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Jasmine allowed herself a sigh of relief as she set the empty canape tray down on the kitchen counter. None of the others were present; given the sudden availability of free “help,” Glory had not troubled to bring in staff for this event. Ami and Schwartz were circulating among the guests (with differing degrees of skill), but the lady of the house had not hesitated to put the Guild apprentices to work. That left Smythe to handle the cooking, a skill none of the rest of them possessed.
“Well, this hasn’t been nearly as bad as I’d feared,” she said aloud, adjusting the collar of her still jacket. Actually the livery the Butler had found for them didn’t bother her; it reminded her of dress uniform. Layla and Darius, likewise, seemed to find it hilarious to be dressing as servants, but Tallie in particular was not enjoying the role. As usual, it was hard to tell what Ross thought.
“Do not mistake caution for virtue,” Smythe advised, glancing at her with a faint smile but not turning from the sauce he was stirring. He manned the stove without the benefit of an apron, but his uniform was, of course, spotless. Butlers did not make mistakes. “Many of those men and several of the women have fondled waitresses in other venues. No one invited to one of Tamisin Sharvineh’s events, however, would be foolish enough to mistreat working-class people in the home of a prominent Eserite.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Jasmine said, frowning. “I just meant that I’m not as terrible at this as I could be. It’s my first time serving appetizers at a society party. Believe it or not,” she added dryly.
The Butler gave her another glance; his expression relaxed subtly, conveying the aspect of a calm smile without actually moving his lips. It was incredible what the man could communicate with his face. “A military upbringing confers many traits which are crucial in domestic service, notably punctuality, discretion, good posture, and the capacity to behave deferentially toward worthless people. Alone among your friends, I would gladly provide you references toward another position.”
“I have other plans, but I appreciate that,” she said with amusement. He nodded, turning back to his sauce. “Will you need me to take another tray?”
“Not yet. Your compatriots have that in hand. There is a rhythm and a balance to social events; madame prefers her hospitality to seem generous but not excessive. It is a subtle reminder to the powerful individuals present that on Eserion’s ground, even they may go hungry.”
“That’s slightly terrifying,” she observed. “But I’m amazed how you can be so aware of the situation from back here in the kitchen.”
“I am a Butler,” he explained. “It might be wise for you to circulate, however. Ostensibly to see if a guest needs anything, but more significantly to keep an eye on the house. With so many present, opportunities for mischief abound.”
Jasmine frowned. “You don’t think the conspirators would attempt something here, surely? Even the Svennish intelligence service didn’t dare attack this house.”
“The Svennish intelligence service are professionals. Your adversaries have thus far abducted Eserite apprentices practically from the Guild’s doorstep, attempted to unlawfully imprison the same under the very nose of the Sisterhood, and employed intrusive scrying spells on a witch sufficiently powerful to detect and counter them. Reckless or incompetent foes present their own dangers, Jasmine. They may be more easily beaten once confronted, but a person unburdened by strategic sense might attempt almost anything.”
“I see your point,” she said, then deliberately smoothed her expression. “I’ll make the rounds, then.”
Smythe shifted to give her another nod before going back to his stirring, and she slipped back out.
It was odd, she reflected while navigating the busy townhouse, how none of the guests appeared to notice her. When she was carrying food, they would select bites without acknowledging her, as though an unattended tray were floating past. Smythe had lectured the group about the invisibility of servants (she really hoped Tallie’s resentment toward nobles wasn’t already bubbling over), but to Jasmine’s mind the Guild’s doctrine had more to teach about this phenomenon. She wondered, while climbing the servant’s stairs in the back, whether this qualified as “don’t see” or “won’t see.” A bit of both, she decided; for the most part, ignoring servants simply seemed the thing to do, and they had no trouble detecting the canapes and cocktails. But then, after overhearing snippets of conversation, she was starting to suspect that some of these people didn’t regard those below their station as actual people.
And these were Glory’s guests? It was downright horrifying to imagine what must be going on in the houses of the city’s nobility. This party had done more to impart a good Eserite’s resentment of those in power than weeks of Lore’s lectures.
Apparently no one wanted anything, and most of the guests were fully occupied with one another, or clustered in the central salon where Glory was holding court; at any rate, she was not stopped on her way around the lower floor. She did pass Ross holding a tray of drinks, and received a blank-faced nod from him. Technically a breach of Smyth’s rules of servant conduct, but she wasn’t about to rat him out. Her rounds were uninterrupted until she passed the bathroom door on the second floor rear hallway, not far from the servant’s stairs.
It opened so abruptly she had to take a step back to avoid being struck, but did not swing wide. Layla squeezed through the crack and instantly pushed it shut behind her.
“Jasmine,” she hissed. “Thank the gods. That guest this is all about, Carruthers Treadwell? He’s a gnome, right?”
Jasmine tilted her head curiously. “Treadwell? Yes, Schwartz said he was.”
“A little paunchy?” Layla continued in a furious whisper, glancing surreptitiously about in exactly the way Style had told them not to do. “White hair, big mustache…?”
“That I can’t tell you; Glory’s been monopolizing him and I haven’t met the man yet. Apparently he didn’t want to come and she had to apply persuasion, and just winked when I asked what that…” Jasmine trailed off, suddenly frowning. “Why? Did he corner you in the bathroom or something? Layla, even if we need his help you do not have to put up with—”
Layla grabbed her arm, and Jasmine focused on her face, suddenly paying closer attention. The girl had always had an aristocrat’s composure even before the Guild’s coaching in the fine art of lying, but she was two shades paler than normal, her eyes wide and lips pressed into a stressed line. She glanced up and down the empty hall once more, then stepped aside, pulled the door open just a crack, and jerked her head urgently toward it.
Taking the hint, Jasmine shut her mouth and immediately slipped inside, making room for Layla to follow. By the time the younger girl had pulled the door shut behind them, she had already forgotten she was there.
The gnome sat against the wall next to the ornately cast porcelain toilet, eyes staring vacantly at a point near the ceiling. His black tuxedo jacket did not reveal stains, but the white shirt beneath was now more crimson than white, and the blood spreading from around him had rendered the carpet a total loss.
They stared in stunned silence before Layla managed to speak in a thin, tight voice.
“It’s surreal. The one thought I cannot get out of my head is it does not seem there could physically be that much blood inside a gnome. Isn’t that surreal?”
Jasmine blinked, swallowed, shook her head once, and straightened her spine. “Right. Right. Okay. Layla, get Glory. No!” She shook her head, closing her eyes momentarily in thought. “You can’t push through that crowd to get her attention, that’ll kick the beehive for sure. Go to the kitchen, get Smythe. He will get Glory and she’ll direct our next steps. I’ll stay here and make sure nobody else finds…this.”
“Right. Yes. I’m on my way.” Layla seemed energized at having direction, and grasped the door handle again.
“And be careful,” Jasmine added, turning to her suddenly. “This can’t possibly be a coincidence.”
“Yes, I know,” Layla said, drawing a deep breath. “Whoever’s after us is in this house, and now we know how far they’re willing to go. And that they can get around Glory’s wards. I’ll be quick.”
No sooner had they slipped back into the hall than Layla shot off toward the rear staircase at the fastest pace that would not draw attention. Jasmine planted herself in front of the door, falling automatically into parade rest.
Layla had only been gone a minute before a well-dressed man strolled up, drink in hand, and paused to give her an inquisitive look. “Excuse me?”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she said with a deferential little smile. “This one is out of order.”
They went for the slope itself, Maureen stubbornly clinging to her basket of metal—she was not about to relinquish her haul to whatever nonsense this was—but made it only a few feet up the slope before the roar of the crowd abruptly ceased. Naturally, she didn’t slow. When fleeing a pursuer, it was a fatal mistake to sacrifice footing and control to look back; any gnome knew that.
Unfortunately, Chase Masterson had not had the benefit of a gnomish education.
He immediately skidded to a stop, turning in the process to see what made the change, which proved to be a more complex maneuver than he could handle while running up a steep slope. Or, knowing him, probably at all. He slipped on the grass, one ankle twisting out from under him, and went tumbling to the ground, immediately rolling downhill.
Even more unfortunately, a great towering human-sized lummox rolling down the mountain at her from barely more than her height ahead proved an obstacle Maureen could neither vault over nor dodge around. The impact bowled her right over, causing her to lose her grip finally. The basket went tumbling away, strewing scrap metal across the grass.
Being knocked down and rolled upon did not phase her, but for that, she punched him as hard as she could manage in whatever piece of the big oaf it was that currently blocked her vision.
“Ow! My kidney!” Chase scrambled away, but stopped before rising back to his feet, staring back down at the town. “…huh. What the hell’s got into them now?”
The erstwhile mob seemed to have abruptly lost its impetus. Suddenly, it had ceased to be a seething organism and had become a dozen or so prairie townspeople, standing around and staring at each other in confusion, as if unsure what they were doing or why. Silence gradually gave way to subdued muttering.
“Dunno,” Maureen grunted, hopping nimbly back to her feet. “Their problem, an’ I’m out before it becomes ours again. An’ you owe me a basket o’ metal bits, y’great clodhoppin’ galoot!”
“Oh, sure, blame me,” he said cheerfully, scrambling back upright and following her into a dash. They set off up the slope at an angle this time, heading for the stone stairs and their more certain footing. “Surely you don’t think I caused a mob?”
Maureen didn’t spare him a glance. “I dunno, Chase. Did you cause a mob?”
“Well, not that I know of!” he replied with an exuberant laugh. “But let’s face it, if there’s an angry mob and I’m in the same town, there’s at least even odds that somehow—”
“Just bloody well run!”
“Hey!” Fred protested as the shed door was yanked open, whirling to face the intruder. He had to lower his gaze; whoever had interrupted them was about half his height.
“What’s this? What’s all this, now?” wheezed a reedy little voice. “What’re y’all doin’ in my garden shed?”
“Your…” Fred stared, blinking in astonishment. The voice was an old man’s, one he didn’t immediately recognize. “Your… Mister, I think you’re a mite turned around.”
“Don’t you lecture me, sonny boy!” the intruder said shrilly, and Fred stumbled at a sharp jab to his thigh. A moment later he stumbled back again, throwing up a hand to protect his eyes against the brilliance that had suddenly erupted. The tiny old man lifted an old-fashioned oil lamp to illuminate the interior of the shed. Even without the hunch that bent him nearly double, he was short, his head entirely bald with incongruously huge tufts of white hair erupting from his ears, face so lost in wrinkles that his eyes were completely obscured beneath bushy brows. He jabbed at Fred again with a gnarled cane, though this time Fred held his ground; if he backed up any further he’d stumble over Lorelin, who was still seated in meditation. The old man prodded him once more, shaking his lamp aggressively. “This here’s my tool shed, an’ I don’t take kindly to trespassers, nosirree I don’t!”
“You said garden shed,” Fred said dumbly.
That was apparently the wrong answer, and earned him a whack on the hip. For such an apparently frail old fellow, he could swing that cane hard.
“Don’t you correct me, y’little hoodlum! I know my rights! Eighty-seventeen years I’ve worked this farm, an’ I know every inch of it! This here’s my garden toolshed, sure as my name’s Cletus Custer Indominus Boomerang McGee! My poor wife’s buried right behind it, an’ my dog too, Vidius rest both their souls! But not the cat, little bastard never did an honest day’s work in his furry life.”
Rubbing his thigh, Fred snuck a glance back at the priestess, who did not react to the invocation of her god, either. She was still concentrating; his job, after all, was to see she wasn’t interrupted. He shifted position, planting himself between the old man and Lorelin. “Now see here, mister, this here shed’s in an alley behind the Saloon, there ain’t no way…” He trailed off, frowning, then leaned forward. “Hang on. Do I know you? I ain’t never seen you ’round town…”
He really should have expected the ensuing whack to the skull, he reflected when he could think again. In hindsight, it was obvious. When his ears stopped ringing, he found he’d barely caught himself against the wall of the shed. That and…oh, no.
Lorelin grunted, almost sending Fred entirely to the ground in the process of crawling out from under him. The old man was still ranting, shaking his lantern at them.
“…never heard such disrespect, in my day, young ‘uns had a proper regard for their elders, yes sir they did! Why, when I fought off the elves with my trusty lightnin’ staff, even they wasn’t so rude! Elves got proper respect for their elders, yes they do! ‘Mr. McGee,’ they said t’me, ‘beggin’ yer pardon but we’re here to pillage yer farm, if y’please.’ An’ I served ’em tea before I shot ’em all in the face in alphabetical order with lightning, cos in my day we had us a little thing called manners!”
“I’m unsurprised you don’t recognize him, Mr. Carson,” Lorelin said, straightening and brushing off her shirt. “This creature is some kind of fairy.”
“You’re some kinda fairy!” McGee shouted, whacking Fred again. “I never heard o’ such—”
The light that blazed from behind Fred was by a wide margin more blinding than the lamp, and made him distinctly grateful he wasn’t looking in its direction. The pure golden glow of divine magic pulsed outward, and at its impact, Cletus Custer Indominus Boomerang McGee seemed to blow away as if made of dust, leaving behind a shape that made even less sense.
Fred locked eyes with the four-foot-tall raccoon dressed in robes for a moment. Then the creature had the temerity to giggle.
Then it darted forward, dropped to the ground, and bit him on the ankle.
Fred yelled and stumbled over backward, once again collapsing atop Lorelin. This time he bore them both fully to the ground, again breaking her concentration. The light vanished, plunging them once more into oppressive darkness.
“I’m sorry!” he stammered, scrambling off her and accidentally kicking her in the process. “Gods, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it, Carson.” Her voice, oddly enough, seemed amused. “It seems this may not be as easy as we were expecting.”
“What the hell is that thing?!”
“I’ve no idea; fairies are over my head.” His vision was gradually adjusting; he could make out a shifting shadow as she altered her position. “But we have our mission, and it looks like yours is no longer the easy part. Do your best to keep him off me, if you please.”
She fell still, and silent, apparently sinking back into meditation. In the ensuing silence, Fred heaved himself upright, lurched over to the door, and swung it shut, pressing himself against it.
The distinct scrabbling of little clawed feet scampered across the roof above them, followed by a shrill and distinctly insane giggle. And then a whimper, which Fred only belatedly realized had been himself.
Whatever caused the lull lasted only moments, and then with a roar, the crowd was after them again.
“Bloody ‘ell, are they gaining?” Maureen protested just as they reached the stairs.
“Well, yeah, their legs alone are taller than you,” Chase pointed out, a little breathless. He had pulled ahead, and now paused, turning back to her. “I could’ve left you behind, but Tellwyrn would turn me into an entire new dumbass-leather wardrobe. Her words, not mine. Oh, fine, I guess I have to do everything around here.”
“Don’t you dare!” she squawked, smacking him and jumping away as he bent and reached for her.
“Ow! You pint-sized idjit, do you want to get torn apart by a mob? Come here!”
“You can barely carry yer own weight, the way yer gaspin’!” Maureen skittered wide, departing the staircase to circle around him outside his reach. The distraction had cost them; she chanced a glance down the mountain, and the inexplicably enraged humans were rapidly gaining.
“Dammit to hell and back in a handbasket,” he complained, huffing as he followed her and lacking the sense to shut up when he was clearly not in good enough shape to be running up mountains in the first place. “This better actually be my fault somehow! If I get killed and it’s not because of something I did, everybody I care about is gonna lose the pool I have going. Best thing I could leave for ’em, not like I’ve got anything worth putting in a will…”
Only when he trailed off for breath did she note the sound. She had never heard it so distantly before, but Maureen knew that sound.
“No,” she breathed.
The lights came into view ahead and above them, a sharp blue glow that descended the mountain right at them at a frightening speed, the noise growing louder. It was a hum both deep and shrill, that seemed to exist somewhere on the boundaries of hearing.
“What the fuck now?” Chase demanded. “I really hope that’s help. Is that help? It doesn’t look like help. Doesn’t sound like help, either…”
“No, no, no!” Maureen wailed, putting on a burst of speed. “No, she’s not ready yet! She’s not done! Aye, she runs but I’ve the whole stabilizing matrix to install!”
“Who’s not ready?” he demanded.
Then the thing drew close enough to come into focus.
It angled away from the staircase, swerving wide to avoid striking them, and immediately began wobbling, which caused Maureen to cry out in panic. No surprise; stabilizing matrix or no, there was nobody alive who had any practice at driving that thing at all, much less down a mountainside at breakneck speed.
Even without practice, Szith’s natural elven balance and agility made a world of difference. She turned the machine entirely sideways till it was sliding horizontally down the slope, its single wide wheel ripping up and spewing a veritable fountain of grass and sod. The arcane blue fairy lamps mounted to its round bronze shell flashed as their beams swept across the two astonished students, then the angle changed, leaving the vehicle backlit by the glow of the levitation charms holding its tapering tail aloft. Szith leaned upslope in its saddle, planting one booted foot on the ground and ripping up another streak of grass as she manually slowed and controlled the descent.
It was unfair, Maureen reflected, how elves were just naturally good at everything. She knew for a fact the drow had never even ridden a horse, much less a…well, she hadn’t quite got around to naming it yet.
The arcane rider’s approach made even the mob trail to a halt, gaping in astonishment. The wheeled vehicle wobbled violently as Szith fought for control, and for a horrifying moment Maureen was certain the whole thing was going to flip over and roll the rest of the way down the mountainside. The drow (and the levitation charm) prevailed, however, and the whine of its motive charms surged as she gave it a boost of power. More dirt flew and it surged back into motion, getting its wheel firmly under itself. Having slid all the way past them now, she angled it back uphill and came after them.
Szith actually leaned out of the saddle, holding one arm out and scooping Maureen up into her lap even as she squeezed the brakes, skidding to a halt. And nearly toppling over again as the vehicle wobbled and swerved in the process.
“Gently!” Maureen squawked. “Ya gotta guide ‘er gently, she’s not got the balance fer this stop-an’-go!”
“On!” Szith barked, pulling to a halt next to Chase.
“Oh, hell yes!” he crowed, vaulting onto the saddle behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Gently!” Maureen wailed, to no avail. Szith shifted her grip on the handlebars, relaxing the brakes and twisting the throttle forward, sending Marueen’s project into another skid as she poured far too much power far too fast into their acceleration, causing the gnome to regret showing her how the controls worked even though this was very likely saving her life.
But it stabilized quickly, and they shot upward far faster than Maureen had ever climbed this mountain, rhythmically bouncing as the big wheel crossed over the switchbacking paved path. In just moments, the University gates hove into view.
“I WANT ONE!” Chase bellowed, and Maureen really wished she was in a position to push him off.
“Gotcha,” Fedora whispered savagely, peering through the spyglass. Even in a form which lacked his wings and tail for balance, even perched at the top of the church’s steeple in the stiff prairie breeze, he held his stance easily, quite enjoying the dramatic way his trench coat billowed behind him. Up ahead and far below, a single figure in a black coat stood at a distance from both the town and the now-puzzled mob which had staggered to an impotent halt a scant few dozen yards up the mountain.
The Inspector ignored them as he had the pulse of divine light which had briefly illuminated the alley behind the Saloon. Maru had done his job, and nothing Lorelin Reich had in her bag of tricks was going to more than inconvenience the tanuki. For that matter, Fedora had probably better go collect him before her efforts made that game too much fun. Fairies tended to lose themselves in the hunt, and all the University needed right now was for Tellwyrn’s personal secretary to turn somebody into a tree stump.
“It was a good play,” he said aloud into the wind as the Hand of the Emperor shifted to glare at his defeated lynch mob, bringing his familiar profile into focus. “Create a ruckus, threaten students, bring Tellwyrn down here to intervene. If you did your job well enough, she might go overboard, give you an excuse to rile the town further. At the very least, you’d test her, see how she reacted to being poked. But you didn’t count on a dashing, demonic voice of reason to summon student help and persuade the boss lady to butt out, now didja. And now it is Fedora who has seen the face of the enemy! You lose this round, cupcake. What shall we play next?”
His triumphant grin vanished as the Hand of the Emperor abruptly turned to stare directly at him.
“No,” Fedora muttered, lowering the spyglass. It was dark, there was a good quarter of a mile between them. Even an elf could barely have made him out, perched on the steeple. “There’s no way…”
The Hand vanished momentarily from view as he suddenly sped back into the shadow of Last Rock’s buildings. Then he reappeared even more dramatically, having vaulted from the ground onto a rooftop. He proceeded onward, leaping from roof to roof faster than a jungle cat, and making straight for the church.
34 thoughts on “13 – 17”
“Oh, no! My hubris!” Joyce Brown, Dumbing of Age
I am happier with this chapter than I’ve been with any in a while. Seems there’s been an awful lot of standing around talking lately, and coming at a time when I’ve been specifically trying to get away from long blocks of exposition, it was bumming me out. But this is the blend of intrigue, humor, and action that I think of as TGAB at its best.
So, I’m doing something different with the funding system. As the Extra Chapters page states, Patreon pledges are divided by four toward the weekly totals, since they are monthly. But I always felt kind bad about having to subdivide new pledges that way because fairly or not, it felt like depriving a backer of their money’s worth. So I’m adjusting that depending on what week of the month new pledges come in, and giving credit accordingly. A pledge on the first week will add a quarter of its total toward the weekly goal, while one in the last week will add its entire total. That way the full amount is allocated, and I think it’s more fair. The whole system’s a bit cumbersome, I know, but I always prefer to err on the side of whatever gets content out faster, and I would rather be fair to readers and backers than give myself breaks.
Thank you as always for reading!
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Out of curiosity, whats the wordcount for this serial? I was trying to figure out if this the longest serial I’m currently reading. 13 arcs so far, and some of them are loooong.
I have no idea. Finding out would involve a lot of point-and-click busywork and I have frankly never been curious enough to bother. I’m pretty sure it’s longer than Worm at this point.
According to the linked comment, we’re at 1.87 million. So yes, longer than Worm by about 200,000 words.
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We have better pacing though.
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I think it’s less about the pacing and more about the abundance of misery. At least, that’s why I stopped reading Worm. Arc 20 chapter 5 is a masterpiece, but I couldn’t take what Wildbow had done to Taylor. It was so sudden and so awful that I just couldn’t keep going.
Nonane- it’s totally worth it to work past your issues with Worm to finish it. It has one if the most stunning and stunningly beautiful endings of all time, and achieving that gets so much harder as a story gets longer and more complex, but it’s the key to understanding anything. The scene where Taylor takes on Dragon, at the height of each of their powers, will always cause chills/goosebumps for me. It’s a rare ending that explains everything about the setting. Well not *everything*–I used to keep a list of unanswered questions–but it explains enough. And the denouement sets up Worm 2, which I understand is coming upnext.
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I wish I could. Unfortunately, reading Worm (and the 2nd half of Twig, and Pact) causes me to physically manifest anxiety, to the point where I had to stop reading.
Now, I’m not opposed to reading stuff that makes me feel like that. I’m currently reading Heretical Edge, and it’s caused that that kind of reaction in most of its updates in the last 6 arcs. Hell, TGAB caused that kind of stress during the end of Book 11, and that’s my favorite book so far! The difference is that where Heretical Edge and TGAB let their feet off the stress pedal, Worm (and most of Wildbow’s other work), does not. The best example I can think of is the sequence of events leading up to the climax of arc 20: after spending 2 arcs in a row dealing with someone that almost killed everyone in Brokton Bay AGAIN, instead of letting off, Wildbow slams on the gas and forces Taylor into what has to be a personal nightmare for her. Maybe it’s better when you’re reading it during serialization, but when I put down my phone after finishing arc 20, I felt physically exhausted. At that point, I didn’t care how good Wildbow’s writing was. I knew I couldn’t take 11 more arcs of that, so I stopped reading.
can’t reply directly to random_human, so here: I actually disagree that TGaB is better paced than worm, in my opinion, they are just very different styles for different stories.
This serial is a complex network of intersecting story arcs with a plethora of characters, exploring and expanding a highly original world.
Worm is a single-protagonist downwards spiral into chaos, a rollercoaster that keeps hitting you every time you think “well, it can’t get any worse now”.
If worm was paced like TGaB, honestly I don’t think it would be as great a read – I loved the experience and was glued to my screen the first time I read it, and the merciless pacing was an important part of the dark, thrilling and crazy experience of reading it.
I think both serials are well-paced for the kind of story they are telling, although others might certainly disagree, and I’ll admit that worm is definitely told in an unconventional way regarding narrative beats… but that doesn’t mean its a bad thing, does it?
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Dammit we’ve fallen behind in votes again. Vote!
This was an engaging chapter. Not that the other chapters were boring but this was better.
But I’m not really a fan of Tellwyrn lacking all agency in these segments. Far from stepping up and becoming a player, she has been shunted aside and Fedora makes all the decisions, despite all the build-up throughout the story towards her growth.
Also I’ve haven’t mentioned this so far but you use ‘dramatically’ a lot in the narration, and the intent seems to be to conjure up an image of a well-directed scene in a movie, with all the benefits this entails. This doesn’t really work out all too well, this is a book after all. Worse, it brings me out of the story immediately.
I mean, a large part of her growth is explicitly learning to rely on other people and not solve her problem by killing everyone in her way.
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Twig is getting a “we finally reached the epilogues” boost and Star Child is using the power of Reddit. (Not meant as a denouncement of either; I read both, just a “Oh. That’s a lot of people.”)
Love it when things come to a head!
But going forwards can we have less of multiple unrelated scenarios of almost equal importance?
The average reader consumes a chapter every few days, things slip the mind and keeping track becomes tedium.
Just my 0.002$
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That’s what the comments are for. Between all of us readers, one of us is sure to remember every thing. Married couples do this kind of memory sharing all the time.
So we’re like in a communal marriage?
You know, if I did have to pick one community to get communally married to, this one would be near the top of my list. We’re all pretty chill.
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God damn it, Chase isn’t supposed to tug at my heartstrings this way. Ugh, I’ve always been a sucker too, for a character like Chase, or Alec from Worm.
Chase was halping! And, finding his inner speed demon. When one such as he finds true love, it’s kind of adorable, no? 😉
Whoda thunk he’d be attracted to mechanical flight, danger and speed? (Hands down, any psychology majors or minors in the room.) XD
I now have the sudden urge to write Butler Trissiny fanfic, goddammit.
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Hmm, so someone got murdered at the party? Time to play Cluedo (or Clue, depending on location)! Lets all make an educated guess! Was it the butler with the kitchen knife in the privy? Errr, if you’ll excuse me now. I think I have to go. Preferably before Smythe hears I said anything like that …
So are we ever gonna find out what exactly is up with those Butlers? Are they gonna be the TGaB equivalent of the Deoraithe Watch? Of The Sleeper? Are they just gonna be awesome, but forever unexplained? I gotta know
We have a little explanation for the Butlers, in that they are members/trainees of something called the Service Society (if I recall properly), which appears to provide them with both specialized equipment and an extraordinary level of training in combat and..call it domestic management. We know they are expensive to retain, and protective of their trademarks (there was mention once of a servant dressed in clothing reminiscent of the Butler’s uniform, but not close enough to piss them off.) We also know from Keshiri’s surprise at their existence and capabilities that they are a relatively recent societal development. We have had no reason to question their dedication to their employers, and at least some employers seem comfortable trusting their Butlers with any and all of their secrets—indeed, it seems like to not do so might be a waste of hiring a Butler.
We also have been getting some information about the Deoraithe Watch in A Practical Guide to Evil, for that matter, and I think it reasonably likely we’ll get some more.
But yeah, a Sleeper explanation would be pretty welcome.
Oh, I was just drawing the parallels between ‘mysterious, seemingly OP characters’ in both stories ^^
I remember all the little hints, but in the end they’re just tantalising hints to something more. What is the Service Society? What’s the appeal of joining? Why are they exceedingly good at literally everything? There’s a lot left unexplained, and I was wondering whether or not it would stay that way is all.
Butler exposition is planned for a future bonus chapter. It’s not critical to the plot, but it does shine a light on the world, so I feel that’s the appropriate place to go into it.
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That’s great news ^^ Thanks Webb
Has Lorelei told the Hand who the Sleeper is yet?! Justinian expected that information to solve the problem. Surely it can’t be Maureen…..
And for someone allegedly following orders against her better judgement, Lorelei seemed very dedicated to maintaining her mob-producing meditation even when under attack. Professional pride, maybe.
If she’s complied with Justinian’s instructions of informing Vex and co., I’m really surprised the hammer hasn’t come down on the rogue Hand. Allowing the Hand to have a mob whipped up against Tellwyrn’s students seems like asking for quite a lot of trouble.
Maybe Lorelei is the Sleeper
“It was unfair, Maureen reflected, how elves were just naturally good at everything.”
Personally, I blame Orlando Bloom.
On a side note, I’m really enjoying seeing more of Chase.
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Fedora, sweetie… however unhinged, he’s still a Hand. *rolls on floor laughing*
Somebody needs to hand that incubus a Hell Boy compendium, because I think he’d get a kick out of cosplaying Big Red. 😉
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I’ve finally caught up and it’s sort of heartbreakinhasI’m really enjoying TGAB, and I’ve been furiously recommending it. Thank you for writing something so great, Webb.
Commenting here to be notified of new posts. Trying to find a way to get notified via email about new chapters.
Nvm found it
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