Afeallan

"Chapter" Ten

At dawn, Léas went to where Rýnelic was staying and woke him up. He did not, however, reveal his dream. Not exactly. Instead, he offered a plan in questions. “How do you plan on serving the people?” he began.

 

“The same way we have been, I guess.”

 

“But that is too passive. We have to be more active. We need to do something that will benefit everyone at once, not one at a time as you propose.”

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“We need to build, not merely re-build.”

 

“I don’t follow.” Rýnelic said. It was still early.

 

“New structures. Lamp posts to light the city. Roads. Things for the good of everyone.”

 

“And what should we begin with?”

 

“A structure. An entity. For you and Byldan and myself. A beautiful piece of architecture. The Bramble. Something the city will find pride in. I already have someone sketching out a design”

 

“And how will this benefit everyone?” Rýnelic was skeptical.

 

“It will give them jobs. It will give them hope.”

 

“And how are we supposed to pay them?” This plan was falling apart. But Léas had already thought it through, and was not going to relinquish his grand scheme.

 

“We will take a portion of the Tavern’s revenue.”

 

“That’s stealing!” Rýnelic stood, appalled.

 

“No. It’s not. I thought about how much more business we bring in when the people come to see you. I will have to talk to the Owner, but I believe he will allow us to take a fraction of the profits he makes on those nights—I believe merely a tenth will be sufficient. What’s more, we could start a brewery, of sorts, that would not only create more jobs, but also produce cheaper drinks for the Tavern.”

 

“I like that,” Rýnelic said jestfully, then continued in all seriousness: “It sounds good in theory, but what if it doesn’t work?”

 

“If it doesn’t,” said Léas, “then it doesn’t.”

 

Rýnelic’s earlier outburst had woken Byldan, and she came down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. “What are you two talking about this early?”

 

Léas explained his plan again and waited for her response.

 

“I think he’ll go for it,” she said thoughtfully of the Owner. “I’ll talk to him about it this afternoon.” Léas looked over at Rýnelic, conceitedly.

 

“Alright,” said Rýnelic, slapping his knees, standing and simultaneously extending his arms with woven fingers to pop the air out of the joints, “let’s get a plan together.”

 

A knock came from the door. Léas answered. It was Líchama. Rýnelic muttered an oath. “I have the plans you wanted me to draw up,” Líchama told Léas. “Hello all,” he waived in an arc addressing the other two as if he had only then noticed them. He turned back to Léas. “They’re kind of rough. I haven’t had much time. But you can get the general idea, I think.” Léas looked the papers over.

 

“Very good,” he said, and patted Líchama on the head. Rýnelic peered over his shoulder at the drawings as well. They were very good. Marvelous, in fact. Etched in charcoal, the illustration depicted what Rýnelic could only describe as a monstrously beautiful fortress, with quatrefoil windows beneath the clerestories and geodesic dome, all neatly identified by side notes.

 

“Don’t you think that’s a little ambitious?” Rýnelic asked.

 

“Not at all,” Líchama said proudly. With enough workers and supplies, I could have it done in the next quarter-year.” He grinned, and Léas patted him on the head again, like a dog. Byldan determined it was time for her to leave for work, and promised to ask the owner about funding their venture. “I’m going to get started on a scale model,” Líchama stated after she had gone. “I think it will help you grasp both the scope and relative ease of my design. I can show it to you by the end of the week”

 

“Better get on it, then,” Rýnelic said, coaxing him out.

 

“Right.” Líchama left.

 

“I’m going to rummage through my uncle’s old storage shed,” Léas said. “I think I can find his old brewing equipment and notes—it was a hobby of his.” Suddenly the latter part of Léas plan made more sense to Rýnelic.

 

“You go do that. I’m going to stay here and figure some things out.” Léas left and Rýnelic smoked. Rýnelic figured nothing.

 

Six days passed and what little could be done was postponed. Byldan had got the Owner to happily agree to what he had called their “arm twisting,” but aside from that, all was stagnant.

 

And then Líchama completed his model. It was so stunning; so arresting, so sensational as to be almost disorienting, that it rendered all who witnessed it speechless. Even the cynical Rýnelic thought to himself that this structure, once come to fruition, would inspire hope and reverence to all who saw it. After a moment of awe-struck silence, Léas proposed that they immediately go to the Tavern and present this masterwork to the people. It was sure to get their outright, unadulterated support. Rýnelic could do nothing but agree.

 

But that evening, their enthusiasm was wasted on the lucky few that decided that drink was in order. They praised Rýnelic for his incredible vision and masterwork, until he cursorily passed the credit to Líchama, who blushed under the approbation. But soon Líchama embraced the admiration, and became more comfortable explaining the intricacies of his design. Rýnelic watched and felt strangely proud for Líchama. Perhaps, he thought, Líchama could be of some use after all. But Rýnelic’s thoughts were interrupted as those who grew tired of gawking at the theoretical construct decided to turn their attention to aligning themselves with him. Byldan filled the ever increasing void by maintaining Líchama’s elucidations. Léas stood watching, ignored or forgotten, in the shadows. And it was at this moment, as he watched people come and go, decrease and pass him by, that Léas realized what he must accomplished first.