Book 2: Chapter 17: Pot Manor
A gnome in a black suit led us through the long hallways. Pot Manor was everything I could have hoped for in a fantasy world. It had crenellations and witch’s caps with buttresses and stone gargoyles. It felt like a castle toned down to a house, kind of like the various ‘castles’ that dotted my old home in BC. It was also a violent yellowish puke-green, which was a… design choice. I would have guessed black, or some variation on red-brown, or verdigris. Even something in stone - the puns practically wrote themselves! But instead - puke, green.
Huh. Did gnomes have different colour cones in their eyes? A question for lessons with Richter. Maybe it was a rich gnome thing.
The inside was a bit more classical, and actually reminded me a lot of the Main Street store Whistlemop had purchased. There were large picture windows interspersed with mahogany wooden accents and rich red carpeting. There was a strong scent of wax and wood that permeated every breath, and a small army of servants bustled through the building. They rushed to and fro polishing golden statuary and adjusting opulent tapestries. Nearly all of them were gnomes, though I saw a dwarf here and there. That was in sharp contrast to the rest of Minnova, where I’d almost always seen groups of dwarves dotted with the occasional gnome.
All in all it really did remind me of walking through one of the old Grand Pacific hotels. Who’da thunk that a bunch of hotels put up to service a train would become so emblematic of Canadian architecture?
Pot Manor really reminded me of the Banff Springs Hotel, complete with gawking tourists. Balin had slowly transformed from Golden God to Transfixed Traveller. He practically gawped, and I had to keep from tossing something into his open mouth just to prove a point. It looked like bravery was nothing in the face of overwhelming wealth.
“Who lives here? Besides Engineer Copperpot, that is.” I asked our guide. I hadn’t caught his name in the entire transfer from Guards to Majordomo to Guide, and it felt a bit rude to ask now. I suspected if I was supposed to know his name, I would have been told his name. All I knew was that he was a Titled [Butler], just like Bimbleberry. He was kind of a dick, or a butt, a Titled [Buttler]! Hah!
He continued leading us deeper in the manor, but his voice was faux cordial as he answered. “Engineering Professor Copperpot is in residence along with his wife the esteemed Broker Merryweather, his mother the illustrious Philanthropist Teacrumpets, and his father the majestic Merchant Silverpot. There are also his four siblings.”
“Ah, is he the eldest?”
“Yes.’
“Are any of his siblings Titled yet?”
The cordiality was replaced with a tinge of ice. “I would prefer to avoid gossiping about my masters, Brewer Roughtuff.”
I would take that as a no.
I changed the subject to something a bit less tetchy. “I’m not up to date on gnomish naming conventions. Why do you refer to me by my last name, but seem to be referring to Engineering Professor Copperpot by his first name?”
The [Buttler] gave me a familiar expression that I was beginning to call ‘The Look’. I got it whenever I asked an obvious question.
“It’s only polite to refer to a Dwarf by their clan name Brewer Roughtuff. Gnomish names are passed down through the first name of their first-born child. In the case of the Pot’s family, there are a long line of Pots. As such, first names hold all the meaning necessary for proper introduction.”
He pointed to a series of paintings decorating the wall of the long hallway we were traversing. Each of them contained a garish depiction of a gnome or gnomess wearing some variation on a terribly mismatched coloured suit complete with beanie.
“Here we can see Engineering Professor Copperpot and his father Merchant Silverpot, who was born of Ironpot, son of Master Merchant Ceramicpot.”
He continued down the line, listing names and occasionally Titles. It was all a blur, and I stopped paying attention until I noticed something in the painting of ‘Grand Speaker Teapot the First’, one of the last paintings in line.
“Wait a second, wait wait wait. Excuse me, Buttler, what’s this in the painting here?”
The cheeky [Buttler] peered at the painting in question. “As you can read on the nameplate, that is the magnanimous Grand Speaker Teapot the First.”
“Yes, I got that. But what is that?” I pointed at the bottom right corner of the painting.
He sniffed. “That was the earliest emblem of the noble Pots family, though we now use the flaming gear known throughout all of Erd. That emblem was created by Grand Speaker Teapot, who is famous for inventing many of the finest teas in the world. Most of them remain the proprietary knowledge of our very own Pot’s Teas. The most famous are of course Gnomish Breakfast and Lord Grey. He is oft considered the entire reason Gnomes began drinking tea instead of just coffee. He revolutionized both industries and spread them to the world.”
“Very interesting,” I said, and left the painting behind as we continued on to our meeting. I’d heard of Gnomish Breakfast and Lord Grey, but just put them down to a quirk of the multiverse. But now I knew better, and had learned something potentially valuable.
In the bottom right corner of the painting, emblazoned on Teapot’s fuschia and lime breast pocket, was a Union Jack.
—
We were brought outside of a massive set of oaken double doors. We were seated on some chairs in the hall outside, and I kind of felt like a child waiting to see the principal at school. It even came with the appropriate angry yelling. At least Buttler Whatisface brought us some tea to drink. Pot Manor - Four out of Five Stars: The tea is great, but the ambiance leaves something to be desired. Balin winced as we heard a sharp bang from inside the room, like two fists descending on an ornate very-expensive wooden desk.
“Those mining rights belonged to us!”
“It’s not my fault that you weren’t able to meet your deadlines!”
“You know how important those gems were to our business, this is sabotage!”
“Bah, sabotage sounds more like something your company would do! This was just good business!”
“That’s slander! Our company would never stoop so low!”
“Hah! Maybe if you spent less time complaining and more time working, you wouldn’t be in this problem in the first place!”
“By Yearn’s Varied Yams, you’ll pay for this Copperpot!”
Suddenly the doors slammed open with a silent well-oiled swish. A furious gnomess stepped through, her face a thundercloud and her eyes murderous.
She was wearing a purple sequined coat with golden rhinestone buttons, and was covered head to toe in jewelry. Her plump fingers had enormous rings on every digit, and she had a necklace around every chin. She wore a yellow bowler hat with some kind of bright green feather in it, which swished while she walked. She was short, even for a gnome, with a scrunched up face, and looked kind of like an angry bulldog dressed like a pimp for halloween. My high charisma was all that kept me from snorting my tea.
Her eyes swept past us as she stomped down the hallway, but she didn’t even dignify us with a sneer. Buttler Whatshisface looked like he was about to escort her, then thought better of it - wise gnome. In just a moment she was out of sight.
There was a loud sigh from inside, then Copperpot’s voice emerged, tinged with exhaustion. “Who’s next?”
Our guide stood at attention at the door and announced. “Brewer Roughtuff and Knight Roughtuff of Goldenlight here to see you, sir.”
“Ah! Yes, much better than that fusspot, not that she’s worthy of being so associated with the Pot name! Send them in, and bring us some coffee and snacks as well!”
The Buttler bowed us in and shut the door behind us. It was just Balin, Copperpot, and myself in the office, and what an office! Everything in the room was made of wood or leather, except for the gleaming metal gizmos and gadgets that filled every nook and cranny, and the tall walls covered in books. An enormous picture window on one wall let in bright purple light from the city’s crystal, while cheery yellow Solstones hanging from the ceiling lent a warm glow. A pair of plush green couches sat facing each other in the center of the room, with a wooden coffee table in between them.
Copperpot himself sat at an enormous carved desk placed in front of the window. He stood as we entered and walked over to greet us. He wore a simple set of robes in what I was beginning to recognize as the scholar’s style. They were dark blue with pink accents and covered with pockets. His beanie whirred on his head as usual.
Balin had his battle-face back on, and in contrast to our first meeting with the [Engineer], stepped forward first and held his hand out.
“Thankye fer meetin’ with ma clan on such short notice Engineerin’ Professor Copperpot.” He said stoically as they bumped fists. “This is fer you.”
He pulled a small wooden box out of the collar of his armor and passed it to Copperpot. Copperpot took the box with a bow and set it aside on his desk, then broke into a wide smile.
“No need for Titles between those who’ve faced death together, Balin! Copperpot is fine, and it’s entirely my pleasure to welcome you to my home! Come, sit, sit! It’s good to see you too Pete!”
“Good to see ya Copperpot, sorry if we intruded on yer, er, business.” I bumped fists with him, then Balin and I went and sat down on one of the couches. It was plush and comfortable, while not being too soft. Balin sunk deep into the floof, his armor weighing him down.
Copperpot slumped into the opposite couch. “Dear Gods, no. If anything I should be thanking you for that. Master Merchant Diamondmine is awful to deal with.”
“Do ya mind if I ask what that was about? I’m afraid we only caught snippets.” I asked.
“You could hear it even in the hall? Ugh. Well, no doubt there will be rumours everywhere by now, damnable Bards. Simply put, we petitioned the Lord to grant the Pots Company control over many of the Saltpeter mines around Minnova. We won more than we had anticipated, as he granted us complete control over a large swath of mines on the Western Wall.”
“Tha Western Wall of the cavern, you mean?” Balin asked.
“Yes, and several of those mines were owned by the Mine Corporation. We suspect their inefficiencies may have earned the Lord’s ire.”
I chuckled. “Are they called that because they like to say ‘MINE’, 'MINE', 'MINE', a lot?”
Copperpot grinned. “Oh, yes.”
A trio of coffees and a plate of confections were soon whisked into the room by some maids, and we made smalltalk while we snacked. We started by discussing our Feud, which had been capital B Big News, then moved on to Lillyweather’s rehabilitation, and how things were going at the College. Balin even opened up and waxed poetically on his adventuring in Greentree. For his part, Copperpot was happy to tell us how Boomdust was revolutionizing the mining industry not only in Minnova but all of Crack.
“You’re going to be quite a wealthy dwarf when all is said and done, Pete.” He mused over a biscuit of some kind. “Do you have any plans? I can introduce you to a good accountant.”
“I’ve already asked Whistlemop for one, but thank you.” I said, munching on some kind of strawberry jam filled cookie.
“Ah, that upstart? You’d be better off working with the Pots you know.” Copperpot shook his head.
“I still cannae believe it.” Balin muttered. “We were clanless and destitute only a year ago. Tha Gods work in mysterious ways.”
“That they do, Balin.” Copperpot nodded, a sparkle in his eyes. “Now, as enjoyable as this has been, I don’t imagine you came by just for a chat. What can I help you with?”
I pulled a small sack off my belt and thunked it on the table. I opened it to reveal a single clear bottle filled with a fizzing golden liquid. The purple light streaming through the window wrapped around and through the bottle, leaving a scintillating shadow on the table. It lent a rather mystical air to the affair, and I internally cheered the effect.
“We wanted to discuss a business proposal, Copperpot. We want to open the first Gnomish brewery in Crack, and we want the Pots Company to help.”
Copperpot looked the bottle over, but didn’t pick it up. His eyes changed from friendly to intense, and his smile thinned. “That’s a… rather revolutionary and dangerous proposal, Peter Roughtuff. I’m afraid you’ll need to explain.”
So I told him, and his smile slowly returned, sharklike.
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