Chapter 163: An Irregular Promotion

The Hall ran without long queues on an ordinary day. This morning it had six men deep at the counter, and one of Felicity's assistants shuttling a clipboard between them at a half-run while red-eyed. Felicity herself was at the far end of the counter, hair pulled back tighter than usual with sleeves rolled to the elbow, looking harried as she worked through a stack of requisitions.

When she saw him, some of the tension seemed to drain out of her shoulders.

"Cal! You're back!"

"So I am! How've you been, Felicity?"

"Give me two minutes."

As Cal waited, he drifted past the contract board and read the postings out of habit, noting most of them were stale and several had the ribbon that meant they had been up long enough to embarrass whoever posted them. Felicity had cleared the queue down to the last man by the time Cal came back, and a few moments later he had her full attention. She leaned on the counter and studied him, taking her time about it.

"Two months," she said at last. "The road's fed you well, I see."

"Ha! Gareth's father is proud of his cooking, what can I say?"

"So I've heard. I've heard a great deal, actually. Word is you found your healer."

"Word travels faster than I do. Yes, Mira is walking under her own power once more."

"In Deadfall, news usually does. That's wonderful to hear about Mira, though."

"It really is, isn't it? But hey, you never answered me: how've you been?"

Felicity snorted dryly. "You've seen the counter. We've been short-staffed since spring, and the last four days have been especially hectic. Ask me something kinder."

"Oof, I'm sorry to hear that. All right. Cassia says you've been asking for me, so what's up?"

She straightened to her full height. "I have been, and I'll get to it. But it's not mine to offer, so let me hold onto it another five minutes. Did you come for anything besides that?"

"Yeah, I need some bulk alchemical reagents. Whatever is on this that isn't already spoken for, and I'd like to open foraging requests for the rest at standard rates." He set a list on the counter and slid it toward her.

The quartermaster quickly glanced over his notes and nodded a few times. "We've got the fernback, moss-cap, three grades of gloompatch, and a lot of nurse-log slime nobody wants."

"How much of it is there?"

"All of it."

Cal laughed at that. "Fine, then I'll want a better price on the gloompatch."

"Good man." She marked something, then set the quill down and looked up at him seriously. "Torben's back."

She said it the way a woman says the roof's leaking again. Torben Grell. The name was written on the guild charter behind the counter, and that was the whole of their acquaintance. The man himself had been gone since before Cal first walked into the Hall: an ex-Legion D-tier delver and royalty amongst adventurers that were typically kept out of the dungeons altogether. The juniors traded Torben stories on slow afternoons, and half of them ended with the guildmaster wandering off for a season because Deadfall had run out of things worth hitting.

Which meant Felicity had run the Hall through every one of those seasons. The "roof-leak" in her voice made more sense by the second.

"How long has he been back?"

"Just over two weeks, and he's been asking about you near every day since."

Cal wasn't sure he liked the sound of that and raised an eyebrow at Felicity. "That's not ominous at all. Where was he all that time?"

"Depends which telling you get. Yesterday it was a wyvern hunt in the Kar'angorian foothills. This morning I heard the rumor increase to two wyverns." She shook her head exasperatedly. "Just… brace yourself."

"Is he that bad?"

"Don't worry, he'll like you."

"He is that bad."

Her mouth did the thing that stopped short of a smile, and she tipped her head toward the door behind the counter. "He's out back, in the training yard. I'd send a runner, but I want him out of my counter for as long as possible, so if you'd be so kind…"

"I'll go find him."

"Thank you."

He was a few yards from the yard door when a bellow came through it that shook the shutter frames.

"—and then, good folk, and then, because the spirits are kind, the wyvern turns his back on me—"

Cal stepped out into the yard.

Torben Grell was a landmark, a piece of terrain. The stories had undersold him. Barrel-chested, going grey at the temples and the beard both, a greatsword across his back worn down by years of heavy use, and a grin wide enough that Cal could count teeth from ten yards away. Four adventurers stood around him in a rough half-circle holding cups of something and listening hard.

Torben was miming a wyvern, and he was doing it well.

"—and I say to Gaspar, I say, Gaspar, my friend, if you shoot that bow one more time I will feed you to him myself—because you do not, good folk, interrupt a man, mid-embrace—"

The adventurers laughed while Cal waited at the edge of the yard. Torben caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, immediately breaking from his story.

"Is that him?" The greatsword's pommel came around as he pivoted, and every one of the adventurers turned to see what had ended the story. "Could it be the matriarch-slayer himself? Cal Valorn? Good folk, look at him. Look at that face. Does that look like the face of a man who solo'd a goblin matriarch as a fresh F-tier?"

The adventurers looked, and Cal didn't recognize any of them.

"It does not," Torben answered himself, striding across the yard. "It looks like the face of a man who lost a bet with his own good sense. Which is exactly what solo'ing a matriarch as a fresh F-tier is. Come here, lad, come here—"

Cal stayed where he was, but Torben came on and got both hands on his shoulders in a grip that left an impression through the leather. After staggering Cal with a parting back slap the guildmaster stepped back and looked him over.

"I have read your file twice. Once for business. Once again for FUN." He laughed boisterously and turned back to the adventurers. "You lot know his achievements?"

They, apparently, did not.

"The matriarch we've mentioned." He held up fingers like he was going to start counting, then shook his head and gave up. "And that's the boring one. A full-grown mosshide bear. Alone again, good folk, and still in F-tier. Nobody but himself, and this lunatic gets into a tussle with a bear the size of a cottage and only one of them walked away! And then—" He rounded back on Cal intently, and Cal was already getting tired of looking at the man's too-large grin. "There's the tort, the rotter, and the depths! And to top it all off you went into the Deadfall dungeon as a bloody F-tier! An F-tier! Under the wing of some very shiny people, granted, but you went in and you came out. Do you know how many of my adventurers have seen the inside of that dungeon?"

Taken from NovelPhoenix, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Cal could only shrug.

"Zero," Torben said over his shoulder to the witnesses. "Not one left on my books at any rate, except this one." He clapped Cal on the shoulder again, almost causing his knees to buckle. The group was starting to look at Cal with a new and slightly alarming interest. "Now, off with you lot. It's time for man-to-man business."

The adventurers went with only mild grumbling. Cal watched Torben watch them go and thought, This is what Vane is going to be like in a few decades. If nothing kills him first, that is.

"Inside," Torben said. "Come on, Felicity has the paperwork. Felicity always has the paperwork."

Paperwork?

Torben's office had the shape of an office and none of the habits of one. Dozens of odd trophies were strewn about, along with two chairs, a desk, a wall of pigeonholes stuffed with correspondence Torben had visibly ignored for who knows how long, and a whetstone on the desk beside a chipped mug. Felicity followed them in and set a slim folder between them, remaining standing.

"Sit, Felicity, sit—"

"I'm fine."

"So you are!" Torben dropped into his chair and swept an arm at Cal. "Valorn. Sit. Yes. Good. Now…" He leaned back and laced his hands over the front of his tunic. "I am going to make you an offer, and Felicity is going to look at me the entire time as if I have personally insulted her mother, and you are going to say yes at the end because it is a very good offer. Are we ready?"

Cal glanced up at Felicity, who was staring darkly at her boss, before turning his attention back to the man.

"I'm listening."

"The Hall needs another dungeon guide."

Cal's brain short-circuited for a minute as he processed that. He had not known what to expect coming in here, but a job offer wasn't it.

"You… have guides."

"We had guides." Torben kept the grin, with the tiniest wrinkle edged into it now. "Gawain took a private booking into the dungeon two months ago and never came back. Old Perren finally hung it up after losing his leg for the fifth time, and the other two followed the coin to the arena circuits in the capital."

"Never came back," Cal repeated. "As in, he's still down there?"

"As in nobody has seen him since." Torben waved it off. "It happens. Rarely! Very rarely."

From her corner, Felicity corrected nothing.

"So… you're short-staffed."

"I'm destitute."

"Which means," Felicity said, "that when a party comes through wanting a guide who's been inside the Deadfall dungeon, we can only apologize and try to sell them a map."

"Terrible for repeat business. Terrible. Which is why the offer, Valorn, is this." He leaned forward and put this is the good part into every muscle he had. "You take the guide role on retainer. A monthly stipend keeps your name on my roster, and every delve you walk pays its own fee besides. Schedule around your other work, we're not fools. And—" he lifted one blunt finger—"we jump you up to Stalwart. Today. Felicity presses the runes and it's done."

Cal took a slow breath. "I thought people didn't typically make Stalwart until after at least a few years at Proven."

"Well, your story isn't anything near typical now, is it?"

He could only shake his head in response and glance over at Felicity. She looked back at him, patient and worn thin from a couple of weeks dealing with this man. Cal didn't blame her.

"He's not wrong, though," she said. "About the offer."

"No?"

"Stalwart's a real upgrade. You get first pick of postings on the board before the lower ranks see them, and more standing in general for other types of negotiations. And being a guide will quickly evolve you from a promising young man with a story into someone visiting delvers start to ask for by name. That part isn't written down anywhere, and opens more doors than anything else."

Cal let a little reluctance show on his face. The truth was he would guide a delve for a copper and a handshake. Regular, paid, above-board access to a D-tier dungeon was worth more to him than the badge, the standing, and the pay stacked in one pile. He had walked into the Hall for reagents and a summons. He was going to walk out with a legitimate reason to be inside an essence font on a routine basis, and he wasn't going to let either of them see him smile about it. Understanding those dungeons better was high on his list of priorities.

"I have terms," Cal said slowly.

"Of course." Torben spread his hands. "Name them."

"First off is real schedule autonomy. I have multiple business partnerships that need my attention, and if I'm inside the dungeon all the time it might be hard to see some of those commitments through." Cal pointedly ignored the fact he'd just spent over two months nowhere near Deadfall. "I want a ceiling on frequency, and I want the ceiling written down."

"Done."

"Strike the stipend. Per-job fees only, at a full guide's rate. If I don't guide, I don't earn." And nobody who isn't paying me for my time gets to summon me on my days off.

"Done." Torben paused a half-second, frowning, then reached for his mug and drained what was left.

"And right of refusal on clients. If I don't like the party, I get to walk."

Torben grinned wider, all teeth now. "There it is. That's the one I was waiting for."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to agree, my friend. Right of refusal will be yours, yes. On one condition, which is very small." He held up a thumb and finger a hair apart. "This small."

"Go on…"

"Refusal starts with client number two."

Cal looked at him flatly. "You've already booked one."

"I have indeed."

"And when is this trip supposed to be scheduled for?"

"Tomorrow."

Felicity, in the corner of Cal's vision, sighed and closed her eyes.

"Tomorrow morning, in fact! So, refusal on that one is—you understand—logistically difficult. But every client after that? Your right to refuse, absolutely yours. Walk away for any reason or no reason at all."

Cal drew a slow breath in through his nose. He let a little of the frustration he actually felt show, because a man who wasn't feeling that in this situation would be suspicious. But he had no intention of walking away from this deal.

"You could have led with that."

"I've been doing this a long time, Valorn. Everything has its proper place."

"I see. Any chance you tell me who they are before I sign?"

"They're a standard party and have a verified writ. Paperwork's all in order—"

"Who are they?"

Torben waved a hand at the folder Felicity had brought in. "Felicity has the details and she'll walk you through them. I'll be honest, I haven't read them myself. I trust her."

"That's the most responsible thing you've said all morning," Felicity quipped.

"I am a font of responsibility, quartermaster."

"You are a drain, guildmaster."

Torben threw back his head and laughed while she looked on.

"Fine," Cal said.

The D-tier cut off his laughter immediately and lowered his head back down, staring intensely at Cal. "Fine… what?"

"I'll take it. The first client blind, then everything after is on my terms."

"HAH!" Torben slapped the desk hard enough that the whetstone jumped. "There he is. There's the man. Felicity, bring the slate!"

[Your proficiency with Negotiation (E) has increased to Practiced]

Felicity fetched the rune slate and set it on the desk, where Cal placed his bronze badge. She guided the process, and in moments the mist rolled up the trunk of the tree on his badge, past the outline of the base where a Proven's wisps had climbed and up into the lower branches.

The mark of a Stalwart.

She picked the new badge up before the slate had finished glowing and turned it over in her fingers to check the setting, then handed it to him across the desk.

"Congratulations, Cal."

"Thanks."

"Excellent!" Torben was on his feet. "Excellent, excellent. Wonderful. I feel—I feel lighter, you have no idea." He was already moving toward the door. "Right. I have a training dummy that I have not yet finished insulting this morning, and if I don't get back to it, I will lose the thread." He stopped with one hand on the latch. "Oh, and Valorn. Have Felicity give you Old Perren's route notes. The first three floors are riddled with crawls and cut-throughs no map has ever shown, and you've walked the dungeon exactly once, as somebody's passenger." The grin came back at full width. "You'll do grand. Felicity can handle the rest."

"Guildmaster—"

"You are the light of the Hall, Felicity."

"Guildmaster, the paperwor—"

"The backbone of the guild, my dear, and I say it every day to everyone I—" He was through the door and gone.

Felicity stood very still for a moment with her arms crossed, glaring at the empty doorway. Then she uncrossed them, picked up the folder off the desk, and turned to Cal with an expression he thought might, on a less exhausted woman, have qualified as apology.

"Come with me."

She walked him out of the office and back to the counter out in the hall and set the folder down on it, laying one hand on top of it and not immediately opening it.

"Cal."

"Felicity."

"Don't get smart with me, I don't have the patience with him around. And he didn't tell you everything."

"Oh?"

"He booked this guide contract four days ago. He was going to browbeat one of the retired guides out of retirement, but when he read your file he changed his mind."

"He seems like the type to do that."

"You have no idea."

She sighed and turned the folder toward him, opening it and tapping one field to indicate the agreed upon arrival time tomorrow morning. Then she tapped another, which was blank, and said, "Sign here."

So he did. She slid a large sack across the counter from where it had been sitting since they'd returned from the back. His reagents. Someone had bagged them while she was in the office.

"Fernback, moss-cap, two grades of gloompatch, and as promised, a lot of nurse-log slime that nobody else wants."

"I thought you said three grades of gloompatch."

"I did." She squared the sack against the edge of the counter. "The third went out to a party of Stalwarts while we were in negotiations. One of your new perks in action: priority requisition fulfillment."

Cal just shrugged it off and said, "Whatever, works for me. Thanks." Then they settled up.

"I'll have a copy of the client packet run to your house within the hour, and Perren's route notes with it. Read them before you sleep."

"Sure thing."

"And Cal—"

"Yes?"

She spoke softly. "Welcome to the guides."

Smiling at her, he picked up his reagents and waved goodbye with the Stalwart's badge around his neck.