Parade Business
“Proceeding to item twenty-seven on the agenda,” Angela Jones said. The clicking of her husband’s shorthand writer kept diligent pace.
Jeremiah sighed inwardly. The tedium had built up steadily for the past hour, and although he agreed in principle that exterior decor in the parade ought to meet baseline standards of taste, it grew harder to focus the longer the Stamwhence homeowners’ meeting carried on.
He could not recall the specifics of how he had been invited, but he had jumped at the opportunity to get to know the cute new neighbor better. Unfortunately, Annalise’s cheerful, elegant expression was trained entirely on Angela. She shuffled pertinent papers in front of her with two of her hands while the other two rested on one of the hoops that bounded her cumulus lower body in the style of a wide dress.
Further down the table, Mr. Whiskers sat staring, unimpressed, into the middle distance, seemingly ignoring the proceedings. Jeremiah knew otherwise; Mr. Whiskers’ feline ears flicked beside his top hat, giving him away, and his tail twitched in agreement on occasion.
The lacunae Oxbow leaned over the table, its silhouette presenting a peaceful alien seascape at dusk. Jeremiah shook himself a little and came back to the conversation as Angela said, “Moving on, we must congratulate our new stewards. We welcome Annalise to her appointment to parade route coordinator and Jeremiah to his newly appointed position as treasurer for the parade. Their duties are included in the packets provided for them, and I have every faith—”
“I beg your pardon?” blurted Jeremiah. “I don’t recall any nomination.”
Angela scowled, and Oxbow leaned over to ask, “Didn’t you get your packet?”
“No, not at all,” Jeremiah whispered as Angela began to speak again. “What does the job entail? Am I qualified?”
“Just read the packet,” Oxbow replied. “It should have all the details you need. It’ll be in the treasurer’s mailbox in Kingston.”
“Thank you,” said Jeremiah. At a pause in Angela’s monologue, he asked the group, “Who was the last treasurer? May I speak to them about performing the duties of the position?”
There was no answer. The others merely looked at each other uncomfortably. Mr. Whiskers yawned, showing off his teeth, and the others shifted in their seats until Angela continued, nonplussed. “Now, as for item twenty-nine on the agenda, there’s the objection to the current route. One neighborhood has lodged a complaint and asked us to reroute the houses. Annalise, we will expect you to accommodate the changes and communicate any updates to the route.”
Annalise turned slightly red and began to protest, but cut herself off as Angela’s stern face stared her down. “Very well,” she said calmly as her hands scribbled hasty notes in the margins of her papers. “I will see to that directly.”
“See that you do,” Angela replied. Annalise turned toward Jeremiah with a pleading look on her face. He responded with what he hoped was a look of sympathy.
As they exited after the meeting’s end, Annalise caught up to him.
“Jeremiah, excuse me,” she started. “This is all really new to me. I know you’re probably busy with treasurer duties, but if you wouldn’t mind joining me for a couple hours, I’d appreciate the company and moral support.”*
“I’d be delighted to accompany you,” Jeremiah replied. “Could you help me find my packet at Kingston first? I think I should give it a thorough read before I betray my ignorance any further at the next meeting.”
“Absolutely, it’s probably just in the mail slot like mine was,” Annalise said, smiling.
The cloud taxi moved briskly through the evening traffic as Annalise enlightened Jeremiah about the parade’s planning procedures. He tried to focus and put out of his mind the thick envelope waiting expectantly on his desk at home.
“How far in advance?” he asked, surprised.
Annalise gave a tight grin. “Usually weeks. Having only a couple days to reroute everything is highly irregular. And I don’t know what duties or taxes might be required on the new route.”
Jeremiah shifted uneasily, remembering his new title. “Well, what was the request? Surely it can’t be too terrible, can it?”
“Here,” she said, handing him an envelope. Inside was a note written in a rigid cursive:
Request that the parade go two blocks over.
Zennan
“Who’s Zennan?” Jeremiah asked.
“I’m not sure,” Annalise replied. “I’ve inquired a bit about where to find him, and all I could find was a street name. No address, no description, no nothing.”
“Perhaps the locals will know where to find him?”
“Suppose no one knows who we’re talking about? If we were given a street name as a joke, we’ll look like fools.”
They passed into an area of small businesses, small houses, and small apartments. It was a quietly active area and would have been quite charming in daylight. In the gloaming it looked merely empty.
“You have arrived at your destination,” said the taxi, opening its doors. Jeremiah and Annalise got out and looked around as the taxi hovered next to them. The sign next to them read Zennan Avenue.†
Then it spun around three times and displayed an arrow pointing at a shop window across the road.
Curious, they walked over to the window, which proudly displayed the name Milliner Morley’s Magisterium. The letters gave a shake and slid off the edge of the window, before bouncing back into place with the words Welcome to Zennan. You can speak freely, and I’ll respond. You’re here about the parade.
Jeremiah looked incredulously at Annalise. “Is this real? Can a neighborhood talk?”
She gave a nod, but her expression was doubtful. “Hello . . . Zennan,” she began hesitantly. “Yes, we’re here about the parade. My colleague and I wondered what issue there was about the parade’s passing.”
The letters spun fast enough to blur. When they stopped, they read, The parade is uncomfortable, and I only extend to the next block on each side.
A breeze picked up as Annalise asked, “Has the parade come through before?” Almost before the sentence was complete, stray leaves were forming words above them: Yes. It was quite disruptive and took some time to recover from. I don’t wish to experience it again.
As he scanned the length of the street, Jeremiah asked the sky, “Would there be any difficulties going through the block next over?”
“I’m afraid I just don’t know,” said a passerby, rather closer than expected.
Jeremiah started and noticed that the store sign was back to normal. He looked down the street. “Perhaps we look for a drink,” he suggested, “and find someone who could help direct us.”
Two and a bit blocks later, the tea shop patrons had lots to say about the neighborhood council, regulations, and permits. Eventually, through the fog of gossip and conversation, the pair eventually learned that their query could not be delivered personally, but had to be submitted to the gerent in writing. A little defeated, Annalise dropped her query into the mail slot, and hoped the reply would be received in time.
“This is cutting things a little close,” Annalise said, nervously.
Jeremiah turned to head back. “We can check back tomorrow,” he said. “I have preparations to make for hosting the dance.”
The numbers were swimming before his eyes, although the half-empty glass explained some of it.
Jeremiah sat at his desk in Minton House, trying to make sense of the parade’s accounts. They made his head ache. The recent numbers all added up, that much was clear, but things got miserable about thirteen months back. Everything in the accounts before that point was mis-tallied, riddled with common errors, and generally a nightmare of omissions, double entries, and half-finished sums. Worse, it was the same errors every time! He would have had words for the prior treasurer, but whenever the name came up, it was blurred out and unreadable.
What kind of amateur was running this place? he thought blearily as the doorbell rang. He drew himself up carefully and went to answer his front door.
He wished he hadn’t. The sasquatch in a bow tie and a white suit loomed over him, a look of simpleminded menace on his face. The leaner, slimmer man in front was dressed in black, with red-rimmed dark glasses and a wide smile filled with razor blades.
“Good evening, good evening! Glad to see you up and about,” the slim man said. “My name is Mort, and my esteemed partner’s name is Dickie. Say hello, Dickie, let’s not be glum.”
“’Ello” rumbled Dickie. His ham-sized hands compulsively twitched and clenched.
“Now then,” said Mort, surveying the house, “I daresay you are now responsible for the parade’s treasury?”
“I am,” Jeremiah replied, uncertain.
“Wonderful! Then we must indeed discuss business. Might we enter?”
Jeremiah nodded and gestured inside. Mort strode in and Dickie followed, testing the door frame’s dimensions on the way.
As he sat on the chaise offered to him, Mort threw a leg up and pulled out some papers. Dickie stood behind, wordless and awkward.
Jeremiah remembered his manners before he sat down. “Ehm, would you like a drink? I’ve got several splendid bottles . . .”
Mort waved his hand dismissively. “No, I suspect you don’t carry the sort of thing we desire in a drink.” He leaned forward. “My dear sir, it falls to me to inform you that the parade is painfully in arrears.”
Numbers flashed across Jeremiah’s mind. “Well, there were certainly many accounting errors in the past—” he began.
Mort’s grin flashed again. “They are a problem of the present and must be dealt with presently. Maxwell’s services are not charity and must be paid for. The Noösphere conversations between the stewards of the parade and Maxwell have made it clear that he is not pleased with the circumstances.” He sighed, a little theatrically. “It is truly unfortunate that you have only just learned of the situation, but it is ultimately yourresponsibility to see to it that things are corrected.”
Jeremiah struggled to make sense of the words. “Well, how much is owed?”
Mort’s grin got wider. “After interest has been calculated, the funds due are equal to thirty-five magecoins.”†
Jeremiah nearly choked. This had to be a mistake! That was an onerous sum, and why would it be demanded in magecoins rather than the far more common currency of orbs? Who was this Maxwell, and how was the parade entangled in his business?
“This is highly unexpected,” he finally replied. “I’m not ready to offer a proper response to this until I have a chance to speak to this Maxwell, to understand the situation better. How might I contact him?”
“You’ll find an address for his offices in your files,” Mort said, rising. “We will return in two weeks to resolve this little shambles. We trust that you will have excellent news for us to relay.” A predatory gleam lit his eyes. “Believe you me when I say I greatlylook forward to concluding our business together.”
Jeremiah began to panic a little. Two weeks? He had no idea how to obtain one magecoin, much less thirty-five. “I’ll be ready to meet with you in two weeks, and I assure you that a detailed repayment plan shall be put forward for your approval.”
Mort’s smile widened. “Repayment, not a plan, is due in two weeks. As treasurer, you are ultimately responsible for its success—or liable for its failure.”#
“I understand.” Jeremiah nodded. “On a lighter note,” he continued with a brittle brightness, “I am arranging a dance at my house in a few days. Perhaps you could come and talk with some of the other stewards?”
Mort held up a hand in refusal. “It is indeed a most gracious offer, and one we greatly appreciate, don’t we, Dickie?”
Dickie made another muffled earthquake sound.
“But, as with the drink,” Mort sighed, turning toward the door, “I don’t think you would have what we desire.” He looked back conspiratorially, razor-smile glittering. “When I dance, I leave with fewer partners than I began. Come, Dickie,”—he gestured to his companion— “we must let the gentleman work. He has quite the task ahead of him.” Accompanied by Dickie’s massive footfalls, Mort strode outside, waving farewell.
Jeremiah closed the door behind them before sliding down it to the floor.
* New Character Arc for Jeremiah: Develop a Bond with Annalise
† During neighborhood creation, when the players came up with the notion of a sentient street, my mind immediately went to Danny from the Doom Patrol. I had the collected volumes of the Grant Morrison run, as well as the more recent Gerard Way issues. The players, however, were utterly unfamiliar with the characters, so I leaned into the parallels heavily. In 2020 and 2021 I began to watch the television series, and was greatly amused by just how close of a match I had inadvertently managed.
† While nominally magecoins are worth the same as a gem orb, they cannot be bought with standard currency and instead must be earned by doing difficult magical favors, typically for vislae. Therefore, the sum is not only significant, but also something that cannot simply be acquired by traditional exchange.
# Awarded Jeremiah one Despair