0: Negotiation! Casting meeting.
Nick reached for his third plate of pasta, pausing to grate some
extra cheese over the marinara sauce. He'd easily polished off the two
previous plates but had looked as though he was only warming up. Nick
looked like a Thomas Nast rendition of Santa Claus, with the physique of an
oversized, round, jolly old elf -- whatever that was. He had the same full
white beard and the same cheerful and superior expression. Likewise, he had
Santa Claus's flushed complexion. He even adopted the same furlined
costume. Indeed, the only characteristic that distinguished Nick from St.
Nick (aside from his complete lack of interest in bringing free gifts to
children) was his replacement of all the red in the standard Santa Claus suit
with a royal blue.
The thin, anxious man sitting opposite him cleared his throat.
"All right," Nick said jovially, starting another mouthful of pasta. "I'm here
and we're at dinner. What's so important that it's a matter of life and
death?"
The man winced. "Please," he pleaded. "Not so loud. If folks hear too
much of that, they could panic."
"Why?" Nick asked. "You weren't talking about them, were you? Don't
tell me the life and death are simply about some of the little people
here!"
"Actually, it's about a lot of them."
"Accuracy, my boy," Nick laughed. "If you mean all of them, then just
say so."
The anxious young man smiled sickly and said, "Well yes. It's all of
them."
"All right then!" Nick exclaimed. "Now we know where we stand. So it's
another plot to save the world. Am I right or am I right?"
The anxious man sighed. "You're right," he said.
"So why should anyone care?" Nick asked.
"Pardon?"
"Why should anyone care if some ultimate evil trashes this place and
turns everyone everywhere into mindless zombies or ravenous vampires or
whatever the local flavor of Really Bad Thing is? I mean, look at this
place!"
Unable to help himself, the anxious man looked past Nick at the rest of the
room they were in. Unlike his guest, the anxious host had been
obsessed about sitting with his back to a nice, safe wall. Nick had
been unconcerned about leaving his back vulnerable.
That was self-confidence for you.
The room looked like the smoky common room of a roadside inn and tavern. The
taverner was workiing his kegs while his wife tended the spit upon which a
haunch of roasting meat turned. There was a buzz of raucous conversation and
laughter that overwhelmed the reedy voice of a minstrel who was singing a
fairly common version of a familiar old tune. The battered old lute, the man
accompanied himself with was an entirely visual cue: Most likely, the
minstrel himself couldn't even hear it. The anxious man shrugged. "Looks all
right to me," he said.
Nick snorted. "Uh huh," he agreed. "It's all right, sure. And the
road outside's all right, too. And the road leads to an all right
capital in the all right kingdom we're in. What's it get to in the other
direction? Mountains? A sleepy seaport? The fortress of an evil,
rebellious lord? It doesn't much matter to me, but it's fun to ask. No-
one goes that way. The story always takes your worthy heroes first to
see the king and then on the grand tour of the kingdom. On some other
road, likely as not. Might as well build the road in just one direction
the amount of use it gets going the other way --"
"You can't build a road in just one direction!" the anxious man complained.
"That's the problem with this place," Nick sighed, gazing with ennui at the
shrimp he'd speared in his marinara. "No creativity. No sense of invention.
No joie de nouvere."
"'Nouvere?" The anxious man decided he didn't want to know. "What's your
point?" he demanded.
"Ooh, that's right," Nick said. "I forgot that you're anxious. In a
hurry for me to come to the nub of my complaint --"
"Yes!"
"My complaint is that this place is completely ordinary and unoriginal.
What's parked outside this tavern? Horses -- and if they're not horses,
then they're so horsy that they might as well be. They carry travelers just
like horses. And what's on tap in that taverner's kegs? Beer, wine and
mead. And, again, if they're not, they might as well be. They inebriate
like the original. And what's that meat on the spit over there? Cow or pig?
I'll bet it ain't dog. All the dogs are present and accounted for running
around under the tables just the way you'd expect. The only novelty in this
place is my plate of pasta with shrimp marinara and to get that I had to
insist that I wouldn't show up at all for this dinner meeting unless the place
offered a decent menu."
"Under the table, please," the anxious young man said. "Your menu, I
mean. Would you please keep it out of sight? It's not for the
extras. Have you any idea how much it cost to fly in the shrimp for
your dinner?"
"So you pay off a wizard," Nick yawned. "I should care? I should care
if this whole mediocre setting gets trashed?"
"Well, I'm not trying to hire you to be in this story," the
anxious man grumbled.
"Yeah, you're not." Nick grinned. "Which is smart, 'cause I'm a real budget-
buster. 'Course, that was the most interesting part of your
prospectus. That offer -- that part -- is still on the table,
isn't it?"
The anxious man nodded reluctantly. "But --"
"But what you are looking for is a red-haired, skinny, young sorceress
who's got more magical punch than Merlin, better swordsmanship than
D'Artagnan, eats like a horse, has a hair-trigger temper, is a control freak,
sports interesting phobias, and doesn't mind spouting pages of plot
exposition if the story gets stuck in a tight corner," Nick said.
"I don't think that's how I described her in the prospectus, but --"
"I did a little research. You also want her to work for free."
"Not exactly --"
"Right! She should take the role for the sheer joy of saving the world
from another ultimate evil." Nick took another bite of pasta. "Lina
Inverse turned you down, of course. What surprises me is that you're
not dead."
"Yet."
Nick looked at the anxious man, then gave him another obnoxious grin.
"Yeah, not yet. No, I was referring to the polite form of refusal that
you seem to've got from Lina."
"She didn't bother to visit me with it personally," the anxious young
man said. "Instead, she caught up with the agent of mine who'd
delivered the invitation and let him have it."
"Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. A slam's as good as an asphyxiation..."
"He got both, actually. The ... uh ... Guildmaster of Thieves in this town
won't be making any appearances except wrapped up head to foot in bandages."
"Lina's had characters do that before," Nick conceded. "So this burg
has a 'Thieves Guild.'" He looked heavenward. "Why am I not
surprised? But I am wondering why the guildmaster was running errands
for you."
"Quid pro quo. He did me a favor of running the errand and I promised
him a named part and, if things went well, the likelihood of having some
lines and even a chance to chew scenery."
"Sounds like he got screwed," Nick decided. "And there isn't a
snowball's chance in hell of the thieves guild appearing
while the story's in this town, right?"
"Doesn't seem to be working out that way," the anxious man conceded. "Not
with the Guildmaster as laid up as he is."
"You're my kind of guy," Nick admired.
"I have to be," the anxious man said. "I'm producing this show."
"Good point, but what about these gross errors in judgement you've made?
I mean, you cast yourself in the thing? As Fathead the Thief?"
"That's Fafred the Thief. I -- that is, Fafred -- is playing Zelgadis the
Sorcerer."
"These shell characters --"
"Not!" the anxious man interrupted. Nick glared at him. "It's quite
simple and nothing like a shell corporation --"
"I said 'characters.'"
"But I know what you meant. It doesn't apply. Fafred the Thief is my alter
ego around here and he's very three-dimensionally realized. I've spent a lot
of time on his background and motives -- lots of role-playing sessions --"
"I like the way the pervasive, unrelenting smoke has blackened the
ceilings in here so realistically," Nick said in a bored monotone,
gazing upward.
The anxious man glared at his guest. "Anyway, Fafred's playing
Zelgadis --"
Who's a stone-skinned chimera."
"-- After another make-up miracle. Look, I'll admit that that casting
was pure vanity. But Fafred is the best character I've ever assumed.
See, I steal stuff, sure, but only from obnoxious rich people who can
afford the loss --"
"They'll just collect the insurance."
"Uh, right."
"There is no insurance," Nick sighed. "Insurance requires a modern financial
infrastructure in order to support the concept of spreading risk -- but I
digress. So Fathead has to get a part in this story because otherwise you
wouldn't be interested in producing the thing. Is that right?"
"Pretty much. And it's Fafred. But you see, what's poignant
about my vicarious life as Fafred is that I was forced into my life of crime
in order to get enough food for my little sister --"
"I'm sure it's a touching good story," Nick interrupted. "But if you've ever
been around a polygony of role-playing gamers, I'm sure you'll understand
where I'm coming from when I tell you that I make it a policy to ask
everyone I encounter please, NOT to tell me about their
characters."
"Huh?"
"And even if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you'll be touching the
heartstrings of readers and fellow characters with your backstory soon enough.
So I'd rather you didn't warm up that speech on me. What I want to know is,
did you truly neglect to include a backdoor to your participation in this
little extravaganza in case things got a little sticky?"
"Of course not. There's a backdoor."
"It just doesn't open," Nick suggested. Fafred failed to disagree.
"What happened? Did you find an enemy you never knew you had?"
"The Guildmaster of Assassins in The Mongoose of Atreus,"
Fafred snarled. "She had a younger brother who does cyberpunk and
decided that I needed a little payback. The backdoor got warped in its frame
and won't open for anything less than -- something really destructive.
I'm not even sure what it'd take. So now this place is humming away with a
plot to destroy the world and no heroes to stop the plot and I can't get out."
"You started the plot before you made sure that you had all the
necessary characters lined up," Nick tsked.
"Well, yeah!" the anxious man said. "The plot to destroy the world
always needs development time before the heroes become aware of it and
then rally around to stop it. I figured to get that development out of
the way while I finished casting, since the heroes in this production
are pretty well known --"
"And getting shanghaied from their proper production house."
"The proper production house isn't meeting demand --"
"Which is insatiable. So you dove in and then discovered that you've
forgotten how to swim."
"Well, forgot to make sure that my ladder out of the pool would remain
functional as long as I needed," Fafred admitted.
"You're really straining the metaphor."
"Occupational hazard -- producers always do that." Fafred shrugged. "Yes,
Nick, I made some really big mistakes -- but that's in character 'cause
Fafred's Wisdom score is down in the single digits."
"Kind of risky sinking that deeply into your character," Nick observed.
"For the true actor, it's the only way to go."
"Feet first, on a gurney -- so, OK, Fathead, you're still looking to
hire someone to play Lina, right?"
"Right, but I've got the rest of the cast lined up," Fafred said
eagerly. "Finally. Zelgadis'll be great and I've got someone truly awesome
to handle Amelia. I think the Gaurry'll work out --"
"And I think we can wait on sharing all that information until you
actually roll the obligatory introductory bar-room scene," Nick said
loudly. "You are going to have one, aren't you?"
"It's obligatory."
"Right, so all you need is your Lina -- for cheap."
"Please: For really inexpensive."
"Sure. How about this?"
Nick reached past his plate of pasta to the
middle of the table, then plunged his hand down through the surface as
if it were of water.
"Neat trick," Fafred admired.
"Yeah, thanks," Nick grunted. "Good for making folks wonder if they haven't
had a Pangalactic Gargleblaster or two too many." He seemed to feel around
under (or through) the table and soon found what he was looking for. "Got
her!" he exclaimed, and pulled his hand back up through the table. He was
holding a Barbie-sized doll -- except that the doll was moving -- struggling
in his grip. She also screamed.
"Quiet!" Nick barked at the doll. "It's me."
The doll, an awfully lifelike and lively rendition of a naked girl,
twisted around to look at Nick.
"Oh," she said, apparently recognizing him. "I am not relieved."
"This," Nick explained to Fafred, "is Quorinelya Tierce, hereinafter to be
referred to as QT."
"I hate that!" the small girl said.
"I'm still amazed that your parents gave you a name with those
initials," Nick said.
"It was a long time ago and people acronymed a lot less back then.
They also assumed that a girl would change her name when she got
married. So I wasn't going to be QT forever." The girl made a face at
the way that came out, then sighed. "So why'd you grab me? Hey!"
"What do you think, Fathead?" Nick asked, dangling the doll over his
pasta. "How about QT here for the sorceress in this story?"
The producer studied Nick's prize as, gripping her by her wrists, Nick
held her suspended over his dinner. Being naked and attractive (though
no Barbie) she was quite pleasant to study. She was pink and lithe, the
feminine lines being subtle, rather than full. Her tiny face was
exquisitely detailed, framing relatively large blue eyes, a small nose
and wide mouth -- which right now was spouting a stream of aggrieved
invective against her captor. QT's hair wasn't scarlet; it was a light
brown which could no doubt be easily adjusted. Indeed, the girl seemed
very well shaped to play Lina Inverse. Her main drawback, though was
quite obvious.
"You're trying to market at an awfully deep discount," Fafred observed.
"Lina's more than one foot tall."
"I'm thirteen inches!" the girl called out. "And I would like to --"
Lina's more than two feet tall," Fafred revised his requirement.
"I thought the specsheet said she was short," Nick grinned.
"Yeah, but the scale's still human."
"OK, OK. That can be fixed," Nick said.
"On a rack?"
"Magic," Nick said. "She is a sorceress."
"Oh. OK, that fits the part, at least." Fafred considered. "Lina usually
wears clothes --"
"Always, you mean," Nick said.
"Not that there's anything wrong with leaving them off," Fafred quickly
added.
"I think there is," the small girl declared. "Nick, I would like
to dress -- now!"
"Uh huh. Doesn't sound like there should be any problem with the
control freak part," Fafred decided, while Nick set the girl down on the
table. She gestured and was almost instantly clothed in a dress.
"That's not right," Fafred said.
"True," Nick agreed, inspecting the tiny girl critically.
"She should be wearing a pink half-sleeve jerkin and hose, yellow halter and
big brown boots," Fafred said. "A pink cape too. Plus accessories -- uh,
belt, sword, pouches, that sort of thing."
"I'm trying to get noticed?" the small girl asked.
"Well, yes!" Fafred told her. "And your hair needs to be a lot longer,
and curly. And scarlet."
"Almost but not quite matching my clothing?"
Fafred and Nick looked at each other. Both shrugged. "Something like
that," Fafred said. "And she needs to be a lot bigger than that, remember."
"I thought --" Nick began.
Fafred's anxiety returned. Quickly, he said, "You know: Taller?"
"Huh?" the little girl said.
"I told you she'd deal with that," Nick said. "But later. Kerry," he said to
the small girl, "fix the rest."
"I'll try," the tiny girl said. She gestured several times. First, her
clothing changed to something more like what Fafred said that Lina Inverse
usually wore. It still wasn't right, but was pretty good for a production
that had zilch in the costuming budget. Then her hair turned red and
lengthened. "Better?" the girl asked.
"Yeah," Fafred said. "Now about your height..."
"OK, OK." The girl got to her feet and then ran around the edge of the
table until she found an unoccupied chair. She hopped down to the
chair, seated herself in the middle -- and then expanded. Within
seconds she was roughly Lina-sized. Still sitting, she sprawled against
the back of her chair. "That's pretty tiring," she sighed. "So Nick,
why am I here?"
"Fathead here needs someone to play the part of Lina Inverse in his
production of a story titled, 'Dark Crystaline Eschaton.'"
"Oh," the girl said, without enthusiasm. "And you're picking on me
because..."
Nick shrugged. "Because I can. And because Lina Inverse is a
sorceress."
"And Lina Inverse isn't playing Lina Inverse because...?"
"Other contractual obligations," Nick said airily.
"Fathead couldn't make a deal with her?"
"It's Fafred!"
"Sorry." The girl turned her big blue eyes on the producer. "I only
know what people tell me, and he called you --"
"I know what he called me," Fafred snapped. "He can call me that
because I'm trying to get a favor from him. I don't think you have that
privilege."
The girl started to say something, then looked warily at Nick.
Nick gave her a cold smile. "You're going to play Lina Inverse the
sorceress. It'll be fun."
"For whom?"
Nick's eyes twinkled. Although the appearance was similar, Quorinelya knew
Nick too well to think that his glee had any spiritual rememblance to Santa
Claus's. "Seriously, Nick," she insisted. "What's in this for you? There's
got to be something."
Nick's smile broadened. "Fathead says there's a part in it for
me -- if I want it."
Quorinelya looked aghast. "For you?" she choked.
"As Xelloss," Fafred explained. "It's a special part actually.
Not much stage time as written, but --"
"-- that could change, if I feel like it," Nick finished.
"Um..."
"You want a favor from me or don't you?"
"The part could change radically, depending on how things go," Fafred
surrendered.
"So I could be stuck in some production where you get free rein to
torment me?" Quorinelya asked Nick.
"Now you know what's in it for me," Nick told her smugly.
"But Lina -- I mean, Kerry." Fafred made a grab for Quorinelya's
attention. "This is such a great opportunity for you. Lina's the
starring role! You get to save the world!"
"I what?!"
"Lina's a very powerful sorceress -- except during that time of the
month. You command lots of powerful magicks and are also wicked with
the sword you're carrying --" He glanced down at the girl's minimal
hips. "Uh, where's your sword?"
"I'm a girl --"
"Not that," Nick said quickly. "Like this." He snapped his fingers and
a bladed weapon appeared in his hand.
"Oh, that." The girl sounded less than thrilled. "Have you any idea
how much work it is conjuring up something like that."
"Well, yeah," Nick said. "Since I just did it."
"I was talking to Fat -- Fafred here," the girl told him.
"But if you had one all the time, you wouldn't have to conjure it,"
Fafred said.
"Actually," the girl sighed, "I do have one, but I can summon it only
once a day and only for as long as I'm holding it in my hand. Other
than that, no sword."
"What do you do the rest of the time?" Fafred asked.
"Run away, mostly."
"Yeah," Fafred decided. "Lina can do that -- occasionally. Look, QT,
you have to understand that Lina is very powerful."
"Seriously very powerful?" the girl asked.
"Oh yeah!" Fafred told her. "A whole brigand of bandits is nothing to
her. She took 'em all on alone."
"Oh." The girl turned to Nick. "How many bandits in a brigand?" she
asked.
"A lot," Nick replied. "But don't worry: The precise, large number
was just for dramatic effect."
"Uh huh." The girl turned back to Fafred. "He has told you I'm
a complete wimp, right? Like, if you think I'm going to bring off a
story that has this Lina saving the world, the world is facing some
very long odds."
"Well, of course the world is facing some very long odds," Fafred said.
"The world's always facing some very long odds when it's up to some lone
adventuring hero (or heroine) to stop the big bad thing that's going to
destroy everything."
"Uh, yeah -- but this here world is facing odds that are even skimpier
than the usual needle-thin chances."
"Sort of like visualizing you as Lina instead of the original, I guess,"
Nick mused.
"She's really not that bad," Fafred declared.
"Oh gee, thanks for the stouthearted compliment," the girl grumbled at
Fafred. "And since I haven't seen the original, I can't comment --"
"There's a wanted poster of her over on the wall over there," Fafred
said absently.
"A wanted poster?!" Quorinelya exclaimed.
"Starting her right behind the ol' eight-ball, are we?" Nick asked
Fafred mildly.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Fafred said. "And the drawing is
actually pretty good. See, Lina -- that's you -- has upset some high
mucky-mucks in this country's Wizardry Guild because she was teaching a
student some new magicks without charging proper Guild rates. So they
want to question her about this matter."
"I see," Quorinelya said. "And is it true that Lina was doing this
illegal teaching?"
"Well, yes. It was to your friend."
"Oh how nice: I have a friend. And what's the punishment that the
Guild metes out for this infraction of the rules?"
"They chop you up into small pieces and feed you to their Swottish
Lizards."
"Oh. Nice to know they're so concerned about the integrity of their
educational program. But I missed it: In what way is this wanted
poster not as bad as it sounds?"
"Well," Fafred considered. "They kill you before they chop you
up."