I’ve been told that in a negotiation, questions will get you closer to what you want than making demands.

“Charlie. Dude. I’m just catching up with what you said. Did you say it’s gonna take thirty-five years to do this without me?”

Chuck apparently identifies this as a negotiation, and starts downplaying my importance. “Until we get someone else. There’s a lot of dumb folks running around. Some of them can help, and we can catch them.”

“Yeah. I don't know about that. I haven’t found anyone can do this, but you’re like expert finders. You found three thaum-makers, and now I’m number four. And you’ve only been here for what, a year?” I’m not very smart, but I’ve gotten pretty good at the using speed on my brain. I can think at eight times speed. The hard part is slowing down enough to speak at normal speeds.

“Yep, only a year to find four.” He’s lying again. It must have taken longer than that. Maybe it was a year and a half? And one of them at least was with them to start, or they wouldn't have done this thing. So they’re only finding someone who can make a difference every six months or so.

“You’d probably take another year to find someone else like me. Not tootin' my own horn, but I’m a little better than the folks you’ve got right now. There probably aren’t that many ways to do the thaum concentration thing.” I lowball it. He shouldn’t be expecting to find someone else who can do what I can do in the next year and a half. I don’t really get the whole probability thing, but it took him eighteen months to find me, so he probably can’t really expect to find another me sooner than that. Also, eighteen months is longer than their expected end-date if I help. I’m worth a lot.

Chuck smiles without any friendliness. “We can probably do it less than a year.” That's more negotiation bullshit.

I accept his nonsense as if it's true. “Cool. How much of the take am I getting? How many investors do you have?” I start by talking about what he wants me to care about. Asshole.

“There’s currently nine of us. The three thaum multipliers, a few recruiters, and some security personnel. You would make ten. As such, you’d get ten percent.”

“How often do I get my share.” I sound like a thug. We got hoes turnin’ tricks. When do I get mah money, bitch.

“Weekly. After the first month, for insurance.” He’s making up that last bit.

“You’ve got me stuck in there in an underground, high pressure, time-enhanced area with serious security, and you’re worried about insurance? A few days of insurance is enough.” I don’t think there’s any insurance, but I’ll give him something.

He knows it’s a negotiation. “Two weeks.”

“One.”

“Ten days.”

“Fine.” We’ll be clearing fifteen yellow thaums total each week, so he’ll hold a couple for me as “insurance,” and since he thinks I’m greedy, he’s gonna try to make me do what he wants with the money.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I want to see the place, so I know what needs to be done for my drumming.” What I really want to do is learn about their defenses. And seeing the place will probably get me a picture of who the slaves are.

“We can do that as soon as you’re ready, Partner.”

Fuck. Looks like I’m on the team. If I ask to make the slaves lives better now, it probably won’t work. Have to wait a week. And there’s traps somewhere to see if I’m working against the team. Maybe the fake Randi is involved. Almost for sure the traps involve the people.

“And can I meet the rest of the team?”

“Once you show us that you’re on the team.” His smile this time looks like a shark's.

Got it. Work first, then plotting. Good news for me. First week or two of work is drumming.

He grabs a big key out of his pocket, and moves to unlock my cell. “You know, of course, that attempts to abandon the project, disrupt it, or attack any of the participants will not go well for you?”

“Dude. Why would I attack anyone? I’m getting 100 yellow thaums from this deal. I've only seen one yellow in 2 years in this world.” I’m not much of an actor. I can exaggerate things on stage for the band, but behind the drum kit, I’m pretty well limited in how much acting I get to do.

While he’s fiddling with the key, I drop the rest of my stuff into my pockets. He lets me out, and I follow him down the same tunnel he used to enter. A couple turns down the tunnel, there’s another door. He doesn’t appear to have a key, and has to knock. The door opens without anyone there, and we go through before it closes again.

I figure asking questions is good, “Is that whole area for new folks?”

“Indeed. New hires tend to be more obstreperous than the veterans who’ve been here for a while.”

“Dude, what does that even mean? I don’t know that word.” I play up the ignorant angle. Acting works best when it's true.

“Obstreperous means noisy and difficult. It is the perfect word to describe most of our associates when they arrive. Fortnuately, that never lasts for long.”

Walking through more tunnels, Charles reaches the end of the tunnel stands there for ten and a half seconds, then turns around, and walks back. He notices the confused look on my face, and says, “Security.”

We walk fifty yards back, past a couple turns, then at an elbow in the tunnel, he knocks on the wall. It opens. We go in.

“There’s really no way to get out of there, is there?”

“In the old world, explosives could do it. I’m not aware of any approach that would work now.”

I’d personally bet on Gwynnyth, on Beef, and on some of the folks who can become insubstantial. But you’d need someone very destructive, or strong, or escapey to get out.

Another couple minutes, and we get out into the afternoon sun. I flinch a bit, expecting the pain of bright light after a couple days underground. It doesn’t come because this is a different world and I guess eyes are put together differently.

“It’s over at the next hill,” says my guide.

“I’m a bit suspicious of hilltops right now,” I say, chuckling to act like I’m joking.

He doesn’t even crack a smile. We walk over to the next hilltop, and an opening forms in front of us, stairs and everything. Magic doors and everything, it looks like the entrance to the Mines of Moria, with stairs down into the gloom. I have to check behind me for a kraken.

We descend into the dungeon, and then we descend some more. A full minute of walking down stairs, and we’ve got the classic underground humidity and it smells like Grandma's root cellar. Then we turn a corner, and we’re facing a door.

Charles announces, “We’re here. Past these three doors is an increased-time, increased thaum density, increased air-pressure zone. Are you going to go in and start playing immediately?”

I replay, “I’ve got to test how well it works.”

“Let’s get to it then,” he says, and starts opening doors.