Chapter 2 #2
But in an unsurprising fashion, Rodney waves the correction away. “It’s no matter; the outcome is the same. You don’t have time to go back to the shop.”
“Papa, it’s barely after noon. I won’t need more than—”
“Laurel Lushroot! You know as well as I do that if you go back to your little projects, you will be too distracted to mind matters that are actually important.”
There’s the yelling, dampened by the sound of rain, but not quite enough. It’s possible the tailor will have overheard; the thought of someone witnessing Laurel’s scolding is deeply embarrassing.
“Alright, Papa. I… will come home.”
The stormy expression doesn’t quite leave Rodney’s face, but he gives a stiff nod and joins Laurel outside the awning. His cloak isn’t water-proofed, so he becomes soaked in short order, and steps in a puddle to boot.
Laurel would have snickered at the disgruntled picture his father is making, but his current mindset isn’t lending itself to amusement.
In fact, he stews the entire trek. Rodney decides not to walk through the rain and instead hires a pulled rickshaw, leaving his son behind.
Laurel doesn’t mind. In fact, the silence—inasmuch as a rainy day can be silent—is preferable to whatever his father might have gone on about if they returned together.
Most likely all the expectations he has for Laurel’s first meeting with Beacon.
Rather than risk humiliating himself in the public eye, Laurel requested a private meeting with his intended—a suggestion that was quickly accepted.
Maybe too quickly. Is Beacon hideous? Ill-tempered?
Laurel knows nothing about the man, other than he’ll be appearing in the Market’s opening ceremony, and they are scheduled to meet in a secluded pavilion immediately after.
Will Laurel be spending the rest of his life with an ugly, cross man who will force him to give up everything he’s fought to claim for himself? Admittedly, that wouldn’t be much different from his current life.
Once, Laurel could have walked away. He did it before, but it won’t work a second time, so Laurel has to make the most of whatever is in store.
Mere minutes after he arrives home and shucks his rain-spattered outerwear, the palm-sized glass he keeps in his pocket for long-distance messages begins to vibrate in his pocket. Laurel claps a hand over it, trying to smother the faint rumble so his father doesn’t hear.
“Laurel, is that you, finally?” Rodney calls from the sitting room.
“Yes, Papa. I’m going straight to my room to freshen up.” Rodney doesn’t respond.
As promised, Laurel rushes to his room, withdrawing the glass as quickly as possible without risking dropping it with his damaged left hand.
Modified Gearwick technology keeps what remains functional, replacing half the palm and two lost fingers, but even magical grafting hasn’t been able to return the agility Laurel possessed before the accident that maimed him.
The connection across the glass was already severed, but there’s an after-image, almost like an etching hovering on the surface.
Laurel passes his fingers over the glass, releasing the message preserved inside.
It reveals a ghostly image, the face of one of Laurel’s clients.
The glass doesn’t preserve messages very well, so their voice comes out a touch garbled, but he gathers the majority.
The custom order they were scheduled to pick up in two days’ time is missing a critical element due to the client’s own error—without it, the treatment will be all but useless.
After giving a brief description of the potion’s necessary revisions, the caller dissolves into barely-coherent apologies while begging for accommodation.
Laurel snaps the metal lid enclosing the glass closed before he has to hear any more wheedling.
It’s simply not possible to brew a replacement potion within the time allotted. Laurel begins composing a reply in his head: No, I’m sorry. I can provide a partial refund or, if you like, full credit for a future purchase.
In an ideal world, no client of Laurel’s would have to face disappointment in his services.
He would genuinely love to help… He just doesn’t have time.
The custom orders aren’t even all wrapped yet!
With his father forbidding him to return to his workshop, Laurel doesn’t know how to keep his little business in good repute.
If he’s allowed to keep it at all.
That’s what scares Laurel the most. He doesn’t know what his intended plans to do with him once they’re wed.
Beacon lives in Dun Steorra, and Laurel will be moving there to live with him.
Will he allow Laurel to continue operating his business out there?
Having to climb a mountain to reach him would be a great obstacle for Laurel’s clients, but…
The worst outcome, even more chilling than losing his pristine reputation, is that Beacon simply refuses to entertain Laurel’s desire to continue his work.
Losing himself in a daydream about his new husband simply wanting nothing to do with him and leaving him to his own devices forever, Laurel doesn’t notice he’s drafted a reply to his client saying he’ll do his best to finish a corrected potion until he’s already burned the paper with the message.
Stunned, absolutely shocked by his own audacity, Laurel covers his mouth against a litany of curses, biting his palm so he won’t shout in frustration.
There’s no other option. He has to get back to his workshop without his father noticing.