hooklinebooks Chapter 176: Chump Change
Chapter 176: Chump Change
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Exhibition Hall. Grand Arcade. Central Thoroughfare. Prosperity Row. Local Time: 2045 Hours.
Emma
I blinked.
Then I raised a finger.
…
But words refused to leave my mouth despite it already hanging wide open.
I had thoughts.
No.
I had more than thoughts — opinions sharpened by memories of trade counsel briefs stretching all the way from the SOC-SCI departments and into Weir’s personal office.
Trade had always been a matter of particular sensitivity.
Yet no one could’ve accounted for this eventuality.
Well they did… but… the minutiae was inevitably lost when magic and its consequences were factored into the equation.
So I responded the only way I could. A means of preventing Etholin from pursuing a path with only one foregone conclusion.
“Etholin.” I offered politely, warmly even. “I don’t believe this is the right path for both of our realms, at least not without explaining a few—”
“Oh, indeed! How could I be so daft!” He interjected, his eyes darting momentarily towards the watchful gazes of the Merchant Guild’s upper-yearsmen before landing back on my lenses. “I’ve yet to actually explain the benefits, and the details of such an arrangement! Allow me~” He trailed off, but before I could interject with another offramp, the doors behind us abruptly slammed shut, and a book — a sight-seer — was promptly pulled from one of the merchant’s many pouches.
The lights within the lobby quickly dimmed.
Following which we were effortlessly whisked off to what I assumed to be his elevator pitch, one that landed us straight in the midst of a truly medieval landscape, or at least what stereotypical conventions of it often depicted. We found ourselves in a dirty, run-down town beneath a permanently overcast sky. A settlement consisting of stone and mortar buildings scarcely two stories tall overlooked cobblestone roads with open gutters overflowing with brown sludge consisting of god knows what.
I could smell the scene despite it being purely visual.
But that was only the start of the experience.
Looking up, I saw barely a handful of tiled roofs interspersed between thatched roofing in various states of cleanliness, rot, and utter decay.
The sight-seer quickly pushed us forward, away from the random street and towards the town square, where water flowed naturally and divided the entire town in half. There, we witnessed shadowy elven-form residents as they grabbed water by the bucketful and carted it off either by shoulder-slung yokes or in carts attached to various beasts of burden.
Overlooking this entire scene was a castle. And not one of those fairytale castles either, no. It looked… functional, practical, but gave little consideration in the way of aesthetics or ornamentation, with only a conical wizard’s tower giving off the slightest bit of whimsy to this low-fantasy setting.
But that wasn’t the focus it seemed.
No.
Instead, the merchant lord ushered us to the markets. Where stalls haphazardly lined what should have been a spacious main street, but whose presence had forced all traffic into a crowded shoulder-to-shoulder free-for-all, with horses and carts clogging the sea of faceless ghostly traffic and turning this hell into a complete nightmare.
The merchant lord then quietly gestured at the stalls, pointing out their wares and speaking with the detached lilt of a documentarian.
“While the typical Nexian perception of a newrealm may be that of mud huts and stick roofs, that anachronistic stereotype is far from accurate. Because as you see, for a realm to have managed the impossible — breaching the space between spaces — one would expect some level of sophistication commensurate with such a worthwhile achievement!” He offered in this sincere, genuinely uplifting tone of voice. Yet the sentiment he preached was anything but. “Here, we see a typical town in a newrealm. Not a city! But a town! A city may even possess a greater degree of sophistication!”
He snapped his fingers, and the whole scene shifted.
The streets were wider here. Paved somewhat but still carrying over the same grimy overtures from prior. Just… scaled up in size.
The buildings here actually had facades for instance. Facades of plaster, paint, glazed mosaics. But facades all the same.
Even the markets were larger, with wares and items far more varied than the town, complete with wispy elven-form citizens possessing a great degree more ornamentation and design on their otherwise nondescript tunics and robes.
Etholin allowed us to take in the sights and sounds as he made sure to emphasize the grand castle at the end of this brick-and-cobble-paved road. An actual castle to write home about now, what with its tall spires, grand keeps, and even a drawbridge gate.
“Yet all of this…” He continued wistfully. “... all the riches of the capital, overflowing with tributes from the furthest corners of your realm…” The scene switched rapidly between the stalls and storefronts, peering deep into grand bazaars and large indoor stores selling anything and everything from spices to weapons to armor to fabrics. “... can scarcely compare, nor compete, with the totality of interstitial trade. Indeed, when set against the full scale of Status Prospera, your newrealm becomes a drop in a practically endless ocean.”
The scene paused. We moved down street after street, avenue after avenue, through winding paths and twisting alleys, until we finally arrived at a harbor harboring what I could only describe as staple commodities.
Grain stacked high in neat piles, filling entire warehouses from end to end.
Woven fabrics and spun fibers that filled similar volumes, piled and stacked in such a way that you needed a spelunker to be able to squeeze through its gaps.
We ran through countless more such sights before the perspective changed yet again, shifting outwards and upwards, positioning us high above the harbor, granting us a bird’s eye view.
Finally, we saw at least ten of those warehouses highlighted, as it was clear Etholin was leading to something of a lesson on scale.
Yet the scales being presented here… felt more like the stuff found in an ancient history lesson than anything resembling a figure as weighty or impactful as the growing background music was attempting to engender.
“This is the typical domestic trade volume of some of a newrealm’s most staple products as taken from a single month outside of peak season, adjusted for the average and favorably accounting for low-end outliers.” Etholin paused, giving a moment for us to ‘marvel’ at the sights before continuing on seamlessly. “Meanwhile…” His grin grew wider as warehouses of the same size started to quite literally fall from the sky — like one of those amateurish ‘x for scale’ videos, where seemingly random items are drawn up for comparative scale. Soon enough, I saw where he was going with this. These summoned warehouses landed with deep cacophonous CRASHES into neat piles, creating a clear contrast between the ten or so ‘newrealm’ stacks and the hundreds piled high next to them, creating an illusion of a bar graph. “This is the typical interstitial trade volume between two adjacent realms of minor importance. As tabulated through the Nexian trade authorities, of course.” He turned to the invisible upper-yearsmen outside of the sight-seer, bowing in the process, before turning back to me.
“However… this is only the start of things.” He spoke ominously before pulling us out towards the main street, down towards the castle itself, up its drawbridge, and deep down into its vaults and coffers.
“Raw trade volume and staple commodities are one thing. Indeed, one could say it means absolutely nothing when compared to this next issue, Cadet Emma Booker. But I needed to show you the scale of the issues at play, before we address the greatest threat of them all.”
He took a deep breath, opening the comically sized vault doors to reveal a room filled with a modest amount of gold, silver, and copper.
The EVI was quick to guestimate the quantities on display.
These were fundamental base elements we were talking about after all.
So assuming the purities weren’t a variable, the same constants applied for volumetric analysis and extrapolation.
“Ten thousand tons of silver.” I raised a brow. “And what… four thousand tons of gold?” I pondered, garnering the first genuine stutter from the merchant.
“That… that’s precisely how much is being shown… how did you guess—”
“I did some quick maths.” I responded slyly, even taking Thacea and Thalmin by momentary surprise yet again before their shock dissipated far quicker than the slack-jawed Etholin.
They were used to the EVI’s quick-maths shenanigans after all.
It took Etholin a few seconds longer to recover. Long enough that the awkward silence became momentarily deafening.
Though, thankfully, that didn’t stop the merchant lord from completely losing his stride, as he cleared his throat with a nod of acknowledgement. “Impressive.” He bowed slightly. “Which makes what I am about to say next all the more jarring, I’m afraid.” He spoke apologetically. “Because all of the gold, and all of the silver you see before you—”
“And the copper.” I added.
“Yes, and the copper—” He corrected himself “—are worthless.”
The room went silent again.
This was probably where most newrealmers had their perspectives shattered, their worldviews destroyed, and their prospects at anything short of a fair and equal standing completely upended right then and there.
However, both this reveal and its ensuing ramifications did little to phase me.
The former was already hinted at courtesy of Ilunor’s reactions to the wealth cube after all.
And the latter?
Well…
16 Psyche would like to have a word with such a paltry sum.
Or it would’ve if it wasn’t already mined out.
So I stood steadfast, silently anticipating Etholin’s carefully worded and practiced playbook.
“As you may have already observed, the Nexus deals only in attuned gold, Cadet Emma Booker. This is because the art of transmutation, now commonplace, has effectively turned the value of what was formerly scarce… into anything but. As a result, all newrealms must face the monumental task of overcoming two major obstacles. The first…” He paused, gesturing to the warehouses ‘outside.’ “A trade imbalance of disastrous proportions. For there is nothing a newrealm can offer that the greater adjacencies do not already possess, but inversely, there is everything that the greater adjacencies can offer, that a newrealm is in desperate demand of. The second—” He paused once more before gesturing towards the ‘worthless’ gold. “—is the medium through which such trades are conducted, as any local currency is to be penned as useless, and any ‘precious’ metal or material is also to be rendered just as worthless. Thus, a period of conversion must be observed, where a newrealm’s wealth is steadily converted into sums of equivalent value in attuned currency.”
We were about to reach a crescendo, I could feel it.
“This is where I would like to offer my services, Cadet Emma Booker.” The merchant lord bowed deeply, far deeper than ever before.
“I am willing, if you see fit, to act as your realm’s fiduciary. I shall oversee your realm’s transition. I shall personally see to it that everything is raised from the level of a newrealm, to that of a respectable minor adjacency. I do not offer miracles, I do not promise that you will immediately rise to the ranks of the middling adjacencies, let alone the preferred adjacencies. However, I promise you that I will sculpt, mold, and shepherd your economy, your industries, your merchants and banks, into that of a respectable contemporary fellow.” The ferret practically beamed, placing his hands by his hips and puffing his chest out in pride.
“And as a gesture of good faith… I am willing to match your realm’s current stores and holdings of gold and silver with my own.”
…
I felt the proverbial record coming to an abrupt screech.
As even Thalmin and Thacea turned to each other in shock before once more meeting the pattenor’s eyes.
“Your auricles do not deceive you, Cadet Emma Booker. I understand that such offers will inevitably raise doubts and suspicions. I know that you of all people are wise enough not to take an offer so flippantly, and especially without concessions and guarantees on the side of the proposing party. Therefore, as collateral for placing your realm’s finances into my guiding hand, I am willing to match the entirety of your gold and silver reserves in their attuned equivalents. Free of charge. Free of interest. To be returned without limits or stipulations, all signed in mutual agreement of such an exchange, of course.” He beamed.
But instead of relief, satisfaction, or excitement forming behind my helmet, there was only pure and unadulterated dread. Not for me, of course, but for Etholin should this actually play out.
Because despite not having the authority to okay it, the mere hypothetical thought was enough to send shivers down my spine.
I could only imagine any rep from the corpo era would leap at this, grinning at the chance to reverse our roles and fortunes, sending the ignorant ferret into Status Debtia… or whatever lofty euphemism existed for such a fate.
“Etholin.” I began calmly, politely. “Disregarding everything else so far, and just addressing your latter offer…” I continued as Etholin leaned in ever closer, as if expecting an excitable ‘Yes!’ from my speakers. “Trust me when I say this, but you really, really don’t want to do this.”
The ferret’s features abruptly came to reflect my own, as it was clear that he too had reached a record-screeching halt in his carefully laid gambits.
It didn’t take long for him to return to his senses, however, the natural trader within him processing my rebukement with poise before replying plainly and simply.
“I apologize if I have been too… loquacious, Cadet Emma Booker. I will rephrase myself, in case my intent was lost in translation. What I offer is a complete one-to-one conversion. No debasement, no arbitrage, no unequal rates. A true exchange from dead to attuned. Without surcharge, fees, markup, commission, premiums, stamps or duties.” He prattled on. “This is my collateral, my gift to your realm, in exchange for your trust in accepting my services as fiduciary to Earthrealm’s trade and economic development.” He clarified, genuinely taken aback by an offer that I imagined most newrealms could simply not refuse.
The ball was quickly thrown back to my court, with Etholin’s gaze maintaining a mix between genuine disbelief and a hint of desperation.
“Etholin… discounting the fact that I do not have the vested authority required to ratify such a radical offer, I cannot under good conscience agree to terms so unfair and completely catastrophic to the proposing party.” I stated plainly, pulling the words straight from SIOP and causing Etholin to flinch not only in shock but also growing bafflement and confusion. “And were I to actually explain why…” I took a deep breath. “... you would find my reasoning for this refusal outlandish, if not entirely a work of fabrication. You’d think I was saying it just to get out of an uncomfortable deal. You’d think I was committing to fiction just to avoid conflict.” I continued, as more and more I saw Etholin’s gaze shifting to what I needed from him now more than ever — curiosity and a willingness to step beyond his comfort zone, if only to limit the effects that fundamental systemic incongruity would ultimately cause him.
He took a deep breath, his eyes brimming with a confident fury.
“Addressing your first point.” He began. “While you lack the authority — and perhaps the conviction to carry through regardless of said authority—” He uttered that latter part more as an aside, almost as a point of derision bordering on a dare. “—you still do possess a means of forwarding said offer to those with the authority, correct?”
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“Well, technically yes, but I doubt they’ll—”
“Then we can pen the acceptance as conditional, and pending, rather than completely off the table.” Etholin interjected, his tone dominant, as he attempted to hide the growing insecurities bubbling just beneath the surface.
“You’ll find that even if I do so, my superiors’ answers will inevitably mirror my own.”
“For the reasons you vaguely allude to, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Then test me.” He demanded bluntly, standing his ground more firmly than I’d ever seen him do before. “Let’s hear about these supposed reasons.”
Perhaps the eyes and ears around us were enough of an incentive for him to grow a stronger spine.
Perhaps the past month had led to some sort of growth within him.
Regardless, I nodded in acknowledgement and quickly grabbed two items from my pouches.
The first was the very item that had caused Ilunor’s sentiments to shift in one swift motion — the precious metals dispenser (PMD).
And the second was an item that I knew Etholin of all people would appreciate the understated significance of.
I kept the second close to my chest for now as I handed him the pez dispenser of wealth.
The ferret merchant received the item with exceptional care, turning it, twisting it, as if more enamored with the simplicity of the device and the mechanism within it than the coins it clearly held.
His slow, methodical approach stood at odds with Ilunor's far more… aggressive handling of it.
Which was a breath of fresh air but also tested my patience; I almost offered to guide him through the simple mechanis—
CHA-CHING!
There it was.
And of course, this was followed up by a burst of mana, what the EVI assumed — within a reasonable margin of error — was a detection spell.
Once that was settled, he analyzed the copper coin closely, studying it in a manner far more precise and deliberate than the vunerian’s more playful approach of running each coin through his fingers.
The perfect one-troy-ounce coin was inspected further with a monocle, as Etholin seemed to take in every detail of the starless GUN seal on one side before flipping to the other to see the missing fourteen stars.
This divergence from Ilunor’s more passive observation continued, as Etholin actually began interrogating the text stamped on both sides bounding their respective seals.
“Greater United Nations. Peace and Prosperity for All.” He read the translated High Nexian above the English verbatim before flipping the coin over to its opposite side. “Minted Under Special Order 7 fro 32. For exclusive use in diplomatic missions.”
He raised a brow at that.
“Why the need for novel issuance?” He questioned.
To which my answer was swift and honest.
“Because we don’t mint physical currency in a way that would convey intrinsic value anymore. Nor do we expect its value to inherently transfer to an entirely different dimension.” I surmised simply, avoiding and sidestepping the topic of an opt-in cashless society, USTU-transaction chips, and purely digital transactions… not to mention the Requisition Unit. “So for the purposes of this diplomatic mission, and generally all diplomatic missions for that matter, the idea was to mint a ‘currency’ based on the intrinsic value of the so-called ‘precious’ metals themselves.”
Etholin latched on to each and every word, but his eyes grew wide at that latter, seemingly throwaway line.
“So-called?” He clarified.
At which point I knew I had to simply drop the bombshell.
“We’ve achieved post-shackling, as you say in the Nexian vernacular.” I stated bluntly, garnering a pause, a look of disbelief, and a vigorous shake of the pattenor’s head all in rapid succession. “Precious metals are only still called that because of their relative scarcity to other metals, and as a holdover term. Hence why I prefaced it with ‘so-called.’”
Etholin paused.
His features shifted to what I feared to be a premature point of fundamental systemic incongruity.
However, unlike Ilunor, if he did have any reservations, he kept it to himself.
Instead, he chose to forge ahead, continuously pressing the PMD—
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
—until finally, he noticed something.
A physical mechanism that Ilunor had avoided but one that the pattenor was quick to exploit — a small knob allowing for the mechanical selection of the type of dispensed coin.
CLICK!
CHA-CHING!
In one swift motion, he’d shifted from copper to silver.
CLICK!
CHA-CHING!
And in another, he moved effortlessly to gold.
Then finally—
CLICK!
CHA-CHING!
—he moved to a certain element that had proven to be the final straw for the vunerian’s back.
…
The stillness in his features spoke leagues in my favor.
The stiff, unpracticed, nearly stuttering motions as he lifted monocle to coin was enough to clue me into what was going on behind his eyes.
Indeed, his hastening breath had sealed the deal on this whole exchange.
And yet…
…
Silence still dominated the air.
As this episode, this entire process, stood at odds with Ilunor’s far more visceral response.
“Emma…” Etholin finally spoke as he blasted wave after wave of unknown spells at the coin. “Is this… platinum?”
“Yes.” I answered immediately. “With a few trace metals added for integrity’s sake. But it is, for all intents and purposes of trade, pure.”
“Ah.” Came the pattenor’s single syllable response.
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
CHA-CHING!
He continued wordlessly, fingers primed, constantly striking that button over—
CHA-CHING!
—and over—
CHA-CHING!
—and over again—
CHA-CHING!
—until finally—
CLINK!
—he ran out.
He twisted his neck towards the coins, then my lenses, then back to the coins.
It was now his turn to be slackjawed, though not in the way he probably expected.
“Emma… this… did you… did your realm send you with the entirety of your platinum reser—”
“There’s more where that came from, if you’re interested.” I interjected, completely sidestepping and then preempting the merchant lord with an answer to a question he’d inevitably ask. “A thousand kilos and some change.”
That sole proclamation was enough to finally bring the outside world back into the confines of Etholin’s sight-seer.
As murmurs from beyond the veil penetrated into our little corner of reality, the magical hologram started to fracture at the seams.
“Impossible!”
“Absurd!”
“A complete bluff!”
“A fabrication!”
Indignant voices erupted from the alcove above, all of which were quickly hushed by an unseen figure.
“Do you dare to bear the burden of proof, newrealmer?” A figure quickly entered our sight-seer — a sea lion realmer who, like many other seniors thus far, I hadn’t yet met. “Prince Ferrian Fiswisk. Deputy Chairman of the Merchant’s Guild.” He quickly added, though it was clear his name, titles, and the rest of the typical decorum’s song and dance were the last things on his mind at present.
“Well met.” I nodded sharply. “And sure. I’m a diplomat of my word.” I nodded. “Though I should note that it’ll probably take a while given how far the dorms are from the exhibition ha—”
“You are located in Dragon’s Heart Tower, correct?” He questioned.
“Yes.”
“Then it should take no more than five minutes.”
“Wait what? How—”
The man quickly pointed at his ring as if anticipating my response. “I am a member of the incumbent Class Sovereign’s peer group. This grants me certain express travel privileges within the Academy.” He clarified. “Now then, I am already encroaching on your dialogue as it is. I do not wish to set an unprofessional precedent, where possible. Who do you wish to elect to act as arbitrator in your stead, newrealmer?”
I blinked.
Then I instinctively turned to Thacea.
“Princess Thacea Dilani, accompanied by Prince Thalmin Havenbrock.” I answered. “Though I assume you will simply act as an intermediary of travel, rather than an unprompted auditor into our private spaces?”
“... As we have only just met, I will not hold such words of offense against you. Do know that I am not so brusque as to dismiss the noble right of privacy.” He shook his head back and forth in a fit of indignant theatrics. “I merely wish to see the burden of evidence. Your arbitrator will be the party responsible for meeting these conditions in whichever way they see fit.”
I turned to Thacea, giving her a nod of approval. “Get him one of everything. And a lot of the… special bars.”
Thacea raised a brow at this but nodded all the same, following Ferrian Fiskwisk out of the sight-seer and back into the busy streets beyond those triple-volume doors.
I turned back to Etholin the instant the trio cleared our sightline, seeing the merchant lord just… standing there. Still as a deer in headlights.
“You showed me a world, a hypothetical newrealm forged by the rule of averages.” I paused then gestured around us. “I’m assuming that this is what you assume Earthrealm to be like, correct?”
“Yes.” Etholin nodded.
“You should know then, simply by our acquisition of platinum, that your preconceptions are just a bit off.”
“I…”
“But that’s only our primary economic sector we’re talking about here. Maybe secondary too if you count smelting and minting. But this second item should firmly clue you in to our capacity in the latter.” I continued as I offered him the instrument to both of our futures.
The merchant lord cocked his head but received the innocuous item graciously all the same.
“A… pen?” He questioned, garnering a simple nod as I even offered him a notepad.
A gesture that also gave him increasing pause for concern.
So after a moment taken to return the PMD and its coins back to me, he began inspecting this ‘new’ toy, inspecting it with bursts of mana radiation, studying its plastic exterior, before finally—
CLICK!
Deploying its little ballpoint tip.
“A… coilspring?” He managed out under an increasingly suspicious breath. “Your… coin purse also possessed such a mechanism, if I’m not mistaken…”
CLICK!
…
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
“There is a spring in there, yeah. A simple mechanism, streamlined for mass production.” I spoke casually, that latter line managing to capture the merchant’s attention as much as the mention of platinum did.
“This… isn’t a bespoke piece? Like your armor?”
“Etholin.” I took a deep breath in. “My armor might be bespoke in certain aspects, but only because of its modifications. You’ll find that most soldiers from my realm are issued something similar, if not more deadly than what I’m wearing.”
He stopped.
And once again he found himself running straight into the wall of fundamental systemic incongruity.
It took a moment for him to compose himself, before finally—
CLICK!
—he was ready to continue.
“And the inkwell?” He questioned but received only a simple ‘go on’ gesture from me as my sole response.
So with a shrug, he began writing.
At which point, I could see his eyes narrow before dilating in the matter of a few seconds.
He began furiously scribbling at that point. Writing, sketching, and going to town with the provided paper.
Eventually he moved to the notepad, attempting to scrawl, scribble, and doodle all in rapid succession before finally moving to inspect the ballpoint tip, his eyes ending up dangerously close to its pointy end.
“Where are the enchantments, Cadet Emma Booker?” He questioned desperately.
“You know as well as I, and the rest of the year group, that Earthrealm is… deficient in mana, Etholin. Ergo, we can’t just waste enchantments on something so trivial as a pen, now can we?” I spoke under a toothy grin, skirting past the gag order and iterating off of the ‘publically acceptable’ narrative. “We did this all without magic. No spells. No enchantments.”
“And not bespoke either?” He questioned skeptically, his hands carefully toying with its exterior — twisting and torquing it — before its seamless unibody construction gave way to two unscrewed pieces. His critical features soon gave way to abashment as he sheepishly met my gaze once more. This time out of worry for potentially breaking the strange artifact.
“No, not bespoke. You’ll see how simple it is now that you’ve twisted it open, go on.” I urged, and he continued twisting, then finally dropping the few contents within onto an open palm.
Etholin
Those words echoed in my mind.
They taunted me with every passing second.
Their implications… worming, twisting, and prying open all that I knew and all that I could fathom.
All… at the foot of these innocuous-shaped pieces of… ivory? No, they were too… lightweight, airy almost, to be ivory.
They weren't carved either.
Or were they?
How could they have carved something so intricately, so precisely?
Were they molded?
Shaped?
Compressed?
Grown into form?
What even was this material?
Why couldn’t I fathom what material this was?
The spells showed nothing. No origin, no tells, no signs or symptoms of production in any capacity as I understood it.
That was the case for everything, at least. Save for the one item that, at the very least, retained some semblance of normalcy.
The coilspring.
But even then… its presence here was alarming.
Not in its existence alone, of course.
Some newrealms were most certainly advanced enough to possess such mechanisms, after all.
…
But they were all reserved for specialized equipment.
Tools for the wealthy, toys for the privileged, and objects of novelty for the upper echelons.
Emma’s claims stood contrary to this.
No.
Worse than that.
Her assertions stood contrary to what should have been possible.
Mass production… without manufactoriums? With mana-deficient, or completely manaless means?
Forsprings?!
What for?
Just for pens?
It wouldn’t be economically feasible—
…
Unless it was destined formorethan pens.
If not that, then what?
Suspensions for vehicles perhaps?
Locks?
Clocks?
Traps?
Clamps?
Primitive siege-engine mechanisms?
Surely that couldn’t implymassproduction?
Surely those were specialized enough to be relegated to guilds and smithies?
Whywouldthey be needed for mass production?
Unless…
Unless…
This was just a piece of a grander puzzle I wasn’t seeing.
It was at that point, after absent mindedly squeezing that tiny spring, that it finally ‘clicked.’
What if this was a part of a grander puzzle?
A small piece within an intricate web. As intricate and complex as the manufactorium and logistics of a typical supply chain?
But that would make Earthrealm far more capable, far more advanced, far more sophisticated than even a burgeoning minor adjacency.
That… that couldn’t be.
Not when magic was scarce and its use even scarcer.
The mud huts and stick roof theory should have applied stronger in that case.
But the inverse was true.
I saw it.
I was seeing it.
I was touching it…
But what if Emma was lying?
What if she was bluffing?
That would be the obvious explanation to all of this!
And yet…
She’d dared to call her bluff with the deputy chairman.
…
My mind edged towards the cliff face of uncertainty.
My efforts, my gambit, all holding on by a thread.
I’d even absent-mindedly reassembled the entire pen back together, taking a few tries before finally screwing it back into place.
CLICK!
I began testing the writing implement once more.
…
It worked perfectly.
And its assembly, even in my soft and untempered hands, was beyond child’s play.
If each item could be produced in their own manufactorium, by their own mechanisms, then assembled elsewh—
What if it was mass produced?
What if—
“Etholin? You okay there, friend?” Emma finally offered, pulling me out of my reverie, as I attempted to formulate something in response.
“I am, thank you. I… I’m just… I was just pondering, what materials comprise—”
CLINK CLINK CLINK!
The ringing of glass bells prematurely ended that train of thought.
I expected the return of the deputy chairman, of the avinor, or perhaps the lupinor.
Instead, a thick cloud made its way into the confines of my sight-seer, and with it an unexpected guest.
“Esteemed councilmen and chairs! I incur the right of the prospective fellow!” Lord Rostario Rostarion proclaimed, garnering a few murmurs from the council before a conclusion was met uncharacteristically quickly.
“Motion sustained.”
Following which the rodent smirked as he hovered high above both me and my potential client.
“Lord Etholin Esila has had his chance. Indeed, I respect my peer for his persistence! But alas, the time has come for competition to enter the fold.” He spoke in that orator’s cadence as he made the gambit I had started.
We both awaited in painful silence before the council made their final decision.
“We acknowledge Lord Rostario Rostarion’s bid for guild membership, and sustain his motions for this newrealm deal. Lord Rostario Rostarion, you may proceed. Lord Etholin Esila, please await the return of the Deputy Chairman.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, especially as that opportunistic creature entered the fray — now fully recognized — bringing both gift baskets and musical ensembles to the negotiation table.
“Cadet Emma Booker…” He began in that sing-song voice. “I offer you, personally… the world.”