“Better,” said Verity. “I consider you my friends.” It felt slightly embarrassing to say that out loud so soon, though they’d been spending quite a bit of their days together, and it had gotten quite intensive quite quickly. Hannah gave a smile, and the embarrassment faded. “So far, no one has made demands of me. Even Alfric has been understanding. He thinks I know my job better than he ever possibly could and is content to let me do what I think is best. I have to admit that it wasn’t what I’d expected of him, especially after our first meeting.”
“He’s given me no notes either,” said Hannah.
“You know, I never thought about how similar our professions were,” said Verity. “I would suppose we have similar stories.”
“Ay?” asked Hannah, who seemed doubtful.
“Are there ever people who come in for healing and think they know more than you?” asked Verity.
“Oh,” said Hannah. She let out a little laugh. “Oh, ay, well, it comes with the territory. I won’t call them idiots, but there’s some role-play we do at the seminary, and you get to hear all kinds of stories to prepare you for what you might run into. I understand it, I do, it’s their body, which they’ve known their whole life, but some of that confidence people have is quite misplaced.”
“Well, people have their own ideas about bardic magic,” said Verity. “And usually they’re arguing with me while I’m trying to play a song and can’t respond to them. So the choice is to stop and have it out with them, or attempt to communicate without words, or speak to them within the lyrics, or—there’s no good way to do it.”
“I’d thought you liked bein’ a tavern bard,” said Hannah, putting a bit of question in her voice.
“I did,” said Verity. “But mostly when it’s going smoothly, when I’m allowed to do whatever I want and read the room in the way I choose. I like the freedom and choice, and yes, I like to help people with their woes or at least to help them enjoy their meals.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself when Cynthia replaces me at the Fig and Gristle.”
“You’ll be with us,” said Hannah, shrugging. “Grow food in the garden, practice your music, find a nice boy in the village… Seems like we’ve got the tools now to do the five dungeons left around Pucklechurch without all that much hassle. So far as travel time goes, that means Pucklechurch can be our base for quite a bit longer, enough that we can do two hexes out without needin’ to camp.”
Verity nodded. Her eyebrow had gone up at the ‘nice boy’ comment, but it seemed incidental and not worth correcting. She’d have expected a cleric of Garos to use the neutral ‘partner’, and a small part of her wondered if she was a bit too unobvious about her inclinations. “And this is how I become a dungeoneer, slowly, without even realizing it.”
“Ay,” said Hannah, smiling. “But it’s not a
“You’ll back me up, if I tell Alfric I need time to rest?” asked Verity.
“Of course,” Hannah said with a nod. “Though I don’t expect you’ll need backup, he’s a good lad. Now I need to go tend to him and make sure he isn’t fumbling the sales.”
Verity nodded. It was good to talk to Hannah. It was good to have all of them, even Alfric, though he sometimes rubbed her the wrong way.
Thus far, Verity had spent next to no money from the first dungeon, let alone what they’d get from the second, even if it seemed like the payout would be lower. As she walked along, she entertained the notion of actually purchasing one of these things, even if there was no direct need for it or even if it was just for fun. She thought it was the kind of thing that Alfric would hate, but perhaps she was being a bit too harsh on him.
The person that Alfric reminded her most of was her mother and a few
people that her mother surrounded herself with. It wasn’t enough to grow
plants in the greenroom; they needed to be displayed for guests and
entered into competitions. Verity entered into the Dondrian Gardening
Society, not against her will, exactly, but after a bout of coercion and
a discussion with her mother about the importance of being seen and
making connections. Of course, the Gardening Society was really only
tangentially about gardening, and Verity had grown to hate it. There had
been a particular day when she’d come to one of their luncheons with a
pot full of succulents and received exactly two comments on it (both
compliments, thankfully) followed by several hours of discussion about
the latest fashions, the newest places to eat, the events of the last
week’s society ball, the theme of the upcoming party, on and on until it
felt like her ears would bleed. It wasn’t enough to like plants, you
needed to like plants with a
