OMG the clomping foot of nerdism is real
I wrote THE MERIBEL DARLINGS knowing that my top agent would snap it up the second they read my query. When that didn't happen, I contacted a professional for a developmental edit. Surely, there were a few select changes I could make that would make the book more appealing.
A few select changes quickly became a dramatic, soul-killing rewrite.
For example: I was SO PROUD of this chapter, but it didn't survive the dev edit. Why? It's not that it wasn't well-writen, because it was, dammit. It's that it was more interesting to me than my editor said it would be to my reader.
Does that mean no one will ever get a chance to read it?
No. That's what blogs are for.
(rubs hands together and chortles)
But be warned: the clomping foot of nerdism is strong with this one.
The agents sat at a long wooden table in a windowless basement room, the tangled ceiling of pipes, cables, and colored conduits less than a foot above them. Three small lamps set along the middle of the table cast narrow pools of light that left the rest of the room shrouded in shadows, with the exception of the seven little lights on the pneumatics panel along the wall. Most blinked green every few seconds; two blinked red every thirty. A chorus of creaks, pings and other industrial noise echoed from the pneumatics like crickets.
Walter sat at the head of the table, long-faced and dour in a too-formal three-piece tweed suit that made him look like an overstuffed sofa. Safely hidden in my uncomfortable but conveniently dark hiding place up among the pipes, I watched him draw a thin line through the second-to-last item on the agenda. Which was good because I really needed to pee.
He cleared his throat. “Before we move on to our last item, perhaps we might have a tour de table to share recent acquisitions? Khalid? Would you care to begin?"
The energy in the room shifted from cultivated boredom to almost child-like enthusiasm. Walter gestured to the dignified elderly man with the red tasseled fez and striped djellaba seated to his left.
“I thank you, Walter,” Khalid said with a formal bow of the head. “My good friends, Monsieur Chezelle is delighted to report his acquisition of rare Fritillaria ojaiensis bulbs from high in the California chaparral. They were harvested in accordance with the protocols described in Mattioli’s Second Herbal to ensure both vigor and potency, and I am pleased to say both were preserved during their journey to our greenhouse. We shall see if the splendor of their flowers is the reward for our care, inshallah!"
There was a round of polite applause.
Khalid raised a wrinkled finger. "Monsieur Chezelle instructed me to extend his deep thanks to the chairman for the loan of the Mattioli, whose wisdom has been a great blessing,” he added with another nod to Walter.
“It was our pleasure to be of service, Khalid,” Walter said, then gestured to the gentleman to Khalid's left. “Otto?”
Otto was a hard-angled bearded gent in a western-style black suit. He leaned back with his thumbs tucked into his suspenders. “Well, it’s taken a good long while, but my Miss Gloria was finally able to get her hands on a copy of the Saint-Sever Beatus manuscript. With the annotated map this time."
The applause to this was somewhat more enthusiastic.
"We got people working on the translations now. I want to say how grateful we are to Signore Faravelli for letting us use that articulated opticon of his to read the fine print. And thank you, Matteo, for making that possible.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure,” replied the gentleman seated to Otto’s left. Matteo was as crisp as ever in his blue blazer and rep tie “Speaking of my Signore Faravelli, it’s been a most incredible month! So much to talk about!”
A groan shook the room, the traditional response to Matteo’s traditional opening. Matteo liked to talk. A lot.
"Please keep it brief, sir," said Walter. "We need to end on time."
“Fine, fine then, just one, just a little one," Matteo sighed. "And so. Last night, Signore Faravelli, he sits me down and he says Matteo, my boy, you won’t believe what I found and I said, Signore Faravelli, you must tell me, but he said no no no, no one will care, but I insisted! And so, Signore Faravelli, he tells me … that he got … a supply of new original stock parts for the pneumatics! No more burning up the capsules, no more steam leaks, no more lost messages! We can start the repairs any time you like!”
Actual applause broke out around the table. Matteo waved at everyone and shook his grasped hands over each shoulder like a victorious prize fighter until he hit a pipe and wisely stopped. I made a mental note to send that old coot Faravelli a gift ham or something, because I’d been steam cooked in my own gravy up here in my hiding place more than once during these meetings and it wasn’t a fun experience.
“Heavens, that is good news, well done Matteo and please extend our great thanks to Signore Faravelli,” Walter said. Then they all quieted down, and all at once they nodded together at the empty seat that had once been occupied by Edward’s agent.
“Now, with regards to the high bar that Matteo has set,” Walter continued after the moment of silence, “I fear I cannot surpass it this month. I am sorry to say that Sir Reginald has been feeling rather poorly of late, and as a result he has made no acquisitions that rise to the level of achievement expected of one of our Lady’s tenants. For this he extends his sincere apologies. Felix?”
The elderly little fellow in the black suit with oversized black eyeglasses and wild white hair looked over at Walter blankly, then smiled and patted the table lightly with the palms of his hands.
“Felix? Do you have anything you’d like to share?”
Felix cleared his throat and patted his palms a few more times before squeezing his eyes shut and forming his pale hands into white-knuckled fists. He spoke almost too quickly to be heard.
“Alexander Connory is pleased to report he has taken possession of an important collection of 19th century English dueling pistols that includes both used and unused cased sets from Durs Egg and Purdey as well as unique weapons designed for, designed for, designed for ...”
His eyes flew open and his fists unclenched. After blinking a few times he patted his palms on the table again and looked back at Walter with the same blank expression as before.
“Thank you, Felix,” Walter said in the calm, slow voice he always used with the old guy. “Please tell Alexander to exercise extreme discretion, follow all applicable state and federal laws, as well as all relevant Guard rules associated with the sale of certain unique firearms." He wiped his nose and let out a long sigh. "And now, to the dean of our community, Baldwin.”
“Mister Chairman and honored colleagues, good morning,” intoned the frail, elderly man in a white linen suit. “While my master has made an important and perhaps historic acquisition, I would ask the Chair to permit me to defer my report until after the tour de table as a new privileged agenda item.”
Walter looked around the table. “Are there any objections? No? Then that leads us to Oleg.”
Oleg was a lump of a fellow in a black vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves. He held out his right arm; his hand gripped the bottom half of a small circus doll with a white peaked cloth hat, a painted wooden face, and a dirty white cotton body with three red buttons on it.
A hush fell over the table. Felix began to reach into his coat. A few chairs creaked as they were pushed back.
I’m a little ashamed to admit I made a mental bet on how many old men the sluagh could eat before it ran out of gas. It was all academic anyway because I’d never actually seen one eat anyone before and that suited me just fine.
“Ha, it is fake!” Oleg announced in his too-loud voice, opening his hand to reveal the doll had only one leg. “But you thought this was real thing, yes? But no, it is not real, but it is good joke, yes? Last week Madame Zola got big collection of the Schoenhut circus dolls, with the tent, donkeys and chairs, and all the little pieces. It is beautiful set, one of a kind. It reminds her of the real dolls that were stolen from her. That is all from Madame Zola.”
Walter waited for him to retrieve the doll and put it away before continuing.
“And finally, Oswald, and then back to Baldwin.”
“Thank you, Walter,” said the pale, compact fellow in the dark suit. As always I wondered just how it was that a weasel could masquerade as a person. “Our Lady is pleased to report she has secured a particularly handsome collection of Brittany pearls that once belonged to Marie-Louise of Savoy, along with their extremely detailed and historically fascinating provenance documentation. It’s a marvel how anything so lovely could survive the Reign of Terror, which makes them so much more compelling a find, don’t you think? If any of you wish to see them, do please come by and I can arrange a viewing.”
He gestured to Walter, who crossed one more item off his agenda. I was starting to cramp up a bit, so I stretched my legs as much as I could without breaking a pipe or dropping some broken insulation on the table below.
“Thank you all for a very productive month. And now, Baldwin, you requested a moment.”
Unfortunately Baldwin’s moments had a way of turning into hours, so I settled in and prepared myself for boredom.
“Thank you, Mister Chairman. My master asks that the following information be kept in the strictest confidence, and so requests that article sixteen of the lessee agreement be invoked by the Chair.”
“Is there any objection?” Walter called, scanning the table. “Without objection, article sixteen is invoked and the minutes are suspended for the remainder of this agenda item. Please continue.”
Baldwin nodded and folded his hands before him on the table. “I thank the Chair. My master has instructed me to report he has acquired five square yards of Ossetian Greycloth and a functioning Greycloth loom believed to have once been owned by Laurentian the Second.”
A murmur rolled around the table. I saw Matteo and Khalid lean back and make eye contact, and even Felix seemed to perk up. He’d certainly gotten my attention.
Walter raised his hand. “I am sure I do not have to remind you that Greycloth is on the Guard's list of proscribed materials and technologies, Baldwin.”
“If I may correct my honored colleague the Chairman, Greycloth is noted in the second appendix, not the list itself,” Baldwin replied. He took off his round wire-framed glasses and gestured with them. “The second appendix calls out materials subject to situational oversight, and that is what my master seeks by bringing this to the attention of our Lady’s agents. It is important for me to emphasize that my master’s interest in Greycloth is entirely academic, and he seeks to study the fabric as well as the construction and operation of the loom to see what can be learned from them. He has assured me that he has been in discussions with his colleague Signore Faravelli, who he has asked to collaborate in this matter to ensure full transparency.”
Matteo glanced at Khalid again, then shrugged. “It is as he says,” he admitted then nodded to Walter. “Signore Faravelli will assist his good friend Seamus to find out how this thing works.”
“If I may,” Oswald interrupted, referring to a page in the binder in front of him, “the second appendix only refers to Greycloth itself, and says nothing of Greycloth looms. It would seem premature to rule on the one without guidance from a higher authority on the other. It will also be valuable to obtain additional guidance regarding any impact this may have on community relations with the firbolg, referred to by the common folk as Bagmen.”
Felix crossed himself quickly.
“I thank my honorable colleague for that information,” Baldwin said with a smile. “I respectfully ask the Chair for a ruling.”
Walter took a few notes then knocked on the table with his knuckles. “Very well. Gentlemen, the question is whether to instruct our colleague that his master’s ... I’m sorry, his tenant’s possession of Greycloth and an alleged Greycloth loom constitute a violation of the rule against possession of items on the proscribed materials and technologies list. All those in favor please raise your right hand.”
Khalid, Oleg and Oswald all raised their hands.
Otto, Baldwin, and eventually Matteo raised their hands.
“Felix? How do you vote?”
Felix looked at Walter and tapped his palms on the table a few times, then his eyes screwed shut and he banged his fists.
“Abstain abstain abstain abstain!” he said quickly, then his eyes shot open again and he sat back, breathing hard.
“The votes are three to three with one abstention. Our committee rules state that in the event of a tie, the Chair may either vote or defer the question. In light of the fact that the items are already in the possession of a tenant, and that we have identified an oversight mechanism, the chair votes nay, and the nays have it.”
I watched Walter make a few more notes and hoped they included a reminder to not get me involved, but knowing my luck I knew I’d probably get asked to do something I’d regret later. Anything involving the Bagmen was bad news. But every one of the tenants were suckers for any aspect of the craft they could learn more about, even if it meant poking their noses into places best left alone.
“The Chair further rules that Seamus’ possession of Greycloth and a Greycloth loom do not per se constitute a violation in the current instance,” Walter announced, “and further rules that the collaborators must produce a report at their earliest convenience describing the results of their investigations. To ensure full transparency,” he added, sounding very satisfied with himself. "Now, unless there are any other agenda items, let’s proceed to our last item of business: the status of the premises at number four, previously occupied by our former Lord, the honorable Edward Coffin of blessed memory. You will all have no doubt noted that today is the fifth anniversary of his disappearance.”
The seven other men around the table nodded soberly.
Otto coughed. "I hardly think it can be occupied without some very expensive restorations after that flood. I saw the report. Damn shame, that. All those cases and mechanisms. A damn shame.”
"One would suspect it would be fairly carpeted with all manner of insidious molds and vermin and rusted perils and whatnot by now,” added Baldwin.
“Bah,” grumbled Oleg. “Take it down like you took down number eight and be done with it.”
“The Clockworks is the ancestral property of the Coffins, but without an heir … ” said Khalid, shaking his head sadly.
“It would be good to see that report again,” Matteo chirped.
Walter tapped his binder. “You all have a copy, tab eleven.”
A rustling sound filled the room as the men flipped through the mimeographed pages, then there was silence as they all read, punctuated only by more creaks from the pipes. I started thinking about breakfast knowing the end of the meeting was only seconds away. They’d gone through this dance every year on the anniversary of Edward’s disappearance and it always ended the same way.
“If it would please the Chair, in light of the exceedingly poor condition of the premises, and in light of the attendant risks associated with both their renovation and occupation, to say nothing of the unwanted scrutiny this will draw from the municipal inspectors,” he added, looking at Walter over the top of his glasses, “I move they be allowed to remain empty for another year, until such a time as a full and comprehensive assessment of --”
A startled murmur rushed around the table. Even I knew it was big news for Lilian to get involved. Something was up.
Walter pulled a letter from his jacket’s breast pocket and held it up. “I was informed earlier this morning that our Lady wishes the property to be occupied as soon as is practicable. Which is to say, as soon as a new tenant is named.” Then he sat back as everyone began to talk at once.
“…if I may be so bold as to recommend…”
“…has distinguished himself at the Duchess, where for the last fourteen…”
“…I know just the right man for the…”
“…I’m sorry, can you repeat …”
“…it would be my honor to present…”
“…who would want to work in a dump like…”
“Gentlemen, GENTLEMEN,” Oswald shouted. “I’m sure Walter will provide us with appropriate guidance.”
“Thank you, Oswald.” Walter put his reading glasses on and opened the letter. The crinkle of paper was unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. I held my breath.
“Our Lady, Lillian Coffin, directs you to present your tenant nominations to this body tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. She trusts all candidates will possess skills consistent with the traditions of the Row, and that they will be prepared to honor all conventions and covenants described in the common lessee agreement. At eleven o'clock, this body will select a new tenant for number four.”
Walter folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. “Our Lady goes on to instruct me to thank you all for your service, and to thank you for your many kindnesses following the loss of her husband. For my part, I trust you all understand the importance of unanimity. It goes without saying that we do not wish a repeat of the unfortunate event at number eight, so whoever receives the majority of nominations will carry the day. Should there be a tie, our Lady will reserve the right to select a tenant from among the nominated individuals.”
“Speaking of unfortunate events,” Oswald interjected, “am I to understand that there was an attack at the Duchess last night?”
Walter shrugged. “One of the many lesser tenants there was assaulted and beaten rather badly, but I am happy to report that he is out of intensive care, and with luck he should recover.”
Baldwin raised a hand. “Was it a robbery, Walter?”
The creak of seven men leaning forward in their chairs was a chorus of curiosity.
“That is hard to say.” He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I can say ... that my contacts in the police department told me he had a substantial amount of money on his person when he was admitted, or at least, a substantial amount for one of the lesser tenants,” he added, which elicited a brief chorus of polite laughter as Walter closed his binder.
“That is all for today. Nominations by ten o'clock tomorrow morning, here, to be followed by a vote by eleven, so please do not be tardy. And of course, I will see you all again next month for our regular session. This meeting stands adjourned,” he declared with a rap of his knuckles on the table.
With a groan of floorboards the seven men rose and nodded to Walter in his chair, then one after another they filed out through the room’s sole door at the far end, each one hunched over bent over to avoid the low ceiling overhead. Otto guided Felix by the arm after the little guy started to wander back into the room. Oswald was the last to leave and paused in the open doorway.
“You should know, Walter, that I have taken the liberty to engage a contractor to open number four and prepare it for occupancy.”
“That could be a dangerous business.”
“No, just a dirty one, I think. I will be in touch. Do stop by to see the pearls. They’ve still got some blood on them. Nasty business, that Reign of Terror. Oh, and our Lady will be visiting with Sir Reginald later this morning to discuss his growing deficiencies,” Oswald added, and touched the brim of his hat before shutting the door behind him.
