The Retired Abyss Innkeeper-Chapter 51: These Are Fine Chairs. I Have Opinions About This

Chapter 51: These Are Fine Chairs. I Have Opinions About This

The room went silent.

Not complete silence. Just the sort of pause you get when people stop what they’re doing and look up, but haven’t quite decided what happens next.

The guild representative had frozen halfway through a sentence. Two council members were staring at the new arrival. Brenne had turned fully around in her chair. Vassara, over by the hearth, hadn’t moved at all. Only her eyes had squinted.

Renner already had his pen out.

I counted.

Him. The four behind him.

Five.

I wrote the number on the board.

"I want to address the chair concern," I said, "because I’ve put a considerable amount of thought into these chairs. And I think there may be some missing information in the current assessment."

He looked at me.

"They are shoddy," he said with certainty.

"The back height on these chairs," I said, "came from two rounds of testing."

I held up a finger.

"The first prototype had the back four inches higher. It worked fine if you sat all the way back. But if you leaned forward, which most people in this room have been doing for most of the day, you had to turn your head at an angle."

I paused.

"It becomes a real problem around the twenty-minute mark."

Another pause.

"Not immediately. Around twenty minutes."

I knew that because I’d timed it.

"The second prototype had the back lower. That solved the forward-sitting problem and created a different one. There was nothing useful to lean against during longer sessions."

I gestured at the chair.

"The current height works for both situations. I tested it across eighteen people, two versions, before committing."

"The back is still poorly designed," he said.

Then he added, "The seat is also crude."

"The seat went through three iterations," I said.

"My supplier at the time had opinions about chair seats. His opinions were genuinely wrong."

I’d had to explain why they were wrong before he’d agree to make what I was asking for.

"The seat depth responds to a specific brief," I continued. "Common room chair. Not dining chair. Not reception chair."

Three different use cases. Three different seat depths.

"He understood once I walked him through it. Then he made what I asked for."

I rested a hand on the nearest chair.

"The seats have been in daily use for many years. Not once have they been the issue."

Four seconds passed.

"Wrong," said the heavy one.

It shifted slightly forward. Then stopped.

"Incorrect seat," said the grey-green one.

"The seat is poorly conceived," said the one with the bundle. It still hadn’t looked up from the bundle.

The fourth one continued to glow its edges a little.

The guest studied the nearest chair.

"The structural integrity," he said, "of this chair is insufficient for extended use."

"The stretcher," I said, "is cut from timber I sourced as part of a lot about dozens of years ago."

I leaned back against the counter.

"The grove it came from had already been cleared by then."

It had apparently was from an immense tree. There was a whole civilization built around it. That civilization has since been gone.

"The timber came to me secondhand through a supplier."

He’d mentioned, while explaining why the price was what it was, that the grove had been standing since before anyone in the region had settled on a word for how old something could be.

I picked up the cloth from the counter.

"He said that like it was a selling point."

I hadn’t been especially interested in that part.

"I told him I needed measurements and grain information."

Because I was buying timber for a chair stretcher. And what I needed was for the stretcher not to fail under daily use by a varied guest population.

"He was somewhat deflated by that." I folded the cloth, "The grain on that timber runs tight enough that the stretcher hasn’t needed replacing in thirty years."

I had spare stock from the same lot.

"When that stock runs out, there’s no more of it. The grove is gone." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

I’d been careful with the spares.

He went still. A different kind of still than before.

"Those trees," he said.

His voice had shifted register.

"The supplier described them as very old," I said.

He’d actually been quite detailed about it.

"I mostly let him finish. Then I confirmed the dimensions."

Four seconds.

"Old trees," said the heavy one.

Which, to be fair, was the most accurate thing it had said so far.

"Trees of significant prior existence," said the grey-green one.

"Trees of considerable historical standing," said the one with the bundle.

Still not quite right. But closer.

The fourth said nothing. Something in its trailing edges redistributed.

He looked at the chair again. Specifically the stretcher.

The low horizontal bar between the front legs. Worn smooth from years of feet and movement. The grain still visible, dense, carrying that quality you get when something has taken a very long time to become what it is.

Then he looked at me.

"I," he started.

Across the room, the guild representative had stopped arguing. Now he was just watching.

Renner had written several lines.

I caught a glimpse of the notebook as he shifted. He’d written down the stretcher detail. The grove. The garrison. The supplier’s comment.

That was going into the record.

I noted that and moved on.

He tried starting again. Twice. Neither attempt went anywhere.

"The back height—" he said.

"I explained the back height," I said.

"Two prototypes. Tested across eighteen people. The current height came out of that process."

I gave him a polite nod.

"I can walk through it again if you’d like."

Then I shrugged slightly.

"But the short version is that the process produced the correct answer. And the chairs have been in use for years without the back height being raised as a concern."

Four seconds after he spoke, the heavy one said, "Someone should have raised it."

Not quite what he’d said.

"The back height is a concern," said the grey-green one.

"The back height merits further consideration," said the one with the bundle.

The fourth was still quiet.

He looked at the chair again. Then the stretcher. Then me.

From the hearth end, Vassara was watching. Her amber eyes had been on this the whole time.

Brenne had turned completely around in her chair.

He settled slightly.

"I," he said.

A pause.

"I am Arveth."

He said the name with authority. That part held.

"The Unmoved."

Still there.

"Keeper of the Antecedent Record."

Slight decrease.

"Sovereign of the Deep Territories."

His voice had started in one register and ended in a somewhat lower one.

"Right," I said.

I wrote it down in the guest ledger. Name and titles in full. Guest column. Entry dated and timed.

"The broth’s been ready for a few minutes," I said, "I made an announcement earlier. I wasn’t sure it carried to your end of the room."

I gave a small nod toward the kitchen.

"It’s worth having if you’d like some."

Then I looked at the four behind him.

"I’ll need to know whether your colleagues eat," I added.

I preferred not to assume.

It saved trouble later.

[SYSTEM LOG]

New guest entry confirmed.

Arveth. The Unmoved. Keeper of the Antecedent Record. Sovereign of the Deep Territories. Classification: Abyss-adjacent sovereign, negative aura, active. Prior entry updated from pending.

Accompanying entities: four. Classification entries opened. Pending individual assessment.