Chương 55: What Comes Next

I went to Jacob because I wanted to remove a wall. Rain had been falling since before breakfast, thin enough that most people ignored it. Water ran along the edges of the western road in narrow streams, carrying leaves and bits of straw toward the drains. I kept close to the buildings anyway. The awnings were uneven, and every few shops I had to step around a steady drip from a cracked gutter. Caldris had already settled into the morning around me.

A baker two streets over had opened her shutters, and warm air smelling of yeast rolled briefly into the damp street. A delivery cart rattled past with sacks covered under waxed cloth, while two laborers argued over whether the rain was getting heavier. It wasn't. At the next crossing, I could see part of the western wall rising beyond the roofs, darkened by the weather. I had spent most of the last year living close enough to it that I barely noticed it anymore. Jacob's office was warmer than the street.

Someone had fed the front stove recently, and the entry smelled faintly of wet wool, ink, and the coffee one of his clerks kept making too strong. Jacob listened from behind his desk while I explained where the wall was.

"You want to renovate," he said. He set down the paper he had been reading and leaned back.

"And move out."

"Yes. I haven't decided where yet, but that part can happen afterward."

"That order seems familiar." Jacob glanced toward the rain-speckled window.

"You usually decide the inconvenient part first."

"It usually works." He looked as though he had more to say about that. Instead, he pulled a ledger toward him.

"Before we discuss your wall, we need to discuss yesterday." He turned the book around so I could see the figures. I knew the total already. 595, 000 kamera. Nessa had sent the number over that morning with no other explanation. The lack of explanation had made it seem more serious. The three bids sat neatly beneath each other. 120, 000. 185, 000. 290, 000.

"The next sale will be higher," Jacob said. He rested one finger beside the final number.

"Considerably."

"Probably." Yesterday's buyers had been bidding with limited evidence. Now there was another healer's report, three purchased doses waiting on follow-up examinations, and a room full of people who had watched Merek Doss put weight on an ankle that had bothered him for years. Jacob tapped the page.

"How much can you make?"

"More than I want sold."

"That wasn't the question." He picked up his pen again, though he did not write.

"I know." I had made three more batches since giving him the auction bottles. Repeating Batch Eleven had become easier, though I still adjusted the heat and mana by what the mixture was doing rather than by a clock.

"One batch stays with me," I said.

"The other two are yours for this month." Jacob's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Personal reserve?"

"Training. Emergencies. Testing." I folded my damp gloves together on my knee.

"I'm also planning to leave Caldris for a while." He noticed that. He let it wait.

"And the other two?"

"Sell them slowly. Screening stays the same." Named recipient. Long physical conditioning. Food before the dose. No resale, and no promise about what the potion would restore. Jacob nodded once.

"Clovefield will need a commercial percentage from this point forward," he said.

"Yesterday was mine."

"You took nothing?"

"It was the first sale." He gave me a level look.

"I wanted to know whether there was a market before I charged you for finding it."

"You did the work."

"So did you."

"That isn't the same work." The corner of his mouth moved.

"Nessa can negotiate with me if the injustice is keeping you awake." That was acceptable.

"After your percentage, seventy percent comes back to me," I said.

"The rest needs dividing properly. I'll work that out with Nessa." This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Jacob studied me for a moment.

"Seventy is more than you usually keep."

"I need it."

"For?"

"Equipment. Materials. Training. Travel." I thought about the armor pieces currently occupying more of my room than my clothes did.

"Repairs."

"That last one sounded experienced."

"It is." He wrote the percentage down.

"The formula will come up again," he said.

"Several people asked whether buyers would be allowed to analyze the potion."

"They can." His pen stopped.

"You're certain?"

"The original potion isn't mine." I explained the recovery recipe I had started with. It came from a book, using common ingredients and a normal preparation method. Batch Eleven existed because the original version had not done what I needed after training, so I changed it. Then I changed it again. Ten times. Jacob rested his pen against the ledger.

"Batch Eleven is still your process."

"The changes are mine."

"And if someone reproduces them?"

"Then they reproduce them." I shrugged.

"If they make a better version, I'd like to see it." Jacob watched me for another second before returning to his notes.

"You are going to make several lawyers unhappy."

"They can talk to Nessa."

"That may make them unhappier." We settled the remaining terms while rain whispered against the glass. Jacob would handle buyers, screening, contracts, security, payment, and the growing number of people who had apparently remembered old injuries as soon as the auction ended. I would make the potion. That arrangement suited me. Then I pulled the upstairs measurements from my coat.

"The wall." Jacob looked at the paper, then at me.

"The building is yours."

"Yes. That's why I came to ask you." He rubbed one hand over his face.

"No, Joe. I'm giving you the building." I stopped. Outside the office, someone rolled a crate down the hall. The wheels bumped twice over the threshold, followed by a clerk muttering something I couldn't make out.

"That's worth more than the transfer fee," I said.

"I am aware."

"I've been paying rent."

"I am also aware of that." Jacob folded his hands over the ledger.

"You took a property I was happy to lease cheaply and turned it into a successful business," he said.

"You maintained it, improved it, and never missed rent. I have no practical reason to keep collecting money from you because an old agreement says I can."

"That doesn't make the building free."

"No." His voice stayed even.

"It makes it a gift." I looked down at the measurements. A little over a year ago, I had signed the lease because the building was cheap enough that failing would not empty my savings immediately. I remembered standing alone in the kitchen with a measuring cord, checking the same wall twice because I had not trusted the first number. Now I was asking permission to remove part of a building Jacob apparently no longer intended to own.

"I'll pay the deed costs," I said.

"And registration."

"I assumed you would."

"That works." Jacob laughed quietly and reached for another folder. The rain had eased by the time I walked back. The western district smelled different when it was wet. Smoke sat lower between the roofs, the stone streets shone under the gray sky, and every open kitchen seemed easier to notice. Someone was frying onions near the market turn. Farther down, a woman had set buckets beneath her awning to catch the last steady drops, while two children in oversized coats jumped across the gutter and failed to stay dry.

The Second Spark came into view at the end of the street. Warm light showed through the windows despite the afternoon gloom. Someone had already wiped the fog from the lower panes, though a new patch was forming beside the kitchen. I stood across the road for a moment longer than necessary. My building. Then a wagon came around the corner and splashed muddy water close enough to my boots that I moved.

Inside, the air was warm with browned onions, bread, and the faint sweetness of something Tovan had simmering near the back stove. Nessa had already written 595, 000 across the top of a clean page. Tovan stood beside her with tea, while Evelyn had stopped halfway through stacking bowls.

"I have the split," I said. I took off my damp coat and hung it near the door. Nessa held out her hand.

"Give it to me before you explain it. I'd like one chance to see what you've done before you defend it." I placed the page beside hers. The Second Spark: 74, 375. Nessa: 74, 375. Tovan: 74, 375. Evelyn: 74, 375. My parents: 59, 500. Me: 238, 000. For several seconds, the only sound came from the kitchen. Something bubbled softly in a pot. Rainwater ticked from the edge of the awning outside. Tovan read the page again, then set his cup down very carefully. Nessa looked at me.

"Seventy-four thousand, three hundred and seventy-five."

"Yes. The arithmetic works."

"I know the arithmetic works." She looked at the figure again.

"This is mine personally?"

"Yes." Tovan pointed at his line.

"And this one?"

"Also yours." He leaned back against the counter.

"What do you expect me to do for seventy-four thousand kamera?"

"Nothing you aren't already doing." That seemed to make the answer worse. Evelyn finally picked up the page.

"I think this is wrong."

"It isn't," Nessa said. Her voice had gone quieter.

"That amount is yours." Evelyn looked between us.

"For what?"

"For helping build this place," I said.

"And because I have enough." Her fingers tightened slightly on the paper.

"I could get a house." Nessa glanced down at the number.

"You could buy one." Evelyn went very still. Steam drifted from the kitchen doorway behind her. Outside, someone laughed as they hurried through the wet street.

"Nell could have her own room," she said. After a moment, she looked down again.

"Corin too."

"You should find one you like." She nodded slowly. Nessa tapped my share.

"What are you doing with two hundred and thirty-eight thousand?"

"Keeping most of it." Tovan looked up. I added, "I need equipment."

"That sounds more like you."

"And I'm going somewhere." Nessa stopped tapping the page.

"Where?"

"I don't know yet." I looked around the room. Tovan's pot was simmering without me. Evelyn's cupboards were full, and Nessa had already started making notes beside numbers that would have seemed impossible a year ago. Outside, Caldris carried on in the rain. For once, nothing in the room needed me to fix it.

"I want to go on an adventure," I said.

"Probably with Amon." Tovan folded his arms.

"Does Amon know?" I considered that.

"Not yet."