Unmaking Percy

Part III - II, continued (The Dizzy Tent)

"We would like to see Tombert de L'Isle" she declared.

An odd little hunch of a man stared up at her.

"You and everyone else" he snorted.

He looked at her from behind a counter that was far too big for his stature, and far too small for his thirst for bureaucratic powers. He fixed his beady eyes on them with a sharp maliciousness that could only be found in playground bullies, peeved paper-pushers, and spiteful moles.

"Yes, I assumed it would not be that simple" she sighed. "We would like rooms, then. Somewhere to spend the night. We were told that is a possibility here? We can pay."

"Lots of people can pay, but we can't accommodate lots of people" hissed the tiny king from the vast expanse of his tiny kingdom.

"Why not? It's a huge tent... building... thing" she squinted. She was not used to fumbling with words, and her frustration flashed plainly. It was no easy task, to rope together a sensible sentence in those surroundings; but, on a matter of principle, she seemed determined to steer clear of any fantastical wording. "Why would you build a tent so stupidly large, if not to accommodate lots of people?"

"I'm not the one who built it; I don't know nothing, I just man the reception" he oozed delight in his unwillingness to help.

Percy watched him in fascinated horror. He had never seen anyone display such rapture at the prospect of being a hurdle to others. He noticed the warning signs of Valeria's evaporating patience: her arms uncrossing, her hands planting on her hips, her composure fucking off entirely.

He looked about him, already dreading a repeat of the tavern fight, and wondering what it might look like in a tent. There was an awful lot of things that could catch fire, to begin with. There was also an awful lot of people who looked eager to join anything that was crowded and loud. He noticed a woman drop a pearl earring and then look around, bemused, when no one picked it up for her. Not far from her was a man drenched in tattered silks, staring at a wine stain with a vague look of confusion and recrimination for not cleaning itself up. Reclining on a purple velvet ottoman near the reception desk, Percy saw a man deep in conversation stretch out his empty wine glass and wait an eternity for it to be filled by an absent hand.

Nobles then, Percy reasoned, or at least wealthy commoners. Even dressed in tattered fabrics, they were nevertheless clad in the scintillating certainty that they mattered, because no one else did. No amount of rags would ever undress them of that stinking garment.

His father had sometimes told him of his days before coming into wealth; not proudly, nor with ease, but to at least impart some wisdom from the experience. He had warned Percy to never commit the mistake of being a pauper in the presence of a rich man. They were full of contradictions, he had once told his son, unwittingly proving his point by holding up a jewelled goblet and spilling expensive wine on his brocade sleeve, all the while speaking as though he was himself far removed from this tribe of rich men he condemned.

But his words had stuck with Percy. They were full of contradictions, yes, but none more striking than this: they spent with abandon, eager to show they did not care or even think of gold, yet they sorely despised those who did not have any.

The tussle between Valeria and the clerk was reaching a no-man's land, unclaimed by exhausted forces. Each threw grudgingly admiring glances at the other, having found their match in perseverance. The hunched man even seemed to enjoy the novelty of being intimidated by brawn rather than abundance of coin.

Percy looked around him. 'We can pay', had said Valeria, but no one there would be impressed by coin. Other things would shine far brighter than gold.

"Don't worry – I promise I've thought this one through" he murmured in Evans' ear.