the village.
The palace was filled with things. There were plants all over the place, dozens of them, ferns in colorful red and blue ceramic vases, but also a few creeping vines in brass pots, and at least one tall tree that seemed to have had more of the palace carved out above it to accommodate its height. Tapestries were hanging from the walls, flashy sculptures sat on equally flashy tables, and where there were no things cluttering up the space, there were vibrant tiles on the floors that crept halfway up the walls. Everything gleamed and shimmered, the lighting soft and welcoming. The chairs were large and fluffy, and made Verity feel small, especially since she didn’t seem to be able to find a way to sit that was dignified. Cate managed it effortlessly, of course.
“Demiplanes grow, by their nature,” said Cate. “They breathe. Can you imagine men fishing off the coast of Plenarch, pulling up fish which they recognize only as dead or dying creatures? Fish which are not seen eating nor swimming, only those gasping for breath. A demiplane is the same way. The ones that are known to the world are those which are dead — which have been killed, in fact.”
“And this one lives,” said Verity. “Somehow?”
“Somehow,” nodded Cate. “There will be more on that in due time.”
“But when you say that it lives … it grows?” asked Verity. “How large is this one?”
“Twenty miles across,” said Cate. “But it’s in its infancy, and will grow, a mile every decade.”
Verity frowned slightly. “A mile … of diameter?”
“Just so,” said Cate. “Which, yes, means that the area it encloses increases mightily year over year. In a century, it will have doubled in size. A century after that, it will have doubled again.”
Verity hadn’t been asking about math, she’d only been seeking clarification. Cate’s eyes had lit up at the thought of the growing demiplane though, her happiness at the prospect clear. It was that more than anything that put to rest the idea that Cate was doing this for truly nefarious purposes. She believed in the future of this place, the community that she had built.
“Now then,” said Cate. “We’ll move you to the village eventually, in less than a week, usually, unless you choose to stay in the palace.” She smiled. “It’s past the witching hour. There was some question in my mind about whether we would make it, but it seems our departure went unnoticed. I assume you’re tired?”
“I am,” said Verity. She was feeling less sharp than normal, and it seemed that her tiredness had only been kept at bay by the fear she’d been feeling. The need to sleep was starting to come over her.
“Then I’ll see you to your room,” said Cate. She stood from her seat, and Verity felt no choice but to follow. “You’ll have a roommate, for the time being. I made my last pass through Inter today, and the rooms I normally use are crowded.”
“Ah,” said Verity.
She was supremely conscious of the entad book she’d been carrying with her, now on the floor inside the blanket, which was in turn inside the bag. In one of the book’s pages was the cup, which contained a ring that led to extradimensional storage, which in turn led to more extradimensional storage, which ultimately led to Lutopia One, where her friends had been disassembled so that they wouldn’t count as people through some entad arcana. If she never went to get them, they were effectively dead, and her getting them depended upon her being able to get into the book.
Already she felt like she was close to cracking. It was a level of stress and tension that she hadn’t ever felt outside of a major performance, even including the dungeons. She wasn’t good at lying, and knew she wasn’t good at lying, but this was what was being asked of her. She tried to keep stoic, which was what she’d learned best, but all it would take was Cate saying ‘by the by, let me take that book from you’ for Verity to break completely.
The roommate, whose name was Cherry, was asleep, a mass of red hair peeking out from beneath the covers. Cate’s final instructions were whispered to Verity, pointing out the bathroom, with apologies and assurances that better lodging would be available before the week was out, once Verity had decided where it was she wanted to live.
Once Cate had gone, Verity had a fair bit of internal debate about whether or not to spring open the book right there and then. She was worried though, perhaps because of all the talk about spying and the verifiable fact that it was possible, if you had enough money and power. The time to spy on someone was the first moment they thought they were safe.
It was impossible to get to sleep, and when Verity woke up, she was mildly surprised that she’d actually managed it.
The other girl was already awake and brushing her hair. She had a nightgown on, and was giving Verity a curious look.
“You weren’t here last night,” she said.
“No,” said Verity. “I was a late arrival.” She sat up. She’d slept in her clothes, and felt worse for it, clammy and rumpled. “My name is Verity.”
“Cherry,” said the girl. She had a light lilt to her speech, an accent that was hard to place, though the red hair was characteristic of Cairbre. “I think you’re not supposed to ask people how they ended up here, but you can tell them, if you’d like.”
“Ah,” said Verity. She paused for a moment. “And are you going to tell me?”
“Mrm,” said Cherry, giving a small smile. “I wanted to start over.”
“That’s it?” asked Verity.
“I had an enormous amount of debt,” said the woman as she brushed her hair. “Truly eye-watering.” She smiled again, the smile of relief. “And now, it’s not my problem.”
Verity looked at her. Cherry was, in Verity’s estimation, not much older than twenty-five years old. That left the obvious question, which Verity wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. It seemed rude to probe, but then, the woman had been probing her.
“How did you get into so much debt?” asked Verity.
“I was an architect,” said Cherry. “I still am, actually. Do you know, they give you money to build houses? I started early, I had vision, and with every house I’d completed, they gave me more money. But I was just a small piece of it really, the person who designed everything, I wasn’t actually constructing things, though I was on site to make sure that it was all as I’d placed it. Well, after finishing another of those houses, a great cantilevered thing with a nice silhouette, I had enough money that I could found my own company. I would be the tip of the spear, the architect with great vision, and I would have the best employees, poached from among those I had worked with.”
“And … that led to ruin?” asked Verity.
“Oh, the company did fine for a time, but we were still contracting,” said Cherry. She seemed happy, in spite of recounting her doom. “I thought that it would be better not to be, to make the houses and sell them after. But no, that didn’t lead to my doom either. What happened was that I had a string of successes, houses that I’d designed which sold very well, and each time, the banks would be willing to loan me a bit more money. Each time, I would put it all into the next house, making it bigger and grander and more in line with a sense of vision that I had started to believe in a bit too much. Then I made the last house, constructed from special entad materials, with a team of hundreds, a soaring edifice with beautiful grounds, tricks of perspective and light, sweeping balconies — it was a thing of wonder. And it didn’t sell.”
“Ah,” said Verity. “And eventually, when it became clear that it wouldn’t sell, the banks came after you.”
“And it’s over now,” said the woman. “Gods, I wonder how many times I’m going to have to tell that story.” She gave Verity a little smile. “How was it? What needs work?”
“Er,” said Verity. “I think that it’s good, overall, perhaps more description of the buildings?”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” nodded Cherry. “Now, I won’t say that you owe me a story of your own, but I do suspect that it will be of some interest to people. Not all stories are so easy to share, I know. Getting too big for my britches and slapped down as though by the hand of the gods, that’s something I can sheepishly explain. And here, I’ll build new houses.” She kept brushing. Verity’s mother had been a big believer in brushing hair. “So if you’re not comfortable giving me the story of how you got here, do you know what you might want to do? Your vocation, in this place?”
“I’m a bard,” said Verity. “I suppose I’ll continue being a bard.”
“A tavern bard?” asked Cherry. “Or of the adventuring class?”
Verity gave a polite laugh. “I don’t think there will be much for adventures here.”
Cherry gave her a look. “I’m not sure that I’m supposed to be the one to tell you.”
“You have to tell me now,” said Verity. “You can’t say ‘I’m not sure I should tell’ and then not tell. It’s cruel.”
Cherry laughed. Verity wondered — not that it was important — but she wondered whether this was one of the eligible women that Cate had mentioned. “Fine, fine. Cate says that we’re in a demiplane, and that this is a special kind of demiplane.”
“She said that last night,” said Verity. “Shortly before I went to sleep.”
“Yes, but do you know what’s at the border of a normal demiplane?” asked Cherry.
“No,” said Verity. She furrowed her brow. She had a guess, but it was only that.
“A wall, usually,” said Cherry. “You place your hand against it and it’s as firm and hard as an expanse of steel. But here, it’s permeable. So soft, in some places, you’d be hard-pressed to know that you’d gone beyond it. And once you do go beyond, there are both creatures and treasures to be found.”
Verity was silent for a moment. “Like a dungeon?”
“Not particularly, I’m told,” she replied. “But I never did dungeons, have no interest in dungeons, and mostly plan to build houses, both to the whims of those who want them, and on my own, in the hopes that people move into them.” She sighed. “No money. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Verity gave a slow nod. “And we’ll have our own rooms, soon?”
“Soon,” nodded Cherry. “The early houses will be all the same, entad-made, but I’ll have enough tools to be a one-woman building crew within the day, and then the first of the custom houses will go up. Do you happen to know what you want?”
“No,” said Verity. “I really don’t.”
“You think about it,” said Cherry with a nod. “I doubt we’ll be in this room, fine as it is, for more than a few days as people get progressively settled. But we’ll have a special relationship, you and I. I wouldn’t mind bumping you up the queue.”
“That’s very kind,” said Verity. She looked around the room. It had been dark the night before, when she’d gone to sleep, and now it was bright, with light streaming in through a window that really seemed like it shouldn’t have been there, given that they were deep into the mountain palace. The fabric of the sheets was a fine material, and the furniture had incredible wooden filigree that Verity thought had to be the work of an entad, because if it had been made by a craftsman, it would have taken at least a decade. In the richer homes of Dondrian, every piece of furniture had a story to tell, being a gift from someone, commissioned for some occasion, or otherwise steeped in history. There were kings who lived on only in stories of the furniture they’d had built. This place felt like that.
“I’m going,” said Cherry. “Off to see the village, and to get a sense of what shape the houses are in there. They’re entad made, which is never good, and I imagine one of the reasons that Cate’s brought me in. Would you like to join me?”
Verity hesitated. She would like to join, but the book was there, and that was the priority. “How much, er, privacy do we have here?”
“Is Cate watching us, do you mean?” asked Cherry with a raised eyebrow. “I was crying, the first day I came, and she entered to speak with me. It might have been that she heard me from some distance, but the doors are thick, and I suspect, from the way she acts, that she keeps the newcomers close so she can keep an eye on them. You’d be hard pressed to have missed it, but she’s got quite a lot of abilities.” The eyebrow stayed raised, and seemed to speak volumes. Yes, we are likely being watched.
“Then I think I will come with you,” said Verity. “So long as my pack will be safe?”
Cherry snorted. “I doubt there could be anything in that pack that Cate would actually want.”
~~~~
Cherry became Verity’s unofficial tour guide, taking her through the palace. Perhaps Cate had intended to do it herself, or the idea was that Cherry would handle it all along, but the effortlessness with which it happened was a bit startling, and felt like a sign that Cate knew more than she was letting on. If Cherry had just left before Verity woke up, would Verity be left to wander the halls? It seemed like Cate wouldn’t have let that happen.
Every need was taken care of, to an extent that Verity had only experienced at the upper echelons of Dondrian high society. There were cabinets full of things, a snack cabinet with thirty different varieties of foods to eat, from chocolate to pickles, a closet that had toiletries anyone could pluck out, linens by the yard, a pot that would dispense fresh coffee or tea, and a walk-in chiller that was apparently kept permanently fresh and stocked, cold only because it would otherwise be unnerving.
Much of this was done by way of entads, but for some things, it wasn’t clear where the abundance had originated. It was all free to take as she pleased. Many of the rooms in the palace had labels on them, and while it seemed like it would be easy to get lost, most of the people they’d seen were quite friendly, with smiles and good cheer. She supposed most of them had escaped from bad situations, even if those situations were something like having too much debt.
“This is The Wardrobe,” said Cherry with a smile. “I have a feeling you’ll like this.”
The room reminded Verity of being dressed by Alfric’s mom for the concert, only this one had more of everything, more space to move around, more mirrors, and more fabric of every variety. In a position of prominence there sat an actual wardrobe, firm and tall.
“You can have anything you want from it,” said Cherry. “All you need to do is say the style, materials, and how it should fit, and it will be made for you, from nothing, ready to wear as a complete outfit. All you need to do is place your hand on the door and speak.”
Verity tried it, though she had no doubt that it would work. She asked for something nicely masculine, not giving too much more than that, interested to see what the entad would come up with. After a moment, she opened the wardrobe and found that there was a rather complete outfit inside, all fitted to her, with a bright red blouse and khaki slacks that would hug her hips. There was a white undershirt whose collar would show, and a scarf that would wrap around her. She wondered whether it had been calculated for the weather, and decided that it probably had. It even came with leather boots with a thick heel. It wasn’t her usual style, but that felt appropriate for this place.
“Throw it all at the mirror,” said Cherry.
“The mirror?” asked Verity.
“That one,” said Cherry, pointing.
Verity took the bundle of clothing and tossed it at the mirror, struck to find that it all went through. When she looked down, she was wearing it. “Oh.” The dress she’d been wearing was neatly folded beside her on the floor.
“You look rather fine, I should say,” said Cherry. She gave Verity an appraising look, and any of the doubts that Verity had about whether this was one of the eligible women went out the window. “I think we’re ready for the village, once we make a brief diversion for breakfast.”
The palace held a dining hall, which consisted of three tables, each about fifty feet in length. The middle of the three tables was heaped with food, and a stack of plates, bowls, and silverware sat at one end of it. The abundance of it all was faintly ridiculous. There were six different types of eggs: hard-boiled, soft-boiled, scrambled, poached, fried, basted, and shired. The bacon came in six varieties, some chewy, some crisp, different thicknesses, and one that didn’t seem to be pork at all. There was fruit of every color, all of it freshly cut, and different dishes that were less identifiable. The table held a range of food from every culture, including six different pots of what Verity could identify as sobyu.
She took only a small plate, and ate hurriedly.
“The food stays fresh and hot,” said Cherry. “Between lunch and dinner, the dining hall becomes a market, and people from the village come in to fill their baskets. Again, no money changes hands.”
The money seemed to be the important thing to Cherry, and Verity wondered whether that was a common thing. There had only been one brief period in her life when she hadn’t been financially secure, that being the time she’d been playing at the Fig and Gristle. But there, at least, she’d had room and board, never missing a meal except when she wanted to. The food was good, too. She could imagine how wonderful the excess she’d seen so far would seem to someone who had really struggled, eating bland, cheap food, or clothed in patched and mended hand-me-downs.
With breakfast completed, they left the palace behind. There was a small trolley that went up and down the side of the mountain, but they eschewed that, taking the steps instead. It was a fine day for it, though Cherry was slightly out of breath from trying to speak and hike at the same time.
“There are, as I see it, three options for where to live,” said Cherry. “You’ve seen the palace, and we’re heading for the village, but those aren’t the only places. You can strike out on your own, build a cabin in the woods, or even a secondary village, gods know there’s enough space for that.”
“I actually lived in a cabin in the woods, before this,” said Verity.
“Did you now?” asked Cherry. “You’re just full of mysteries, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Verity. “How soon can I move out of the palace?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” said Cherry. “The person to ask would be Cate. But there’s no rush, is there?”
“I just want my new life to start,” said Verity, which was a complete lie, and which she felt bad about afterward.
“If you’re concerned about her looking at you, then I don’t think traipsing off into the woods is going to help matters,” said Cherry. “I can’t say for certain that she’s got a way of keeping tabs on people outside the palace, but I would think that if someone came into her realm and then immediately ran off, it might raise some red flags.”
“I suppose,” said Verity, frowning. She looked back at the palace, keenly aware that the book was still there, and that her friends were inside, waiting for her. She had no idea how long to wait, when it might be ‘safe’ to pull everyone out. She wasn’t even sure, seeing this place, that she needed everyone. If they could use their device to exit, perhaps that would be for the best, to leave these people to their own devices. Cate was pretty obviously not mistreating anyone.
As she thought that though, her thoughts turned to her mother. Her mother had always liked to paint a pretty picture for friends, always boasting about how well her father’s work was going, how lovely Verity’s playing was, and oh how nice it was to have a daughter that was smiled upon by one of the gods. When someone wanted to cloak reality, especially if they had power, it wasn’t a particularly difficult thing to do.
It was still entirely possible that there was a seedy underbelly to be uncovered, and they were the only ones who could do anything about it, now that they were in and Cate had apparently sealed them off from the world.
The village was enchanting, almost right from the start. There was a pleasing age to it, a weathering to the cobblestone paths that made them feel like they’d been there for a few centuries, moss and lichen cover on some of the buildings that made it seem like these were very old rock. Ivy climbed stone structures, and in the center of the village was a large statue that looked like it had been weathered by time and rain. Verity had half-suspected that it would be of Cate herself, but no, when they got closer she saw that it was the six gods in human form, interpreted by the artist, entwined.
Most of the houses were, as Cherry had said, the same. Some of them shared walls, but more of them had gaps between them, and the placement was often irregular, which helped disguise the fact that the layout was the same. Most of these houses were older, their wooden shingles weathered, but maybe a third of them were new constructions. On the older houses, embellishments had been made, with a dormer added to the top floor, a bay window to the living room, or just some paint to make it stick out. Verity had heard her mother talk about zoning enough times to wonder what happened when someone created an eyesore, intentionally or otherwise, but she saw nothing that made her raise an eyebrow.
“Hard to say what the history of this place is,” said Cherry.
“History?” asked Verity.
“There’s age, you can see that,” said Cherry, pointing to the mortar that held together the stones making up the bridge. “At a guess, it’s at least two hundred years old, with some upkeep since then. But it’s hard to say.”
“Are there … natives?” asked Verity. “People who grew up here?”
“Nope,” said Cherry. “I can give you Cate’s answer, which is that there were some people here long ago.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much to me.”
It definitely gave Verity pause though. What it seemed like, at least to her, was that this place had been built on the bones of an older colony. That the new houses were the same as the old meant that the same entad had been used to create both, and while there were some innocent explanations for that, it seemed rather ghoulish. Verity wasn’t entirely certain how a colony could fail, and wished that she could talk with Alfric. Her eyes also went to the trees, some of which seemed like they were hundreds of years old, and she wished that she could talk to Isra too.
“Personally, I think I’m staying in the palace,” said Cherry. “Maybe not in the same room, but I definitely want somewhere that takes care of everything for me.” She looked at Verity. “What do you think, do these houses appeal to you?”
Verity looked at the houses. Their most notable feature was a small turret near the front entryway, which seemed as though it led up to the second floor. The doors were thick and sturdy, while the windows had nine panes of clear glass and seemed much more delicate, even with the wooden shutters. They seemed like fine places to live, a definite upgrade from the cabin in the woods, but likewise a definite downgrade from the beauty of Mizuki's house.
“I think it doesn’t suit me,” said Verity, looking at the stonework. “But I’d prefer to be out of the palace as soon as possible.”
“Your needs will still be met,” nodded Cherry. “Maybe with a visit to the palace every now and then for the vitals. There’s a general store here, though calling it that is perhaps a bit of a stretch, since again, there’s no money. It’s just a place stocked with the essentials, perhaps not as much as the palace.”
“Is that by design?” asked Verity.
“Design?” asked Cherry, raising an eyebrow.
“Is the reason the ‘general store’ has less because that’s the way Cate wanted it, or just because having two of every entad wasn’t within her means?” asked Verity.
“You have questions about our host,” said Cherry. She turned away. “Myself, I don’t look at a gift too closely, not when it means escaping a foul fate.” She looked back at Verity, raising an eyebrow. “But I suppose I don’t know what fate you were hoping to avoid.”
“My mother was terrible,” said Verity. “And my party had left me.” She shrugged. The lie had come easier this time. “Life was terrible, and didn’t seem like it was going to get better. I could have run away to anywhere, but with the offer to run away to here, it seemed as though it was worth trying.”
“‘Trying’?” asked Cherry, looking skeptical. “We’re here for the long haul. Cate’s made sure of that.”
“In my case, I think she was a bit lenient,” said Verity. “If I decide it’s not for me, that this place I’ve come to sight unseen isn’t where I want to spend the rest of my life, what happens?”
“That, I don’t know,” said Cherry. “I’ve hardly been here much longer than you have, four days or so.”
“You’re taking to it well,” said Verity.
“Every need is met,” shrugged Cherry. “Save for a few, I suppose. But I would think that anyone who comes here would be hard-pressed not to settle in quickly. There are so many things that you simply don’t need to worry about, and whatever brought you here, we’ve got leaving the old world in common.”
“I suppose,” said Verity.
“Come,” said Cherry, placing a hand on Verity’s shoulder. “Let me show you my favorite place in the village.”
~~~~
Ria’s instructions had been clear: Verity was not to pull them out until she was sure that the coast was clear, and when it happened, it needed to be as close to the witching hour as possible, in order to give the adversary as little time to respond as possible. Timekeeping was necessarily suspect in a demiplane, which meant that Verity would need to go by guild messages. This meant joining a guild, which she didn’t want to see too desperate to do, lest she draw attention to herself.
Time passed. Cherry seemed ever-present, and when she wasn’t around Verity, she was in their shared room. Verity spent time in the palace, expecting to see more of Cate, but Cate wasn’t an ever-present figure, and was ‘away’ more often than not.
On her second day in the demiplane, Verity put on a performance in the palace. There was a small theater that expanded based on how many people were in it, with a sign-up sheet where anyone could put on a show. The sheet had seemed somewhat empty to her, and though no one had asked her to put her name on it, she wanted to gain the favor of the people here, especially so they would talk to her about their conditions, or anything else that was going on. She hadn’t expected many people to show up, but it was more than a hundred, which was at least ten times what she’d thought it would be.
The performance had gone well. She’d played ‘The Brave Knight Gave’ for them, then a few other ‘dungeon songs’, and had finally finished with a song she’d made up almost entirely on the spot, this one about a new world rich with wonder and possibility. Cate had been in the audience, and congratulated Verity after the fact, wrapping her in a warm hug.
On the fourth day, she was given her own house, one of the older ones, and Cherry had promised that she’d have something custom-built within a few months, either to Verity’s specifications or ‘something Verity might like’. They were, more or less, friends.
Verity was worried that she was leaving the resurrection of her party for too long. She was especially worried that she was putting it off because she liked this place and didn’t want to disrupt things too much. It was hard to tell where the paranoid prudence that Ria had advised ended and a need not to rock the boat began.
There was no more putting it off, if that was what she was doing. She stayed up late, so late that she was at risk of nodding off in the wooden chair she’d set up next to the fireplace, and waited until the village guild gave her a new message. She had joined on the third day, offered by their ‘mayor’, a lovely woman only a few years older than Verity was.
She’d been nervous when she brought them back, worried she would be yelled at, but mostly anxious that Ria or Alfric would immediately deliver the bad news they’d learned in an undone day.
Comments
fbt
makes me wonder if their regular world (which is exceedingly odd and artificial) is a similar thing. Also, they presume ill intent, whereas all of Cate (who I neither like nor trust, btw)'s actions are consistent w/ the simple fact that this demiplane is *insanely* valuable to someone in their society, and some jerk would inevitably want it. We'll see, I guess!
L
Rock on!
