The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (9 page)

"Like you," Myranda said, mockingly.

"Precisely," Desmeres replied, ruining her
joke. "I owe everything I have to, often unjustified, confidence.
Now, rather than trying to fill in things you already know, we will
do this as a test of sorts. First, what is your name?" he
asked.

"Alexia Tesselor," Myranda replied.

"Alexia
Adriana
Tesselor. Adriana
Tesselor is your grandmother and one of the more powerful members
of your clan. You will never pass up an opportunity to flaunt your
common name. Now, what is the name again?" he asked.

"Alexia Adriana Tesselor," she said.

"Right. Now, let us imagine that someone
tries to exert some authority over you. Also suppose that what you
are doing is wrong, and they are justified in reprimanding you.
What do you do?" he quizzed.

"I don't suppose I follow their orders,"
Myranda said, rolling her eyes at what was obviously a wrong
answer.

"You are a Tesselor. What do you do?" he
repeated.

"I . . . bribe them," she said.

"Better, but no. Criminals bribe. Besides,
bribing acknowledges that you are at a disadvantage," he said.

Myranda thought hard, but couldn't find the
answer.

"Threaten. Always threaten. The mere sound of
your name should be enough, particularly if you repeat it, which
you will. If it isn’t enough, mention any name in the family line.
On the off chance you have particularly duty minded individual, the
implied wrath of the patriarch of the family, Vander Tesselor, will
stave off almost any authority figure," Desmeres instructed.

For an hour or so, Myranda was taught how to
behave in a way opposite to what her heart and upbringing told her.
Conversations with underlings are short and direct, always in the
form of orders. She must assume that everything, in all situations,
has been done for her benefit. At first, she found it impossible to
decide what to say or do to appear to be this new person, but her
thoughts shifted to the one person in her life who she realized she
was sounding more and more like. Ayna, the wind master in Entwell.
When she began answering questions as Ayna would have, everything
fell into place. Her first test came when the driver tapped on the
window. Desmeres slipped quietly into concealment. Myranda pulled
back the curtain.

"What is it?" she snapped irritatedly.

"Where does madam -" he began.

"Mistress Alexia Adriana Tesselor, not madam.
You will refer to me as Mistress Tesselor. I want to be at
Grossmer's mines in three days," she declared haughtily.

The driver, somewhat bewildered by the flurry
of orders, hesitated.

"Well? Off with you!" she said curtly,
dropping the curtain into place.

"Fine work," Desmeres said quietly when the
carriage jerked into motion. He slipped from beneath the seat.

"Was it convincing?" she asked, somewhat
proud.

"Exceptionally so. Voice down please. You are
alone in here, remember. There is much for you to learn before we
get there. Three days may not be enough," he said.

The rest of the day passed in much the same
manner as the time she had spent in Entwell. Desmeres explained to
her everything she might need to know about securing the ownership
of the mines as quickly, easily, and cheaply as possible. She was
told the prices of their ore, the success in recent years, and the
likely success in the future. By sundown her head was swimming. The
carriage began to turn, signaling the approach of a town.

"Here is money. Give it to the driver when he
opens the door. Rich people never pay for anything themselves. That
case on the floor has five changes of clothes. He will carry it
without being asked. Stay in the best room of the best inn in town.
You won't need to figure out which is which, the driver will. I
will stay in the carriage, slipping out for the necessities, of
course," he said, climbing into the hiding place.

"Wait, what about the gold? Are we simply
leaving it in the carriage? It will be stolen," she said.

"Lain is out there, somewhere. If anyone so
much as lays a finger on a chest, they will have to pick it up off
of the ground if they want it back," he answered, slipping out of
sight.

A moment later the door opened.

Without a word, Myranda thrust the bag of
money into the hands of the driver and put out her hand to be
helped from the carriage. He did so and they entered as nice an inn
as was likely to be found in the area. It was not a tavern with
rooms to let as was typically the type of place Myranda would have
selected. The difference was obvious from the moment that the
driver opened the door for her. Inside were attentive porters and a
remarkably comfortable room, the first real bed she'd slept in
since Entwell. Properly prepared food was a pleasant luxury as
well. Of course, for the duration of the stay she belittled the
quality of each and every little thing. It would have been
suspicious if she hadn't. Spending the night alone was worse than
she remembered. Worse yet was the fact she had left her satchel
from Entwell in the carriage, and had nothing to do but stare at
the painted walls of the room until her departure. Once she had
checked out of the inn, she was led back to the carriage and they
were on their way. Desmeres slipped out of his hiding place with a
stern look on his face. He was holding the book that Myranda had
brought along.

"What is this doing here?" he whispered
harshly.

"I found something inside that I wanted to
ask you about. Why were you going through my bag?" she asked,
somewhat annoyed.

"I spent the night in a carriage. I needed
something to do, but never mind that. This book contains very
sensitive information. It was never to leave the storehouse," he
said.

"Well I didn't know that," Myranda said.

"You should have asked. What question have
you got, anyway? It had best be an excellent one to warrant this
sort of breach," he said.

Myranda took the book and flipped to the
offending page. She indicated the crossed out line and handed the
book to Desmeres. He had only just glimpsed at the line when he
shut his eyes tight and slammed the book closed.

"What? You didn't even read it," she said,
taking the book away and trying to find it again.

"I didn't write that. If I didn't, then Lain
did. If he wrote it, it was because he didn't want me to know about
it. If he didn't want me to know about it, I don't want to know
about it," he said, pushing the book closed again.

"If he didn't want you to know, then why
would he write it down?" she asked.

"It doesn’t matter. He knows that I respect
his privacy. I would not have read it," he said.

"Well tell me what it says," she said.

"If I could think of a way to do so without
reading it myself, gladly. Why do you want to know so badly?" he
asked.

"It is the entry directly following the . . .
massacre at Kenvard. Yet, it mentions Kenvard. How can that be?
There were no survivors aside from myself and my uncle," she
said.

"I haven't a clue. All I can say is that,
whatever that line says, it details a job that touched a nerve with
Lain. If you want an answer, ask him, because the last thing I need
is to give him a reason to distrust me," he said.

With the mystery of Lain's note still
unsolved, Desmeres managed to bury it under two more days worth of
instruction. By the time they had reached the crushed stone road
that led to Grossmer's mines, Myranda felt she knew more about them
than the old man himself did. What she understood less were the
complexities of the art of haggling. She had always been able to
get a decent price when she had to, but things were different on a
scale as grand as this. Even as Desmeres laid out every move that
she should make and every move he was likely to make in turn,
Myranda became more lost. Finally Desmeres reluctantly endorsed a
very different method.

"Perhaps three days is not long enough to
teach you the intricacies of the land purchase, but I assure you,
in three minutes I can teach you a surefire way to get this land
for a decent price, whether he wants to sell or not. I wouldn't
recommend it, though, because it will
only
work if you have
the full amount you intend to pay with on hand. Such is never the
case in situations such as this, which is precisely why this method
works. Here we are. Rule one, always speak directly to the owner.
If the underlings try to resist, mention that it is a matter of
great importance regarding the price of their land. You won't have
to wait long. Rule two, refuse any hospitality. Don't even enter
their office. Do all of the negotiating outside. It will take them
out of their environment and make it harder to think. Make up an
excuse for why, but make it clear that you always do business this
way. They may be reluctant to comply, but that brings us to rule
three. Keep the money, the full purchase price, close at hand. When
he gives you trouble, direct him to a chest and open it. He will
cave. At the sight of that much money, anyone would. Rule four, set
a maximum price, in this case seventy thousand gold pieces, and if
he tries to raise, open the rest of the chests. No one pays all at
once. The thought of having all of that money in his hands will
push the logic right out of his head. Finally, rule five. Get him
out. Get him off of his land as quickly as possible, ideally by the
end of the day. A swift cut will not only leave the land totally
and completely yours in the shortest amount of time, but the chaos
it creates will leave all who remain searching for someone to
restore order, thus firmly installing you as the one in charge," he
said.

Almost immediately the carriage came to a
stop and Desmeres slipped into the hiding place. A few moments
later, the door was opened and the driver announced her.

"Mistress Tesselor," he proclaimed.

At the end of a crushed stone road was a
mansion that would not have been out of place in the highest class
sections of the North's wealthiest of towns. It
was
,
however, quite out of place on one of only two level portions of an
otherwise craggy mountainside. A stout man wearing an assortment of
furs that matched one another only insomuch as they were not native
to this forest hurried out to meet Myranda as she was helped down
from her carriage.

"Mistress Tesselor, what brings you to my
humble establishment?" asked Luther Grossmer, owner of the mines
and, for that matter, the mountain.

It was clear from his beet red face that he
was unaccustomed to being anything less than the most important
person on the mountain, and thus unaccustomed to hurrying.

"What brings me here, Luther, is the fervent
hope that I can put this humble establishment under less humble
management. My own," she stated, Deacon had made it clear to
address him by his first name. The unbalancing effect it had on him
was immediately obvious.

"You mean to make an offer for the mines?"
Grossmer said with an eyebrow raised.

"I mean to purchase the mines," Myranda
corrected.

"I am certainly willing to discuss the
matter, if you would like to join me inside, I've some excellent
wine . . . " the owner offered.

"No need for that. We shall discuss it here
or not at all," Myranda insisted.

"Surely you would be more comfortable inside.
I could . . . " Grossmer attempted again.

"I am never comfortable beneath a roof I do
not own, Luther. Besides, negotiations will be short," Myranda
said, getting well into her character and, to her shame, rather
enjoying it.

"I would never think of denying you the
hospitality of . . . " the hardy owner persisted.

"Your dogged insistence to bring me indoors
is beginning to lead me to believe that there is something about
your place of business you do not want me to see. There
are
other mines, my good sir," Myranda said testily.

"No, no. Of course. This will be fine. In
full view of the splendor of my mines. Hatchett, a table and two
chairs, and the papers," Grossmer hastily ordered.

A rather slight, snakelike man who had been
standing obediently beside his master quickly marched toward the
estate. As he approached the door, a second man was trudging down
the side path toward what looked to be a large shed of tools.
Hatchett motioned for him to come inside immediately, and the two
disappeared inside the enormous estate.

"I hadn't expected any offers. In truth I'd
only mentioned a desire to retire in passing. Do you mind telling
me how you came to the decision to consider purchasing . . . "
Grossmer attempted to ask.

"It is none of your concern," Myranda snapped
quickly. "Suffice to say that little is said in the Northern
Alliance that does not reach the ears of a Tesselor."

The two servants were already on their way
back. Hatchett was carrying a few sheets of parchment, a pot of
ink, and a quill. The other, through a complicated configuration,
had managed to hoist a heavy oak table onto his back. Each hand
held an ornamented chair awkwardly to prevent the table from
sliding off. He set the chairs down and, with a bit of effort,
managed to place the table right side up. It was all that Myranda
could do to keep herself from lending a hand. The laborer turned to
go, but the as yet completely silent assistant to Grossmer merely
motioned that he should stay. The stoic worker nodded and stood to
the side. He was stooped, and thus seemed a bit shorter than
Hatchett. There was the air about him that, if he were to unfold
himself, he would be a head and shoulders taller. His clothes
looked vaguely as though they had once been used to hold potatoes.
There was the hint that they might have been blue at some time in
the distant past, but now they were the same color as their wearer,
which in turn was the same color of the stone he was standing on.
There was little doubt that this was a man pleased to be pressed
into service in this case simply because it gave him a rare view of
the sky, rather than a mine shaft.