Act 1, Scene 1 - The Substantial Cup

Scene 1: The Substantial Cup

Telahew Maladham approached Butella Tower. It was six storeys tall, with the floors layered like some great, wooden cake decorated with painted lattices that accented the windows and stone pillars that supported the tall, narrow structure. Each tower had a unique character. Butella Tower favored dark browns with accents of red brick and labyrinthine patterns in the wood.

Telahew walked in, trying to ignore the merchants sitting in the lobby, all of whom instantly found something else to look at once the took in his plain clothing - the garments of a man who lived on the share. They saw an illiterate young man who had lived his life in tenement blocks - a beggar come to harass them while they waited in line to do business with the tower’s proprietor. Even though most of those who lived in the tenements were hard-working laborers, the merchants assumed all of them were beggars and freeloaders living on the share and supplementing their meager welfare with whatever money they could beg or steal from those who kept civilization solvent.

Telahew made his way toward the small café just beyond the tower’s winding staircase - The Substantial Cup. The aging guard at the door eyed him strangely, even though Telahew’s was a familiar face, here.

Something is up.

Telahew presented his papers before the man even asked. The guard made a show of examining them carefully for signs of forgery. After a long delay, he handed the papers back to Telahew.

"Sorry, brother. A servant of the Order is always welcome." The guard’s voice was loud enough to carry, as if he wanted to make sure someone heard him.

Telahew nodded and murmured thanks, walking in. Kendrick Ranbrad waited for him at their usual table. Telahew sat down in a chair with mahogany accents and waved to the serving boy. The server nodded and walked into the kitchen without approaching them.

"Is the proprietor in the private dining room, Ken?"

"Had you intended to disturb his meal, Tel, or are you just showing off?"

Tel shrugged. "Can I still impress you so easily, Ken? How long have we been meeting here for lunch?"

"I’ll draw you into the Shanty, yet, Tel."

The serving boy arrived with a small bowl of rice and fish, a tiny jar of saki, and a pair of bamboo eating sticks. No one could have subsisted on such tiny portions, but Kaftheans had been doing it for centuries.

"You might find that difficult, Ken. The Order is not likely to release me from its service until I’ve repaid its kindness."

Telahew waved a hand over the bowl idly. Nothing changed visibly, but both young men knew the brother had fortified the meal, making it more filling than it would otherwise be. Telahew picked up the eating sticks and picked up pieces of fish which he put in his mouth.

Kendrick took a sip of his kaf. "You’re going to be my urbamancer, one day, Tel."

Telahew smiled in amusement, "That would violate Order ethics, as I cannot be both your urbamancer and your brother-in-law." Telahew didn’t bother refuting it further. Personal urbamancers were a hugely expensive luxury, for starters. Morevoer, while all urbamancers were members of the Order, only the most dedicated members of the Order were urbamancers, and Telahew suspected he lacked the kind of discipline the job demanded.

Kendrick smiled back and set down his mug of kaf. "If you ever manage to scrape together enough for Amanda’s bridal price." Kendrick turned his attention to his bowl of fortified rice and fish. "You should have haggled with him. Dad’s Shanty. They don’t give you their best offer up front."

"Haggling with a man over his daughter’s bridal price seems like a good way to earn his displeasure."

"Nonsense. He knows it’s better for Amanda if you marry her quickly. If he thought he could afford it, he’d give it all back to you at your wedding."

"Then there’s no reason to haggle, is there?"

Kendrick stiffened and said nothing.

Telahew sipped his saki. Kendrick picked at his rice.

"Is Amanda not feeling well?"

"She’s..." Kendrick glanced in the direction of the door to the café’s private dining room.

"What business does she have with the proprietor?"

Kendrick didn’t answer, picking at his bowl of food. Telahew set down his eating sticks and stood up. Kendrick was on his feet and barring his way before Telahew could take more than a couple steps.

"Tel, no. My family owes a substantial debt to Warden Butella, and we can ill afford to insult him. There is no offer he can make that my father can’t refuse."

"At least so long as he has both his hands," said a voice behind Telahew.

Both of them turned toward the teenager who had somehow crept up on them. He wore a pale yellow tunic with far too much lace and a blue silk ascot and carried a leather bag stuffed with paper over his shoulder. If it weren’t for the adolescent’s ostentatious clothing Cerante would have been unrecognizable in any Kafthean crowd. Short brown hair, brown eyes, and lightly tanned skin did nothing to distinguish this adolescent of average height and build from most of his fellow Kaftheans.

"What do you want?" Kendrick growled, sitting down.

He and Telahew were only two years older than Cerante, and even though Cerante and Kendrick were cousins on their fathers’ sides, the two could not be less alike in temperment.

Cerante smiled innocently and sat at their table. "Aren’t I allowed to visit my mother, Ken?" He glanced up at the serving boy who had glided smoothly over to them. "Just a glass of whiskey, please."

The server nodded and left. Telahew sat down and watched the two of them in silence.

Kendrick gave a snort of disgust. "Whiskey at lunch, Cer? Do you intend to pour it into the wounds of my family’s financial circumstances? With the money you spent on those clothes, a family of five could have eaten for a week."

"And through the marvels of the Shanty economy, I suspect one did. It is only by hoarding wealth that I take rice from the mouths of children."

"I don’t see you putting rice in the mouths of anyone in this family," Kendrick hissed, sitting back down.

"Clearly not. You have to produce something of substantial value to get off the share in Kafthey."

"Or misrepresent the quality of the goods you have to offer."

"Or sell your daughter to pay your debts."

Kendrick surged forward and only Telahew’s intervention prevented a fistfight in the middle off the cafe.

"Stop acting like laborers fighting over the same tenement room, both of you."

Cerante returned to his seat, but Kendrick continued to seethe.

"What’s your problem, Cer?" Telahew demanded.

Cerante’s expression grew sober, as if he felt guilty for pushing his cousin so far. "I’m sorry, Tel. I meant no offense, Kendrick. Mother just told me how bad it really is. I know it isn’t your fault, but I’m as concerned for Charlotte as you are for Amanda."

Charlotte was Cerante’s half-sister by his mother and uncle. The Ranbrad family history had gotten especially complex, this generation. Not knowing how best to describe your relationship with your relatives - cousin or stepbrother, half-sister or cousin, uncle or stepfather, mother or aunt - tended to strain your relationships with them.

"Let’s go somewhere else, Tel," Kendrick said, knuckles white where he gripped the back of his chair.

Telahew weighed his friend and then Cerante. "I’ll stay a while longer, Ken. The Order would not approve of leaving my lunch uneaten. I’ll meet you upstairs later."

Kendrick grunted and left. No one asked him for payment. The café employed a Shanty-certified member of the Order to fortify its food and handle customer transactions with the appropriate banks.

The serving boy set down the glass of whiskey on the table at Cerante’s elbow and then left them.

"You came to see me, Cerante?"

"You’re smarter than the company you keep, Tel. You’ll be a great asset to the Order once your apprenticeship is complete."

"I appreciate your concern, Cer, but whatever you want me to do for your employer, the Order’s code of conduct forbids it."

"Haven’t you heard, Tel? My contract with Representative Rashadis ended three weeks ago, which is why I was able to swing by for a visit. It’s no secret I bear Eduin no small grudge for marrying my mother after my father’s death - a grudge enlarged by his bringing Charlotte into the world so soon after. But I think I can help minimize the damage. After all, I’ve had more debts than most Kaftheans can imagine, and I still have both my hands."

Telahew nodded, recognizing this for a marvel. Most people who owed as much money as Cerante’s father had lost their hands well before they died. The loss of a hand marked a man as financially ruined and prevented him from ever borrowing money again. Most ruined Kaftheans couldn’t find any gainful employment, as their missing hand marked them as someone who could not be trusted.

Cerante’s father had hanged himself rather than suffer that fate - an act of considerable cowardice, as it meant the debtor’s heir inherited his father’s debt. Cerante was only thirteen when he inherited that debt, but he had somehow managed to earn enough money in the Shanty to pay the interest on those debts. In fact, Cerante appeared to be thriving while his uncle sank deep into his own debts.

Telahew nodded. "If Eduin defaults on his loan and they take his hand, both Amanda and Charlotte - because they are unmarried daughters - will be treated as assets, under the law. Maybe his creditor will let me pay a reasonable bridal price, but maybe he’ll auction her off to the highest bidder."

"Hopefully, her ability to read and keep accounting records will mean the highest bidder won’t to be a brothel owner."

Telahew winced and clenched his fists. "If anyone tries to do that to her, I’ll kill him."

Cerante sipped his whiskey. "That wouldn’t save her, Tel, but this might." He removed a sheaf of paper from his bag.

Telahew skimmed it. "It looks like terms of a loan for 60 standard."

"I learned Amanda’s bridal price from Mom, though I don’t know how much you already have saved."

"You’re offering me a loan on your cousin’s bridal price?"

"I’m Shanty, Tel. You know we aren’t permitted to give financial gifts to anyone. The interest terms are fair - as low as the law currently allows. So, yes."

"Why?"

"Despite what Ken might have told you, I do not hate my uncle’s family. I certainly don’t want my cousin to be stuck in a loveless relationship when there’s a decent man whom she loves so dearly. Charlotte is an infant, so I should be able to strike a deal with whichever creditor lays claim to her." The casual tone of his voice on the last sentence seemed out of touch with the subject matter.

This is very strange, Telahew thought.

"Done, Cer. Do you have a quill?"

Cerante did. He passed it to Telahew, who signed the promissary note. Cerante wrote out a certificate of credit worth 60 standard redeemable from an account with Dockshore Bank.

There is nothing illegal about any of this, so why do I feel so uneasy? Telahew thought as he completed the transaction.

With his limited income, repaying the loan would be difficult, but with what he had already saved up - nearly 30 standard - the payments wouldn’t ruin him.

Cerante let the ink dry before folding up the contract. "Let me know if you ever need extra money, Tel. I have contacts in the Shanty that could find a use for your talents."

Cerante downed the rest of his whiskey, stood up, and left, leaving Telahew to wonder exactly what he had accidentally agreed to. He finished his meal mechanically without taking his eyes off the certificate of credit on the table.

Telahew asked the serving boy to summon the café’s urbamancer. A few minutes later, the tall, blond woman arrived at his table. She examined his certificate of credit and checked his identification papers. By the time she could crumple the certificate of credit and toss it in the hearth fire in the kitchen, 60 standard had moved from Cerante’s account at Dockshore Bank to Telahew’s account with the Order’s credit union.

Telahew left The Substantial Cup and headed up the spiral stairs that led to the suite Kendrick shared with his family.