Next Morning:
Verad awoke and dressed for his shift a little later than the rest, but there was no problem in that; after all, time lost was time added. The evening had proceeded well; better, he thought, than many of the workers had felt in weeks, perhaps months. Better than he had thought as well, for he had discovered the weakness in the Company's system, its loophole. For in a system that relied on the extortion of time, what did extortion matter to someone for whom time had no meaning?
Supposing, he thought to himself, seated a hard cot that must have been an early prototype of the Grand Company models (pillows and blankets extra at a day per week) as he looped his arm into a sleeve with a large enough hole that his arm often went through its elbow, that all went poorly. That he were trapped here, unable to find the evidence he sought. What a simple matter it was, then, to cater for the other workers! Good meat and drink at every shift, blankets and new uniforms for all, shiny boots and better tools, all on his tab. There could be no benefit in not only kidnapping the workers and robbing them if the costs could all be placed on Bellveil's contract.
Lacing his boots through the right holes, which took a few tries, he had visions of the company collapsing under the debt of months and years laid upon him like so many weights A thousand costs all placed upon one worker, whose labor alone could not hope to recoup them no matter how long he worked. In such circumstances, what hope did the company have but to abandon the practice?
"A dubious plan," he said, chuckling to himself as he fastened the buttons of his shirt. "A most dubious plan indeed!"
Upon stepping outside, he had enough of a moment to recognize the uniforms of the guards before he was grabbed from at either arm. "Bellveil." The voice that said his name was soft as broken gravel, and the sound of it made him pall. "Management would like to speak with you."
Verad awoke and dressed for his shift a little later than the rest, but there was no problem in that; after all, time lost was time added. The evening had proceeded well; better, he thought, than many of the workers had felt in weeks, perhaps months. Better than he had thought as well, for he had discovered the weakness in the Company's system, its loophole. For in a system that relied on the extortion of time, what did extortion matter to someone for whom time had no meaning?
Supposing, he thought to himself, seated a hard cot that must have been an early prototype of the Grand Company models (pillows and blankets extra at a day per week) as he looped his arm into a sleeve with a large enough hole that his arm often went through its elbow, that all went poorly. That he were trapped here, unable to find the evidence he sought. What a simple matter it was, then, to cater for the other workers! Good meat and drink at every shift, blankets and new uniforms for all, shiny boots and better tools, all on his tab. There could be no benefit in not only kidnapping the workers and robbing them if the costs could all be placed on Bellveil's contract.
Lacing his boots through the right holes, which took a few tries, he had visions of the company collapsing under the debt of months and years laid upon him like so many weights A thousand costs all placed upon one worker, whose labor alone could not hope to recoup them no matter how long he worked. In such circumstances, what hope did the company have but to abandon the practice?
"A dubious plan," he said, chuckling to himself as he fastened the buttons of his shirt. "A most dubious plan indeed!"
Upon stepping outside, he had enough of a moment to recognize the uniforms of the guards before he was grabbed from at either arm. "Bellveil." The voice that said his name was soft as broken gravel, and the sound of it made him pall. "Management would like to speak with you."
---
The main office of Coblyn's Fancy was not as well-appointed as Verad had expected. Better than the worker's quarters, certainly, housed in an outbuilding that looked far less likely to collapse than his sleeping quarters as it was. The furniture was much-improved as well, fine-grain mahogany chairs being a significant improvement over the stools and splintered cast-offs that were used further to the east. But the building nevertheless seemed older than it should have been, as if it had worn itself out before its time.
He had very little opportunity to take in the details, however, the attention of three people being fixed upon him. Jeresu Resu was a known quantity, however vexed he might look at the moment, cheeks puffing out in frustration under his mop of shaggy black hair. The other two, however, were of greater interest.
There was the company head, of course, Milith Palmer by the nameplate on her desk. Hyur, Midlander, late-twenties to her early thirties by his reckoning. Short, light red hair and a smile that hid deep strain, the kind of politeness he might use when a customer had proven truly unruly. Neat clothes and neat posture and a neat manner of holding her hands together in front of her desk. Nothing amiss and nothing out of place. But it was the eye of Agid that had him squirm in his seat.
The security chief was a bear of a Highlander, and, under the long dark braids of his hair, seemed as savage as his demeanor implied. He bore the scars of recent injuries, a superficial burn marking the side of his face near his eye, which seemed to make it bulge out as he watched Verad from the other side of the room, standing behind both Palmer's desk and Palmer herself, arms folded. He wasn't armed, and Verad suspected he didn't have to be.
"Stay out of my business or you will become its product."
His shoulders bunched together reflexively, remembering the threat. What, then, would become of him were he already the product?
"My apologies Ser Bellveil, are you cold?" Palmer's voice cut through the exposition.
"No, no, my apologies." He shook his head. "A little surprised, though."
Palmer's smile stretched rather than widened. "That certainly makes two of us," she said, her finger not so much pointing to a parchment on her desk as sliding towards it until it was incidentally indicated. "I received an unusual expenditure report from the commissary today. A dozen or more extra meals, enough beer for at least a keg's worth - this all on your account." Her hands returned to their folded position. "You don't seem to be immobile. I trust you didn't consume it all?"
Verad scrunched his lips together, screwing them up in thought. Certainly he'd seen people taking extra food on his name, but it hadn't seemed so many at the time, caught up in his own tale as he was. "No, I can't say I did," he replied.
"That would make sense. And it wasn't a special occasion? Your nameday, or a Duskwight holiday? I confess I don't often meet with people of your clan."
"I . . . can't say that it was, no." He tried grinning, kept it at a minimum wattage, looked sheepish, self-effacing. "Just a small party, you know." The room remained silent for a long moment, and the grin faded.
"Mmhm," Palmer said. "Just a small one. But quite an extension of your contract! A full month, just in one night, by these expenditures. Just imagine if one person were to pay for these meals every night. They might be here for years, which, let me assure you, is an unusually long contract when it comes to debt-trading. Yourself excepted, of course."
His stomach churned, performed a few mummers' tricks in his gut. "Of course."
"And, of course, it's a gross violation of our contract with the debt-trader, an abuse of the system we've established to allow the other workers to set their own levels of comfort and the length of their stay." She gestured towards Jeresu, who stood to the side of her desk. "I had to contact Ser Resu right away once I learned of it. In your case, he's taken on a great deal of risk, and it would surely do him no good to see the contract terminated. Isn't that right Mr. Resu?" The man seemed as close to fuming as Verad had ever seen a Lalafell, stamping his feet in an emphatic gesture too angry to be practiced.
"I took a big risk on you, Ser! You begged and pleaded, you did. Didn't I see you with tears in your eyes? Didn't I see you on your knees? You even said you would prostitute yourself if it came to that, and instead I found you this place, didn't I?" He slapped the desk beside him, scattering an ink quill. "And this is how you repay me?!" He stepped forward with a sudden movement, as if he held himself back from rushing at Verad, who similarly stopped himself from lifting his hands in defense.
"Calm yourself, Resu," said Agid, in a voice barely above a murmur. Jeresu remembered himself and drew back. "My apologies, Ser," he said to Agid, who snorted with the slightest lift of his shoulders before looking out the window with limited interest.Â
Palmer spread her hands wide. "You see the problem. In light of the good work we've done with Ser Resu over the past few months, and in light of how new you are to our company, we've decided to overlook the breach of contract - although we will be distributing the extra accumulated time to the off-shift workers from last night."
At her words, Verad started out of his seat, Agid lifting off of the wall to match. "A warning," he said, a note of plea in his voice. "Just a warning for them, I beg you. What is a month on my contract? It will not happen again, I can swear it - "
Palmer cut him off with a look, her eyes stone. "This is the only fair method of distribution, Ser Bellveil. I trust you won't make this mistake again. Otherwise, as your contract will indicate, the penalties will become more severe. Let's not have this conversation again, shall we?"
His nod was weak, but it seemed enough to please her. "Ser Hatemonger, if you could show our worker back to his position. I think we're done here." She took a sip from a cup emblazoned with the company's cheery coblyn mascot, and the click of porcelain on her desk when she set it down was close to the bang of a gavel.Â
Agid crossed the room and opened the door. Verad walked out with a shuffling step and his head hung low, Jeresu following behind him, grumbling under his breath. "Of all the inconveniences, to be called out from home for this, of all things, honestly . . . "
Verad chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Agid had lingered behind, nodding at Palmer as she offered instructions he couldn't hear. When he was certain he was inaudible, he spoke, whispering, "And how is your sister, Ser Resu?" Jeresu blinked, caught off guard by the question.
"She's . . . fine, obviously," he said, giving Verad a suspicious look. "Why?"
"No reason, no reason." He feigned interest in the secretary's desk. "But you should, perhaps, ask the security chief about his whereabouts last week." He smiled, brightly at that. "But it was good to see you! My apologies for the breach; I just thought to improve the workers' morale a little, ease the burden."
"Hm? Oh, yes. Very, um, noble, yes." Jeresu seemed distracted as he left the office. Verad preferred to wait for Agid to catch up. He was, after all, being escorted, even as he dreaded being anywhere alone with the man.
"This way," he grunted. Verad was quick to follow him out of the office, towards the mine's main entrance. "Very cute, what you did," he muttered. "You're at the dressing station?" Without waiting for a response, he pointed down the tunnel. "Bit to the right, just past the ore loading dock there."
Verad squinted down the mine's entrance. He had always entered from the camp, and so the front of it, with its rickety railings and loading docks, were foreign to him. "Thank you, Ser. I'll be on my way."
"Safe job, the dressing station. Not like working the tunnels. That was lucky for you." Agid gave the mine's tunnel a long stare, as if offended by it. "Lot of risks in the tunnels. Lot of accidents."
Turning, he walked away, leaving Verad in front of the dark and surrounded by the clatter of machines and the cacophony of metal on rock.
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
