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This Used to be About Dungeons, ch 104, The Pucklechurch Gardening Club + WtC Book 2
🕑 Added 2022-05-23 17:47:47 +0000 UTCSorry for the slight delay on this one, I'd recovered from the bad cold, but then it turned into what I'm pretty sure is a sinus infection, so I'm still not tip top.
Also, Book 2 of Worth the Candle is now available for pre-order!
~~~~
Over the course of her absence, Verity said exactly five sentences in their party chat. These were:
<The concert went fine. I’m going to sleep.>
<The second concert was alright. I’ll be back tomorrow.>
<Coming home in just a bit.>
And then she was back with them, so early in the morning that she arrived before Mizuki was finished making breakfast — and it was rare for Verity to be awake before the end of breakfast.
“You’re back!” said Isra, wrapping Verity in a hug. Verity returned the hug, somewhat limply, as though she’d been so drained of energy that she couldn’t even do something as simple as hug her girlfriend. It took a moment for Isra to relent. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” said Verity. “Sorry, I’m tired.”
“Do you need to sleep?” asked Isra. “We can be quiet while you rest, you must have set out early.”
“I’m tired, but I’m not going to sleep,” said Verity. “I need to keep some semblance of a schedule. Maybe a nap later.” She looked at Isra, finally really looked, and squeezed Isra’s hand. “We need to spend some time together.”
“Yes,” Isra smiled. She was getting better about smiling, she felt. She had practiced in front of a mirror. “I had hoped to hear more from you over the party chat about how it was going.”
“I never really had time,” said Verity. She yawned. “You were fine?”
“I missed you,” Isra repeated. “I worked on the garden, played with the dragons, and did some archery practice.” It had only been two days, but it had felt much longer. “I want to hear all about your trip though.”
“Let me put my things away,” said Verity.
She said hello to the others, who were milling about the kitchen, then trudged up to their room. Isra wasn’t sure whether Verity had intended for them to go up together, but she followed after, not wanting to be apart.
“So?” asked Isra.
Verity laid on the bed, and for a moment seemed as though she was going to fall asleep there. “It was more awful than I had imagined it would be.”
“Oh,” said Isra. “I’m sorry honey.”
“Honey?” asked Verity, lifting her head slightly.
Isra opened her mouth to explain that this was a pet name, but closed her mouth again, because surely Verity knew that. In the end, Isra simply shrugged.
“I don’t know why I expected that it might be easier, why I thought that I could handle it,” said Verity. “All that build up, all that time spent trying to steel myself, and then I just fell flat on my face.”
“I’m sorry,” Isra said again. “You had practiced so hard, it sounded so good —”
“Oh,” said Verity. “The concerts went fine.” She let out a long sigh. “I said that in party chat, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t say much,” said Isra.
“I got a standing ovation both times,” said Verity. “And a glowing review in the papers. Professionally it was everything my mother had been hoping it would be, which was almost exactly the problem.” She had been staring up at the ceiling, but turned to look at Isra. “She wanted me to stay in Dondrian. Apparently she hadn’t made arrangements for a return trip to Pucklechurch because she ‘just wanted it to be easier on everyone’. I need to be back there in five days, and she has a point, but it’s not what we agreed on.”
“I’m glad you came home,” said Isra. “You shouldn’t be carrying this all on your own.” She slipped into bed next to Verity, curling up under Verity’s arm.
“There’s nothing you can do though,” said Verity. Her voice was soft. “I can tell you all about it, but even if you weren’t a world away … it’s a battle that you can’t fight for me.”
“I could try,” said Isra. “I could send a colony of birds to live in her house, or march a bear to the negotiation table.” She smiled at Verity, and finally, for the first time since she’d come home, Verity smiled back.
They kissed tenderly for a moment, and then with more urgency. It was as though Verity was coming back to life, like a wilted plant that was finally tasting water again. Isra helped to take off Verity’s clothes, and then they spent some time speaking in the language of their bodies, traveling each other's geography, seeing the mountains and valleys.
When they’d finished, Verity had fallen right asleep. Isra covered her with a blanket and kissed her on the forehead, then went downstairs, to where breakfast was getting cold.
“You know the worst part about breakfast?” asked Mizuki.
“Uh, no?” asked Isra.
“It’s pretty much all foods that are terrible when they get cold, and without much way for them to keep their heat,” answered Mizuki. “Eggs get gross, bacon gets gross — maybe I should start making some veggies for breakfast, since they would keep. Anyway, that’s my way of saying sorry for the stodgy food.” She glanced at doorway. “Is Verity coming, or … ?”
“She’ll sleep,” said Isra. “Sorry if you made too much.” She took a scoop of food from each of the bowls Mizuki had set out, loading up her plate, and then began to eat quickly.
“I’d hoped that she missed my cooking,” said Mizuki. “But I guess sleep calls.”
Mizuki had gone for a full spread, though much of it was gone. There were hard-boiled eggs, pickled vegetables, something Mizuki called ‘egg pancakes’, strips of grilled pork belly, and a wide variety of mushrooms from the forest — all picked by Isra the day before. Hannah had done some baking in the morning, and there were two different kinds of rolls, with a small rack set beside them. The rack was new, a bit of woodworking that Alfric had put together, made to hold their various pots of jams and jellies, along with the butter dish. A second caddy was in the process of being planned, one for tea, but that was apparently some ways off.
“What’s your read on her?” asked Alfric. His plate was clean, but he’d stayed at the table. “What are the odds that we’ll actually get in a dungeon this week?”
“Low,” said Isra. “Sorry.”
“It’s — well, it’s not fine, because that likely means we’ll have to wait until the end of the concert series to do one, but,” Alfric sighed. “I understand. She’s under a lot of stress, both with the music side of things and the personal end. I still wish that we could somehow avoid the disruption.”
“You’ve got your carpentry though, right?” asked Mizuki.
“I don’t want to be a carpenter,” said Alfric. “Besides, I’ve been spending too much time on it, I can feel myself getting weaker on the dungeons side of things. I need training and, you know, to actually do some dungeons.”
“If you ask me, it doesn’t help that you’re living the same day twice most days,” said Mizuki. “That means that for you, it’s twice as long, right?”
“Point taken,” Alfric sighed.
“I do wish we could go to one of these concerts,” said Hannah. “We do have the money, don’t we?”
“We do,” said Alfric. “Or I might be able to call in a favor from my parents.”
“Do we want to go?” asked Mizuki. “I mean, I’m all for supporting her, and maybe for another night on the town in Dondrian, but we’ve been hearing all these songs for weeks now, and us being there might be more pressure for Verity.”
“I want to go,” said Isra. “If it’s possible to do it for less than ten thousand rings.”
“That would be really high,” said Alfric. “Besides, normally for a concert the artist will get tickets to comp.”
“Comp?” asked Isra. The word was clearly a shortening of something, but she couldn’t fathom what.
“Complimentary,” said Alfric. “That would mean that we only need to pay for the trip, which, like I said, I might be able to convince my mom or dad to do for us. They do like seeing me.”
“Maybe Emperor can have an extended vacation here?” asked Mizuki.
“This house is getting too full of pets,” said Hannah. “And the dragons are growin’ fast, which is goin’ to be a problem unless we do end up sellin’ them.” She looked to Isra. “And no progress on that front?”
“No,” said Isra. “Sorry, I’ve been busy, and it didn’t feel urgent.”
“Cate really wants them,” said Alfric. “Ideally you could get something done with that today? Otherwise I can take over.”
“I’ll handle it,” said Isra. “But I’m spending today with Verity.”
“Within the next day or two, please?” asked Alfric. “I feel bad that we said we needed a better handle on what they’re worth and then did literally nothing about it. It’s not a good way to do business.”
“I was busy,” Isra repeated with a frown.
“All I’m saying is that I can take point,” said Alfric.
No one asked Isra what she had been busy with, and she couldn’t tell why. The truth was, they’d gone to Plenarch, which would have been the perfect time to speak with some bastlekeepers about dragon pricing and care, but she’d spent her time shopping, buying a new wardrobe, exploring the city, and pretending to be someone else. From the party’s perspective, she could see how this wasn’t the best use of her time, and she really had meant to get the dragon business finished with so they could present Cate with a reasonable price … but it kept being too much drudge work for her to tackle it. Not doing something because you simply didn’t feel like doing it was a terrible excuse, but no one had yet pressed her on it.
Verity came down as Isra was finishing up breakfast, and while the rest of the party was deep in conversation about a topic of no import, which was how many jams and jellies a home should realistically have. Verity sat at the table, then gave out a little yelp and looked beneath it.
“Why is Emperor here?” she asked.
“He’s taking a vacation,” said Mizuki, who seemed to have been saving that response for the right moment.
“For how long?” asked Verity.
“A week or so,” said Mizuki. “Not long, just long enough to get him out of the house and allow him an adventure.”
“I didn’t really want to take him,” said Alfric. “But he showed up at our house because of an entad mishap, and my parents took the opportunity to go on a vacation of their own. Not that one of my siblings couldn’t have watched him while we were gone, but he needs walks and they have ‘busy lives’. We got into arguments about the ‘country air’.” He shook his head.
“Mmm,” said Verity. She took most of what was left of breakfast and ate by stabbing her fork into things and bringing them to her mouth. There was something feral about how she did it. All decorum and grace seemed to have left her.
“Are you okay?” asked Mizuki.
“Mom starved me,” said Verity. “Said I had put on a few pounds, that I needed to fit in the dresses, gave me meals that were too small … I had already used up my energy yelling at her about other things.” She said this around mouthfuls of food.
“Anything you need from us?” asked Alfric.
“A dungeon,” said Verity. “Tomorrow. And maybe another before I leave.”
“Um,” said Alfric. “We can, certainly, but —”
“I want to kill something,” said Verity. She looked up at Alfric. “Is there a way for me to do that? Can I get a lute that will tear someone to shreds?”
“Did you spend your whole time in Dondrian angry?” asked Hannah.
“No,” said Verity, stabbing a bit of pork belly. “No, I spent it feeling harassed and overworked, uncomfortable in my own skin, and it wasn’t until I came home that I felt enraged by it all. So I’d like to go into a dungeon and work off some steam. If I could do that personally rather than empowering others, all the better.”
“You know, when we went to Plenarch we did the whole thing with the bastlefolk,” said Mizuki. “And I kind of think that killing the things in the dungeons is, um …”
“Wrong?” asked Hannah.
“No,” said Mizuki. “Not wrong, but maybe something that you shouldn’t do to blow off steam? Like, I feel like it should be like putting down a dog or something, done with respect and kindness if possible, not with glee that you’re bashing heads in.”
“Fine,” said Verity with a roll of her eyes. “I would still like to do a dungeon. Tomorrow though, because I’m spending today with Isra.”
“We can do that,” Alfric nodded. “Do you have any martial training at all?”
“No,” said Verity. “And I know, I know, you don’t want to be deprived of my lute.”
“Well,” said Alfric. “In theory, you can sing while you fight, but that would be more strenuous for you, and we’d get less from your bardic talents. I’m not averse to it though. And we do have a surplus of bows. I know you’ve been getting in some training with Isra.”
The ‘training’ had mostly been an excuse for them to touch each other, and now that they were dating, no excuse was really needed. Verity hadn’t gained all that much skill with a bow in their time together, though she was better than she’d been. In a dungeon, Isra didn’t think that Verity would do all that well, but if it would make her feel better … that wasn’t what dungeons were for though, and it rankled at Isra a bit. Perhaps Alfric’s opinions had infected her. A dungeon was a place to go in, extract what you could, and then get out with minimal risk and effort.
“It’s you and me today?” asked Isra.
Verity nodded, still chewing on her food. She was eating like a wild animal. It occurred to Isra that this must have been on purpose, an expression of her anger, or rebellion against her mother, but it was unsightly.
“What are we doing?” asked Isra.
“I don’t know,” said Verity. “Being free.”
“I was going to go to the Pucklechurch Gardening Club today,” said Isra. “I thought you might like to come?”
“I — you remember that I was in the Dondrian Gardening Society?” asked Verity. “And that it wasn’t such a good time for me?” Some of her anger had left her, which Isra was grateful for.
“I was invited last temple day,” said Isra. “They only meet for an hour, at third bell. You don’t have to come, but I thought you might enjoy it.” She paused. “There will be cookies?”
“Sure,” said Verity, though there was no enthusiasm.
Isra was fairly sure that the Pucklechurch Gardening Club would be a far cry from the Dondrian Gardening Society, though she had never attended either. The woman who’d approached her at temple day, Ethel, was apparently the chair of the club, and had overheard Isra talking about gardening with Mizuki, particularly some of the Kiromon plants that they were going to use for special meals. Hannah had worked with Mizuki to make some noodles, an endeavor that seemed to be going exceptionally slowly, but once they finally had workable noodles, Mizuki wanted all kinds of roots and green to go with them.
When Verity finally finished her breakfast, they went out into the garden together. Isra pointed out all the work she’d done while Verity had been gone, mostly in making sure that there was support for the climbing plants, along with the removal of some weeds. What they’d produced in the garden was nothing like the natural conditions that these plants would have in the wild.
“It’s interesting,” said Isra. “The best environment for these plants isn’t the natural one. It’s a place without competitors, predators, or adversity. Part of gardening is providing this perfect environment that would never exist.” She touched the struts they’d made for the tomatoes and cucumbers to climb, replacing the rotted and falling apart trellis that had once been there.
“I feel bad for them, in a way,” said Verity.
“Why?” asked Isra.
“I don’t know,” said Verity. “They’re not living, thinking things. It’s a stupid thing to feel.”
“They’re getting everything they need,” said Isra. “Water, nutrients, sunlight, perfect weather, strong roots, support for their vines, pollinators — I don’t understand.”
“Just a feeling,” Verity shrugged. “Of being too perfect.”
“Were you angry with me this morning?” asked Isra.
“What?” asked Verity. “No, why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” said Isra. “You were angry when you came downstairs. I thought maybe it was something I did.” Isra felt stupid for saying so, because it felt like there couldn’t possibly be any reason for Verity to be angry with her.
“Oh,” said Verity. “No, it was just the opposite, really. I felt so warm, so loved, and I fell asleep with you in my arms — and then I woke up, and I had time to think, and I realized that I’d been in Dondrian rather than here, and that’s what made me angry. I’d been missing out.”
“Ah,” said Isra.
“Why would I have been mad at you?” asked Verity as she touched the leaves of their growing tomato plant.
“I don’t know,” said Isra. “I saw you coming in very tired, and when you woke up your were angry, and the only difference was that I’d been with you in the meantime.”
“No,” said Verity. “I just got myself angry thinking about my mom.”
“Tell me,” said Isra. “You’ve hardly said anything about your time there.”
“Well,” said Verity. She looked down at the plants. “Can’t we talk about something happier?”
“No,” said Isra. “I want to understand.”
“Fine,” said Verity. She swallowed, then began.
~~~~
“We have too much to do,” said Verity's mother, from almost the moment that Verity appeared at the terminal. Appearing there was definitely not necessary, given that they were going straight to the house, but Verity’s mother was nothing if not controlling. “You could have dressed yourself better, and taken care of your hair, and — do you understand that people might see us as we move through town? You’re putting on a concert tonight and you look as though you’re just blithely going through your day.”
“Sorry mother,” said Verity, though she wasn’t particularly sorry. The trip had been early in the morning, and involved holding a brown rabbit in order to get an entad to work. She hadn’t been properly prepared for the sensation, which was like falling, hands first, into a pile of fur, but then she’d been in Dondrian, with her mother standing right there.
“Follow along,” her mother said. “There’s much to do, as I’ve said, we need to make you presentable for tonight, to tour the theater, to go over the music, to make sure that you have everything practiced —”
“I’ve been practicing almost non-stop for the last two weeks,” said Verity.
Her mother stopped and blinked at her. “Not the music, which I should hope you have well in hand. Everything else. Where you’re to go, what you’re to do, how you’re to walk, all those things. You need to know your cues, and you certainly don’t know them. It’s all business that would have been better done in the days leading up to this first concert rather than the day of.” She turned back and kept walking toward the device that would take them to their hex. “And this is to say nothing of all the work we’ll have to do on your appearance, which would be a full day on its own if we were doing it properly. Hair, nails, skincare, makeup, I can tell just from a glance that you haven’t been keeping up your regimes.”
“I need time to practice with the lute,” said Verity.
“You’ve had time,” said Verity’s mother. “I’ve sat in that room and listened.”
“I want to have a handle on the acoustics of the theater,” said Verity.
“We’ll have time,” her mother said. “But that’s quite a ways away. Honestly, I don’t think you understand how much is riding on these first performances, how much pressure I’ve been under to get things sorted in short order.”
The trip home passed with news of Dondrian, none of which Verity particularly cared about. The seizure of her father’s business was apparently the talk of town, but high society had seemed to come around on the matter, perhaps sensing that a successful seizure might embolden workers at other places. While other, more proactive steps were being undertaken like raising wages and creating better working conditions, many of the more wealthy owners were also decrying the seizure for one reason or another. That had, in some sense, elevated Verity’s mother, at least for a time.
When they arrived at the family home, Verity was surprised to see that her father was there.
“You’re home,” said Verity.
“I wouldn’t have missed seeing you for the world, chipmunk,” he said with a wide smile. It had been almost a year since she’d seen him, and he’d aged a lot in that time. His mustache was streaked with gray and his eyes had crow’s feet. He had lost weight, she felt, and was now unhealthily skinny, though she might not have noticed if he hadn’t wrapped her in a close hug.
This was all considerably more warmth than he had shown her when she’d left.
“I missed you so,” he said with a sigh. “We left things so poorly. And now, with you stepping in to provide funding, it’s all — well, frightfully embarrassing, as money matters often are.”
“I’ve had a dozen letters from mother,” said Verity. “None from you.”
“I’ve never been particularly good with the pen,” her father replied, smoothing down his mustache. “I tried, on two occasions, but it all came out wrong.”
“I understand,” said Verity, though she didn’t really. She’d never been particularly close with her father, though more because he was absent than because they didn’t get along. He had always backed up her mother in arguments, especially toward the end, and Verity had always had the sense that they were a team playing against her.
“Come, let me show you what I’ve been working on,” he said, ushering her to follow, though she’d only just gotten in the house.
“She has too much to do, Perry,” Verity’s mother called after him.
“Nonsense, it won’t be more than ten minutes!” he called back. “And people need to know! She’ll need to tell them!”
Verity followed her father and dropped her suitcase beside the stairs to be carried up to her room later. She was momentarily startled when someone — a new girl — picked it up and carried it for her. Their complement of ‘help’ had always been rather small, but apparently they now employed someone to carry up luggage.
“This,” her father said, gesturing to a contraption on the center of their dining room, “is the future.”
Verity looked at it. Most of the machine was metal, a combination of springs and gears, but in the center was dull gray stone, presumably ectad material, which was sitting on top of velvet. The housing for this all was wood, and it would have looked quite handsome if not for the fact that bits and pieces of it were strewn around it, making it look half-finished.
“What is it?” Verity finally asked, since that seemed to be the question that her father wanted.
“It can play music,” he said with a beaming smile that was just a bit too sweaty. “I think I have it working, we’re still hammering out a few issues, which is why I brought it home to work on.”
“You’re doing engineering?” asked Verity.
“We’re a small shop,” he replied. “Five people, not including me. I can just barely keep up with the people I hired.” He began putting a few things back together, slotting things into place, then pushing a rod through. “Just a moment, I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”
“It’s fine,” said Verity.
“I’ve told your father that he should be putting his efforts into the seizure,” said Verity’s mother. “Time on the floor with the workers now is a bit like closing the barn doors after all the sheep have left, but it’s something. They’ll be asking him how well he knows his business, how well he knows his workers, all that kind of thing, and it would be best if his efforts were spent preparing as best he can.”
“The interview was yesterday, in fact,” Verity’s father replied, seeming unconcerned.
“You didn’t tell me that,” her mother replied, voice hollow. “And? How did it go?”
He only waved a hand in reply. “This will make us more than fish ever did.” He tinker with the contraption some more. “There, I think that’s it.”
Verity’s mother was standing by the door with her hands folded over her chest. Her father inserted a strip of metal into the machine, then stood back. A loud tone emitted from it, but nothing more, and after a moment he went forward to stop it.
“This might take a moment to diagnose,” he said.
“It’s been making that sound,” Verity’s mother said with pursed lips.
“We had it going at the workshop,” he replied. “If you could hear it, you would understand why I think the seizure is a blessing in disguise.”
“Your father thinks that we’ll get a windfall from the seizure,” said Verity’s mother. “His barristers are, unfortunately, not my barristers, so I only have what he’s said to go on.”
“I’ve a national patent for this,” her father replied. “The principle is sound, it’s just a matter of getting the material to respond to the pressure, it’s no different from the engineering of a particularly complicated waterstone, the mechanical parts aren’t meant to be troublesome.”
“Come,” said Verity’s mother, standing tall. “If your father gets it working, he can show you later. If you’re asked, and you might be, you’re to speak little of this diversion from the company.”
~~~~
“They fought a lot,” said Verity. “It had never been like that before, but I suppose my father’s business had always been assumed to be nothing of note, and my mother’s business had been me. He never came to my defense, but I could see that he was … I don’t know. Struggling. He wanted this thing of his to work. It was supposed to play music, but he wasn’t able to get it working again before I left.”
“It sounds like you have a lot in common,” said Isra.
“We do?” asked Verity. “I can’t imagine what makes you say that.”
“He ventured out on his own,” said Isra. “Because he didn’t want to live in the shadow of his father.”
“That’s — well, I don’t think it’s very true,” said Verity. “I think he happened on an idea that looked good on paper and then spent time and money he couldn’t afford on it, which has led to him almost certainly losing the business that actually makes money. He’s got a patent, but it’s worth nothing if there’s nothing he can actually produce, if it’s just an idea.”
“Sorry,” said Isra.
“No, don’t be sorry, I just don’t think you’re right about why he decided to go into this business with ectads, and I don’t think we’re at all similar.” She sighed. “There’s a lot more to say, obviously, but I don’t want to get into it at the moment.”
“I want to hear about the performance,” said Isra.
“It was fine,” said Verity with a shrug. “I thought I would faint, or throw up, but once I was up there playing, practice was my guide. I’ve played those songs so many times now that I could practically do them with my eyes closed, even with the acoustics being different and the fact that there were two thousand people watching me.”
“You were worried you would crumple,” said Isra.
“I was,” said Verity with a little laugh. “And it feels silly now, to think that I was so worried.”
“You’re feeling better about the concerts ahead?” asked Isra.
Verity laughed. “No, not at all. I’ve practiced less, and the pressure will still be high, and it will only be after they’re done that I feel like I knew I could do it all along.” Her laughter faded. “You know, I hate my mother for making me do this.”
“I know,” said Isra.
“We didn’t talk much about money, but I got the sense that without these concerts, they’d be sunk,” said Verity. “If the seizure goes through, they’ll need to find some kind of other business, and I get the sense that father’s ectad business will never see a single ring of profit.”
“Then what will they do?” asked Isra. “How will this help them?”
“I’m not sure that it will,” Verity said with a groan. “It will give them money, and then down the line they’ll need more money, and I never should have agreed to do it in the first place.”
“You need to talk about finances with them,” said Isra. “Next time you go.”
Verity looked into Isra’s eyes. “You’re right, naturally, but — it’s so much easier, with my mother, to just do as I’m told. That’s how it’s been since I was little. If I don’t do what I’m told, there will be consequences.”
Isra felt herself frowning and relaxed. “Come, let’s get ready for the gardening club. I want to bring something potted to show them. We have potted wyvern’s breath, don’t we?” She peered over and found just the pot she was thinking of, one that needed to be brought in during the winter, as it couldn’t survive low temperatures.
“I think that will be fine, but it’s not that good a specimen,” said Verity. “It doesn’t really matter though, I doubt they’ll be looking too closely at it.”
Isra kept herself from frowning, but she didn’t think that was true. Ethel had been quite insistent that they would be talking about plants, and if the Gardening Club didn’t talk about plants, then Isra didn’t really see what the point would be. Pucklechurch wasn’t like Dondrian, where people made all kinds of excuses to see each other. At least, she didn’t think it was like that.
They made their way into town at third bell, with Isra carrying the potted wyvern’s breath. She was wearing a red dress with yellow flowers around the hem and down the neckline, and a belt that went around the waist and was delightfully non-functional. On her head was the wide-brimmed hat, good for keeping out the sun, and she’d made sure that there was sun to keep out, just so her outfit would look its best.
The Pucklechurch Gardening Club met in the Angry Plum before the inn was properly open for the day, and as they went in, Isra was pleased to see that other people had brought plants to show off as well. This included a young man with a tree in a pot, which must have taken all his considerable muscles to lift. The chairs had been set out in a ring, and Verity found them a pair that hadn’t been claimed, where they could sit together.
“Excuse me,” said one of the older women, who had shuffled across the room when they came in. “Are you Isra?”
“I am,” said Isra. She remembered to smile. “Can I help you?”
The old woman gave out a little laugh, and her beaded necklace clacked as she did. “Oh, I don’t even know how to go about explaining — I learned that we had a druid in town, and it all snapped into clarity. It was a relief, I tell you.”
Isra waited patiently with an expectant smile, which is what she thought was called for when someone said something cryptic.
“I’m the cloudmaster for the hex,” she said, putting a hand on her chest. “When I started, which was a little more than a decade ago now, I was told that all there really was to it was telling people what I knew. But when I told them what the systems told me, it turned out I was wrong more often than not, and there didn’t seem to be any accounting for it. I went around, talking to all sorts of people, hoping that there was an explanation, but the weather just never seemed to do what I thought it would do, and I felt like a complete failure. People would ask when they should have an outdoor wedding and I would just have to throw up my hands and say that I had no idea. I spoke with other cloudmasters and they said that it was probably an entad, though controlling weather like that was rare, and it really did seem like it was just me that was having problems.”
“Sorry,” Isra mumbled. She didn’t know what else the woman might want. It was a very similar feeling to getting scolded by the beastmaster for taking too many deer.
“Oh, not at all,” the cloudmaster said with a laugh. “It was such a relief to know that it had been you all that time. I’d thought I was just bad at my role, that I was just some nincompoop that couldn’t read the clouds right. To be able to explain that no, there was a druid hiding in the woods all this time, well, that really helped me put it all in perspective.”
“Sorry for the trouble,” said Isra. “I … sort of thought that anyone could control the clouds.”
The old woman laughed again, then saw that Isra was serious, and laughed harder. “Oh you poor dear, you had it worse than I ever did. It’s a conversation for another day, of course, but there’s been quite a bit of chatter on what we’ve done wrong, when it comes to you.”
“I turned out fine,” said Isra, because she wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
“I wanted to talk to you too, about you becoming cloudmaster, if you’d like, but it looks like we’ll be starting soon.” She nodded. “Lovely to finally meet you.”
“You as well,” said Isra. As the old woman doddered off, Isra turned to Verity with a raised eyebrow, and Verity shrugged.
“Welcome, welcome, settle in, we have new faces, and that’s what I like to see,” said Ethel. She wasn’t terribly old, with only a bit of gray in her dark hair, but she held herself with authority in a way that made her seem much older. She was a teacher, she’d said, with her class currently around ten years old. “This is the Pucklechurch Gardening Club, if you’re just now realizing this isn’t where you’re meant to be, now is the time to leave.” She looked around expectantly. “Now, I see plenty of lovely plants, and plenty of lovely newcomers, so I think we’ll go around and do our check-ins. Tell us how your garden is doing, what’s been troubling you, and we’ll see if we can help. And there are cookies on the table over there, courtesy of Margie, along with tea, thanks to Basil. Help yourself, feel free to move about.”
There were two dozen people, more than Isra had been expecting, and they all had their own things to talk about. It was early summer, a time for flowers but not particularly a time for harvesting. Most of what could be taken into the kitchen were leafy greens, and it seemed that most of them had more spinach than they knew what to do with. Tomatoes and potatoes were just getting started, and most of the squashes would take some time to grow and flower, but they talked about why certain things might be doing poorly, and gave some tips to each other about how to help them do better.
It took Isra a bit to realize that they were all guessing. Sometimes someone would respond that carrots needed a lot of water, more than you’d think, and she would wonder why they would say that before remembering that they didn’t know, that gardening for them was a matter of fumbling around and stepping back to see what had worked and what had failed. Plants could be finicky things, dependent on not getting too much sun, or not enough sun, or too much water, or not enough, or not the right kind of water, or the wrong mixture of nutrients, or not enough pruning to keep from growing hard and woody.
Isra had all the answers, and by the time they were halfway around the ring, she was speaking with authority. Sometimes the problem was easy to diagnose and other times it wasn’t, but she knew all of the crops in question. By talking enough, she could figure out what the problems were: strawberries didn’t do well in the same patch too many years in a row, blueberries needed a bit of acid in the soil, the pepper spots on a cabbage were caused by an excess of fertilizer but didn’t affect the flavor — on and on she went, giving out the answers. There were a few hiccups, particularly when people used a name for a plant that Isra wasn’t familiar with, but she was able to dispense wisdom with practiced ease.
“I’m Isra, and this is Verity,” said Isra when it came to them. She had almost let Verity make their introductions, but Isra had been doing most of the speaking. “We live with a friend of ours, and have been putting the garden back in order. There are a lot of Kiromon plants that don’t particularly like the climate. And … I’m a druid, so things are going well.”
“Oh, well that explains it,” said the tall man with his potted tree. “I was wondering where you’d come from.”
“I thought it might be nice to join the club,” she said. “And so far it’s been very nice. This is wyvern’s breath,” said Isra. “I just wanted to show it off a bit. The original plant died due to neglect, as a lot of things in the garden did, but the seeds were still alive, and I was able to grow this back.” She held up the pot. “It’s not much, but it felt good to revive.”
“Well, we welcome you both to the club,” said Ethel. “And I should caution that just because a druid has joined us does not mean that you should go to her with all your gardening problems, not unless you’re willing to pay.” She nodded in Isra’s direction.
“Actually, we have some pets that eat only herbs,” said Isra. “So if you’d like me to come by and take a look at what you have growing, we’ll take payment in bushels of herbs. They’ll eat almost anything. And I can bring them by, if you’d like to see them. They’re like tiny dragons.”
When the circle had finished up, they broke up into smaller groups, and more than a few people flocked to Isra while she was grabbing a frosted cookie and some tea. Their questions, to her delight, were all about plants and gardens, questions that always had easy answers without needing much thought. Verity hung around, but didn’t say all that much, except to offer one or two stories about her greenroom in Dondrian. Isra had never really worked with growthstones before, and Verity had a bit of advice on that front, particularly in terms of areas where the growthstones were sometimes deficient.
The club had to eventually leave the Angry Plum, though a few of them stayed for an early evening meal, and Isra carried their potted wyvern’s breath, smiling as they walked back home.
“I’m surprised you enjoyed that,” said Verity.
“Really?” asked Isra.
“I’m used to you not liking people,” said Verity. “You didn’t used to enjoy talking.”
“I don’t like when things aren’t clear,” said Isra. “What I really hate, I think, is when I’m in a new situation and I don’t know how to act, and everyone seems to expect me to follow some script that I don’t know. But there, I knew all the answers. People were talking about plants, and I know about plants. There was no confusion about what I should be saying, no ambiguous rules that I wasn’t following, nothing like that. It was nice.”
“It made me think about the Gardening Society,” said Verity. “There, they never really talked about plants. I feel like most of those women only did cursory gardening.”
“Did you enjoy it?” asked Isra. “The Club?”
“I suppose I did,” said Verity. “The cookie was good.” She was silent for a moment. “You’ve changed.”
“No,” said Isra. She felt her hackles go up and tried to relax. “I don’t think I have. I’m trying to be different, but not — not different.”
“I felt like it was my place to help you,” said Verity. “To show you the world, to make sure that you didn’t get hurt. And now you’re just handling yourself so well, I feel … I don’t know. Useless.”
Isra slipped her arm into Verity’s. “I’ll always need you.”
“Thank you,” said Verity with a sigh. “Now, let’s brush up on my archery. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in the dungeon.”
“I was hoping that some of the anger had left you,” said Isra.
“No,” said Verity. “Gardening Club just helped remind me how poisonous the society people in Dondrian are. So I’m going to kill a few things in the dungeons and hope that makes me feel better.”
Comments
Thanks. Both formats pre-ordered.
Alexander Wales
Yes, it will, should be linked through Amazon in the next few days. Link here: https://www.audible.com/pd/Worth-the-Candle-Trust-and-Consequences-Audiobook/B09WT962WD
Will WtC book 2 be available on Audible, like book 1?
