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B2 | Chapter 54 - Bathhouse & a Merchant's Reaction
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 16:48:02 +0000 UTC< Previous | ToC | Next >
AN: My apologies for not posting on Friday last week. We've been having some crazy rains here and it killed my electricity and internet. Took forever to get new wires installed.
B2 | Chapter 54 - Bathhouse & a Merchant's Reaction
Gereth, a Merchant, POV
Although Gereth had witnessed many wealthy idiots in his day, Lord Theodore might be the current victor.
Fifteen years he'd spent trying to offload the useless plots in Holden. Fifteen. And suddenly, young Lord Theodore appeared, standing on the edge of this rubbish property as if it held significance.
He supposed he should thank the man.
Gareth had never witnessed such spectacular idiocy from someone with actual coin. He had never seen a nobleman make such a glaringly poor choice. He had no intention of complaining, however, for his dinner was funded by poor choices made by rich people like this.
Nevertheless, Gareth's teeth ached from secondhand embarrassment as he watched Lord Theodore look over that one particular plot of land.
Apparently, the young lord had selected this land for whatever reason. Gereth had run from the Merchants' Guild branch here in Holden the moment his attendant had informed him of this. He didn't care if the lord made this purchase; in fact, he'd be happy, but he needed to put on some fronts.
"That one, my lord?" Gareth gestured toward the muddy disaster that passed for property near the slums. "I mean, certainly, if that's what you're after, but..."
He trailed off, searching for the right words. How did you tell a lord he was being an idiot without actually saying it?
On a bad day, if the wind was just right, it was close enough to the slums to smell them. On a good day, you get all the noise and none of the foot traffic because it's close enough to the big roadways but not enough to actually warrant travel this way, for there were no roads leading out of town h. The kind of place where respectable businesses went to die.
"This land is just... well, it's problematic, my lord." Gareth tried again. "The drainage is terrible. Floods every spring. And the soil... let's just say nothing good grows here."
With his hands clasped behind his back, Theodore stood at the edge of the property. He didn't say anything, he only looked forward. Which, in a way, was worse than if he had argued some sort of a point.
To be fair, this land used to belong to Lord Theodore, but he'd sold it all for some money some few years back. Gereth still couldn't quite believe the brat was turning over a new leaf, but it was none of his concern so long as there was coin to be made.
"We tried to build a tannery here. It lasted three months before the smell drove away what customers there were. Then a cooper tried to set up shop. Rats got into everything. Then there was the fellow who thought he could make it work as a—"
"How much?" Theodore interrupted.
Gareth blinked. "My lord?"
"The asking price."
"Well..." Gareth fumbled. He had hoped to direct the discussion to just about any other property. The respectable site close to the central plaza. The warehouse area. Not to mention the expensive corner lot that had been vacant for two years. He would really like to sell this piece of trash land, but he would also like to sell one of the more costly pieces of land to earn even more money.
He finally named a price, and Lord Theodore nodded. Quickly, however, Gereth tried to steer the conversation again.
"But honestly, my lord, I have much better options available. There's a lovely spot just three streets over that would be perfect for—"
"Done. Consider this place bought. I like that it's close to the slums; it's perfect." Theodore nodded once.
Perfect. The man called this perfect.
Gareth's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. "My lord, perhaps you'd like to survey the interior of the property first? Walk the boundaries? Check the foundation stones?"
Theodore was already moving away, gesturing for him to follow.
This was insane. Gareth had sold plenty of questionable properties in his time, but he'd always made sure the buyers knew what they were getting into. Professional courtesy. Plus, angry nobles had a tendency to remember where they'd bought their disasters.
"My lord," he tried one last time, "this land... it truly reeks of peasants. The neighborhood isn't exactly... well, it's not the sort of place where respectable people do business."
That's when Theodore looked at him. Cold, steady, and utterly unreadable eyes bore into him.
"I... that is..." Gareth swallowed hard. "Of course, if this is what you prefer, my lord. The land is yours."
He'd definitely said something wrong. But what? All he'd done was point out the obvious problems with the property. Any reasonable person would want to know about flooding and rat infestations and the general aura of failure that clung to the place like smoke.
He accepted the deed and gave the money to Gereth after one of Lord Theodore's servants brought it to him.
"Pleasure doing business," Gareth managed.
Theodore nodded curtly and walked away.
Watching the lord's leaving figure, Gareth stood there for a long moment, attempting to make sense of what hell had just happened. Then he shrugged. Sometimes, wealthy folks made strange decisions.
Still. Building something in that location? Gareth gave it three months before Theodore cut his losses and tried to sell it back. Poor bastard had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. So he returned to town with light steps and a heavier purse. He bragged in the guild hall that the noble brat would run crying to mother inside a month. The clerks laughed and bought him ale. Gareth drank and pictured Theodore drowning in his own swamp.
***
Three days later, Gareth was walking past the property on his way to meet a client when he stopped dead in his tracks.
There were people working on the land. Actual workers with tools, and they weren't just poking around the edges or making token efforts at cleanup. They were digging big, systematic trenches that made it look like they actually knew what they were doing. One crew was working on what appeared to be a drainage system. Another was hauling away cartloads of debris and what might charitably be called soil.
Gareth approached one of the workers. "What's going on here?"
The man wiped sweat from his forehead and gestured toward the trenches. "Drainage, mostly. Lord Theodore wants proper runoff before we start the foundation work."
"Foundation for what?"
"Bathhouse."
A bathhouse?
In this neighborhood?
In this exact spot?
He almost laughed.
Gareth stared at the organized chaos of the construction site. A bathhouse. In this neighborhood?
That was a terrible fucking idea in this location.
In and of itself, the concept of a public bathhouse was brilliant. If public baths were located in the affluent areas, they could perform quite well. Reasonably priced, clean water, and perhaps a few basic conveniences. Even in the less expensive areas, people had to wash and relax.
But still. The location was absolutely garbage, and everyone knew it.
"Think it'll work?" Gareth asked.
The worker shrugged. "Lord Theodore seems to know what he's doing. Pays well, too. Better than most jobs I've had."
Gareth nearly snorted. After a few more minutes of seeing them at work, he moved on. Maybe rich nobles really were just that divorced from reality. Gareth called it lunacy and walked away.
At the tavern that night he mocked the idea. The regulars cheered him on because they liked cheap jokes about nobles.
***
"You sold Lord Theodore that slum plot, didn't you?"
"I did," Gareth said, "and I'm busy."
"I need a private chamber."
"A what?"
"In the bathhouse. Private chambers, Gereth! With hot water and soap and... I don't know, fancy things. My wife's been talking about it nonstop since she heard, she won't shut up about it."
Gareth frowned. "How does she even know?"
"Lord Theodore's been hiring local women to help with the design. Asking about what comforts they'd want, what would make them feel comfortable. He promised locks on the doors and seats that stay warm and more."
"So you want me to beg for a room before the place even opens? What's he charging for these private chambers anyway?"
"Don't know yet. But my wife says she'd pay extra for hot water and real privacy. No sharing space with strangers, no waiting in line..." his cousin grinned. "I told her I'd see what I could arrange."
"With me?"
"You sold him the land. Figured you might have some pull."
Gareth snorted. "I sold him some aurums worth of muddy ground. That doesn't make us business partners. Stop yapping and march there yourself," Gareth snapped. "Ask him, pay him, bribe him—I don't care—just leave me out of your bathwater fantasies."
"You sound jealous, cousin."
"Jealous? I pity him. He burns coin to warm puddles, why would I be jealous?"
***
Two weeks later, the changes were impossible to ignore.
Once a muddy eyesore, the area was now a well-laid-out building site that looked nearly finished. What? How? How had he done it so fast?
During his lunch break, Gareth strolled around the project's perimeter in search of any clear problems.
Instead, he found a site supervisor was describing pipe layouts to a group of curious locals.
"Hot water comes through this line here. Cold water through this one. They mix at the control point, so you get exactly the temperature you want."
"How hot?" asked a woman.
"Hot enough for a proper soak. Cool enough that you won't get scalded. Lord Theodore's been very specific about safety."
"And it's really going to be ready in two weeks?"
"That's the plan. Interior work's nearly finished. Just need to test the water systems and add the final touches."
Gareth drifted closer, trying to look casual. It had a strong base. The building work was expertly done and spotless. Regardless of the amount Theodore was paying these individuals, it was sufficient to obtain genuine craftsmanship rather than the typical sloppiness he had observed too many times.
Still. A bathhouse. In this neighborhood.
Who was going to pay good money just to sit in water? Especially in the same place as the peasants?
Sure, his cousin and his wife were interested. But cousin had always been the type to waste money on unnecessary luxuries, he’d even invested in this whole farce.
A week passed. Gareth inspected the site again. Steam rose from copper pipes as engineers tested a boiler. The neighborhood children squealed when warm mist drifted over the fence, and their mothers pressed closer to the gate. Gareth barked that the air smelled like scorched coin, yet nobody answered, so he headed back to his office and made a mental note to check in on the project again soon. Surely, the initial excitement would have worn off, and they'd see how many customers were actually willing to pay for fancy baths.
He was willing to bet it wouldn't be nearly as many as Theodore was expecting.
***
Three days before the scheduled opening, Gareth found himself walking past the property again. Just curiosity, really. Wanted to see how the whole thing looked when it was finished.
He stopped dead when he saw the line.
It was not a long line. Eight or nine people, perhaps. However, they were in a neat line outside the bathhouse entrance, conversing in private and occasionally looking through the windows at whatever was going on inside.
"What's this about?" Gareth asked the woman at the back of the line.
"Advance bookings," she said without taking her eyes off the building. "They're taking reservations for the first week. I want to make sure I get a spot."
"For a bath?"
She gave him a look like he'd asked why she wanted to breathe.
"Think it's worth it?" Gareth asked.
The woman shrugged. "My husband says it's a waste. But my husband thinks anything that costs money is a waste." She glanced at the building again. "I work hard. I deserve nice things sometimes."
He moved to the man in charge. "I need a tour," he said.
The steward shook his head. "Reservations only."
"I sold the land," Gareth snapped.
"Then you have my thanks," he said. "You may bathe after the first month, when the common slots open."
Gareth's cheeks burned. "Common slots? I want a private chamber today!"
"Private chambers are full for six weeks."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Reservations only," the steward said.
"I am Gareth Fallow, holder of the deed until last month, and a [Merchant] of the—"
"And I am Brant, steward of this facility. Reservations only."
Laughter rippled from the queue. Gareth's ears burned. Gareth announced that the bathhouse would fail once curiosity faded. The crowd stared as if he had spat in the soup pot. Two guards guided him away from the gate, and he huffed as he walked away. Behind him, coins clinked as reservations were made. The lanterns brightened. A girl near the door sighed when warm air washed over her face.
Gareth was admittedly jealous. Why had he been such an idiot? He should’ve invested in this like his cousin. Hech, perhaps he would be making that money if he had come up with this idea! He sold a treasure ground for pennies.
He trudged back to the guild, mud splashing his trousers, and the taste in his mouth was not victory.
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Ron Jarrell
The taste in his mouth is sour grapes…
