“Before you say anything, I want to dispel all notions that this is a ‘hollow tower’.” Toraka Shale leaned forward on her desk, tenting her fingers. “I don’t tolerate such trash practices in my workshop, unlike some of our competition here in the city. Many of them are associated with enough hollow towers to build complete castles.”

The young, Thameish wizard was silent, caught off guard by the offer and having no idea what a ‘hollow tower’ was. His mind reeled as his prepared responses suddenly became irrelevant; this was one scenario he hadn’t anticipated.

“Um, what’s a hollow tower?” He asked.

“You don’t know what a hollow tower is?” She gave him a crooked smile. “Then you’ve been very lucky not to have encountered one in your work experience to this point.”

“No, actually, the exact opposite of ‘very lucky’,” Alex said. “At my last job, ‘promotion’ was a dirty word.”

“Ah, well, sometimes ‘no promotion’ is better than a hollow tower.” Shale’s face grew grim. “When I first started working in the field, I worked for a potion making company: Tilvin’s Tinctures, it was called.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Alex admitted.

“I’d be surprised if you had,” she smirked, her eyes gazing over her office like a conqueror surveying new lands. “This building was Tilvin’s Tinctures, and this office belonged to Tilvin himself.”

“Oh. Oh my,” he said, looking around the office for signs of a former occupant. He found none. “Did you inherit it or buy it?”

“Inherit it? Hah!” She gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “If I had shared a single drop of blood with Tilvin, I would have thrown myself into the Prinean decades ago. No, I bought it, Alex. Because Tilvin was a terrible businessman and a worse boss.”

He flinched in sympathy. “I uh…know what that’s like. Was it one of those ‘everything that goes right is my idea’ and ‘everything that goes wrong is your fault’ sort of deals? Because I love those,” he said, sarcasm more ‘gushing’ from his voice than ‘dripping’.

“You do know how it is,” she grumbled, her eyes lost in dark memories. “And so we get to ‘hollow towers’. Tilvin—and sadly, scores of other business people in the city—are very fond of promoting workers to higher positions, giving them loads of extra responsibility, and very little increased financial compensation. Hence, one climbs a tower, but gains no benefit from it: a ‘hollow tower’.”

“Oh, by the Traveller, that sounds…well, I won’t lie, it sounds terrible and really unfair.”

“That’s because it is, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would never adopt such a practice,” she said sternly. “Because of that, I wanted you to be confident that this isn’t some hollow offer. You’ve done good work here, and the fact that a golem you made on your own shows so much potential, more than proves your talent for craftwork. Especially at your age and…where are you in your education?”

“Halfway through second year.”

“Wow, that is impressive…and what’s the maximum level of spell you can cast?” She asked, her body language shifting slightly: leaning forward, eyes widening with alertness, a slight tension in her muscles.

Alex kept still, keeping his body language calm as though he hadn’t noticed a thing.

‘You’re still measuring my worth,’ Alex thought. ‘Very clever. You’re acting like I’m impressing you, meanwhile, you’re pumping me for my limits. Well done, and I guess there’s no sense in lying.’

“I can cast up to third tier spells, but obviously, I’m a lot better when it comes to mana manipulation,” he said.

“Mhm, I can see your talent for mana manipulation for myself, it’s quite extraordinary. And you’re only at third-tier spells. Remarkable!” She said, tension leaving her body. “And you’ve accomplished so much so fast. Hmmm, but that does put both of us in an interesting situation.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head, watching her closely. “What sort of situation would that be?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Alex,” she said. “You’re too good to be anyone’s assistant at this point. Much too good. But there are certain prerequisites of power and spellcraft that you don’t quite meet yet in order to be a full crafter here at the workshop. You can do most of the job, but a full crafter would still have to check your work and even cast some spells for you that you don't know, yet. Like Shape Metal for example: it’s very handy for forging iron golem bodies quickly. Or Stone Shape. You’ll need these spells to help you produce quickly and with full detail.”

“Mhm?” Alex said, keeping his face neutral. “So you’re saying that I wouldn’t be able to perform a crafter’s full duties. At least, not yet.”

“You catch on quickly.” She snapped her fingers.

A hidden hatch on the side of her desk opened, unleashing a horde of tiny hands—no bigger than a small child’s—each forged of brass. They swarmed into the air on bee-like wings and, with a metallic buzzing, flitted over to her writing desk, fetching paper and pens.

As he watched in awe, they landed on the desk in front of his boss, centred the sheet and began writing simultaneously. Half a dozen hands working together to produce a contract of employment right before Alex’s eyes: in less than a minute, the entire document was complete.

Only a few lines remained blank: one for an agreed rate of pay, a space for Toraka’s signature, and another one for his.

As his eyes quickly scanned the contract, they paused on an interesting set of words, his new job title: Junior Crafter.

“Hm,” he mused, running his hand through his beard, cursing the itchiness. “I don’t remember meeting any ‘junior crafters’ at the workshop. Is it a rare position?”

“It is, because you’d be our first,” she smiled. “As I said, you can’t do everything that an entry level crafter can: so you’d need one of the others to look over your work or lend you a spell or two during the construction process. But, leaving you as an assistant would be a waste of your time and my labour resources. Besides, it’s time that you start gaining some leadership skills: I have a feeling you’ll go far with them.”

Alex smiled at the irony: over the past year he’d often taken a leadership role among fellow combatants, and he’d also noticed how even the Heroes had taken to treating him as a source for guidance.

He’d had plenty of leadership experience, just…not much when it came to building things rather than smashing them. Ironic for a Fool since they couldn’t really fight; he had more experience leading people into combat than leading them in anything else.

“Yeah, getting leadership experience would be valuable and I could take on bigger and better roles in the workshop,” Alex said, subtly hinting at loyalty. He’d need that for what came next. “But…well, I think you know what I’m about to ask. What’s your offer of payment?”

“Down to business, then,” Shale said. “Could you hand me that piece of scrap paper beside you?”

He looked down, noticing a small piece of paper near his drink. “Certainly,” he said, sliding it to her.

“Thank you,” she relieved one of her industrious writing hands of its pen and tapped it on the piece of paper. “What do you earn now?”

“Two gold coins per shift,” Alex said.

“A good wage for a student,” she complimented her own business practices. “But, your skills are far beyond a student’s now…let’s see that you’re compensated appropriately.” She wrote a number down. “What about this for a starting wage?”

She smiled, turning the page toward him; the ink on the number 35 glistened.

And he fought to keep his face neutral.

“That’s in gold coin, of course,” she said smoothly. “Per shift. Not too bad, eh? At your current rate of pay as an assistant, you make…well, subtracting weekends, holidays and festivals, we do roughly two hundred and twenty one work days here at the workshop. Let’s leave things like overtime and any extra days you book off for your exams out of it, so on average you bring home four hundred and forty-two gold coins in a year. At thirty-five gold coins per shift, you’ll match your former annual income in…no wait, you’re part time, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes, I am,” he said.

“Right, so that’s…” Her eyes drifted up and to the side as she worked through mental calculations. “...about three hundred gold in a year?”

“A little less, actually,” he admitted. “Festival days.”

“Right, that’s true. And it also makes the math easy. At thirty-five, you’d match your yearly income as an assistant in roughly nine shifts. Well, just over eight and a half, technically.”

Alex felt cold sweat threatening to erupt from his skin; between the apartment, the junior school and Theresa’s course auditing, their monthly expenses were thirty gold coins.

He would earn that in one shift at this new rate.

“In a year, you’d gross just north of five thousand gold coins,” she said. “Naturally, you’d be subject to Generasi’s tax rate—”

“Wait, taxes?” Alex suddenly felt like he was choking.

Toraka Shale threw her head back, letting out an almost demonic laugh. “Yes, Alex, taxes. Welcome to a most hated part of adulthood. You wouldn’t have had to pay them on your wages since your income was relatively low, but the governing council does take a solid twenty-seven and half percent of all income once you reach a certain income level. It does sting, but I suppose it’s the price we pay for…you know, roads, security and what-not. Just be happy you’re not tributing goats to a local lord or something.”

“...I guess?” He said, feeling the sting of coin flying from his hands. No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Lu were always so cranky when Alric’s tax collector came around.

“Still, even with paying taxes, you’re a lot farther ahead,” she said. “You’ll gross just north of five thousand gold coins in a year, pay about fourteen hundred in taxes then take the rest home. That’s thirty-five hundred gold pieces for a student who currently lives in heavily subsidised insula at the university and—if you perform half as well in school as you do here—you’re probably on a scholarship. The university gives you free food and so….your living expenses are going to be minimal. What I’m saying is that you’ll likely be able to squirrel away more than three thousand gold coins in a year, even if you increase your spending. In just over ten years, you’ll be able to buy a flat somewhere in Generasi outright. But…you won’t have to wait that long.”

She drew an upward facing arrow beside the 35.

“As soon as you graduate—or maybe even sooner, depending on how quickly you pick up higher level spells—I’ll see that you’re promoted to full crafter. I pay any new crafter who joins our team a starting wage of seventy gold coins.”

Alex nodded slowly; that was about what Professor Jules had said many crafters were paid per shift in Generasi. “That’s a good wage,” he said.

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “I’ll count your time as a crafter’s assistant and your time as a junior crafter towards your seniority here at the shop. You won’t be earning starting wages for long. Furthermore, if you wish to buy your own house or make any large purchase and need a letter of character witness to provide to a vendor, I’d be happy to write one for you.”

She tapped the blank like where he was to sign. “So, what do you say?”

“Could you give me a moment, Mrs. Shale? I’m just doing my own calculations,” he said.

“What’s there to calculate?” she asked, frowning, a slight pressure entering her voice. “I don’t make an offer like this to just anyone, Alex. And it’s not one that’s available for long. I can’t have you walk out of here to go tell every student at the university that there could be ‘junior crafter’ positions at Shale’s. If you walk out, the offer expires.”

He smiled slightly. “I thought that might be the case.”

Pressure.

It was a common tactic in sales: one he’d picked up from sitting in Borgia’s Square, watching merchants negotiate with customers. He had to admit, she was a master of several of the techniques he’d witnessed.

First off, she’d explained the ‘hollow tower’ to him, which was her subtle way of hinting that others in the city used such practices. This was done to show him that he might have a rough time working for her competition.

Then, she’d flattered him by complementing his skills, while at the same time reminding him of his limits. She’d used more subtly, but this time, it was to indicate that she was doing him a favour with this job—and, in a small way, she was—while letting him know that it’d be hard to get such an offer elsewhere.

After that, she’d asked him for the scrap piece of paper nearby, a small favour to continue building rapport.

Then, she’d completed all the math for him out loud, promising him riches, commiserating with him on the pain of taxes, offering to do him a favour that would help him quickly establish roots in the city, and painting a bright future for him. Most importantly though, it was a bright future that would require his continued loyalty to her.

Oh, and he couldn’t forget the drink she’d offered as a small favour to him; one that got a little alcohol in his system to put him in a warmer, more receptive frame of mind.

Finally, after the carrot, she’d brought out the stick.

That was the pressure.

She’d said the offer only lasted until he walked out the door. It was a clever move, meant to deny him time to think, stop him from consulting with anyone else, or going to her competitors.

‘In short, she’s created demand, added scarcity and urgency to the deal,’ he thought. ‘All in an effort to stop me from negotiating. Well done, Toraka. And if I were just after a salary, I might have accepted it.”

He leaned forward. ‘But this isn’t about wages and promotions. This is establishing patterns. This is about what comes later. So…en garde, Toraka. Let the negotiation begin.’

His mind turned toward the workshop. ‘Claygon, would you mind coming up and seeing father?’