Chapter 30 In the Study
At the head table the atmosphere did not improve. But at last the time came for Dignity and Reason to go aside to discuss the publishing contract. Lawyer Snare appeared and led them to the study, where several leather chairs had been arranged in a half circle facing the desk. Mammon and Editor Blindazabat followed them in, Mammon leaning on a cane and guiding Blindazabat with a hand on his sleeve. Everyone sat down except the lawyer, who now took one of two documents from the desk top and handed it to Dignity, inviting him to read it through. Without a glance at it, Dignity passed it on to Reason, for he never read anything more challenging than a magazine ad unless he had to, and as he explained, Reason was so good at this sort of thing. While Snare served more wine from a bar built into the wall, Reason immersed herself in the contract.
No need to read every ‘hereby’ and ‘heretofore,’” Mammon said to her after a few minutes. “It’s a sweet deal.”
“I can see that,” she said.
“And you’ll find nothing tricky or confusing,” added Snare, “not even in the fine print. Editor Blindazabat binds himself to put Pride Story in the bookstores within the next year.” He looked to Dignity. “There are a few drawbacks, but only those you’d expect. For you, sir, a perhaps wearying parade of interviews and appearances on radio and television. Add to that the publicity tours, autograph sessions—and eventually you’d have to address the matter of movie rights. It’s not for everyone. Still, the amount of revenue from all sources would spell lifelong security at a very comfortable level. Am I right, Mammon?” The old man agreed as he slobbered his wine. “Of course, I’m ready to answer any questions you may have.”
“No questions, thank you,” Reason said. “Dignity and I just need a moment alone to discuss. No, Mr. Mammon, don’t get up. We’ll just use the hallway if that’s all right. We won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Snare said.
Reason firmly took the glass from her cousin’s hand and, setting it down, began to draw him toward the door. But he pulled away from her, plucking the contract from her hand.
“I know, Reas’, you want to give me another warning lecture, but no need.” He rolled up the contract and waved it at the three men. “We’re not going to do this. We don’t want—well, let me put it another way—at least we won’t accept any contract.” With a gloomy face, he turned back to Reason. “There, that’s done. We can go home now.”
The lawyer did not so much as blink. “We would like to hear your objections,” he said cheerfully as he sat down behind the desk. “If you feel the contract is unfair in any way, then it’s best that Editor Blindazabat and I know.”
Thinking and explaining were not among Dignity’s strengths. Nevertheless, he cut off Reason’s attempted answer. “For me, it’s that I’ve got this history of getting in trouble with the City, and besides, I know Ambassador Grace doesn’t want me to sign.”
“He said that, did he?” Snare asked.
“Well, no, I don’t remember him saying it in so many words, but in general he wants us to steer clear of City ties. Of course, Cross Eyes isn’t officially City, I know; it’s a private business. But the Powers own it.”
“I understand your concern, but Mr. Power doesn’t hold any official position in the City government,” Snare said, “so no City ties exist. Was that your only objection?”
Dignity was annoyed. “No,” he said, again cutting off Reason, “I just know the Heavenly Embassy has been doing things to prevent Reason and me from marketing our book.”
“Have they?” Snare stood. “Are you sure? If you’ve encountered difficulties in publishing a Christian book, isn’t it far more likely that the hindrances are caused by the forces of, um, irreligion? Do you know for a fact that the Embassy doesn’t want it published?”
“No—yes. Look, I know the person they hired, Miss Obscurity. They hired her to stop the deal.”
“And yet she hasn’t stopped the deal,” Snare continued without a pause, “and here you two are, apparently without being forbidden by Ambassador Grace, apparently with his blessing. I don’t doubt that Big ‘O’ Security Systems was hired to delay publication, and that was no doubt for your good. The delay has been good for you. You’ve been taught by it humility and patience, and you know now that certain spiritual values are far more important than seeing a book in print. Now after all your tribulations, Grace has allowed Fate to bring you here, just as you’d expect in the case of the marketing of a fine Christian book. Your message will go out, and you yourselves will be belatedly rewarded.”
“Oh,” Dignity said stupidly.
“If you’re concerned about the connection with the Power family, consider that theirs is the same path that hundreds of other spiritual classics have taken. Bunyan, Milton, Lewis; they all signed—sometimes after the same sort of delays you’ve experienced—and their books mightily served the cause of Heaven. Were they at all soiled by publication? Mr. Dignity, it doesn’t matter who owns the press. Don’t deny the public the value of your book.”
“Well, I—”
“Selfish considerations musn’t guide you. You’re taught to live for others. ‘Give and it shall be given unto you.’”
“No, it isn’t for money,” Dignity said, focusing dizzily on what he guessed was the meaning of Snare’s last sentence. He was feeling rather concussed.
“Don’t knock money,” said Mr. Mammon with a conspiratorial grin. “It can do a lot for you.”
“Exactly,” said Snare. “Remember that the Lord rewards those who trust Him with riches and honor.”
Dignity looked down at Reason, who had stopped trying to get in a word. “I’m sure glad you’re here,” he said with a hint of a quaver. “Go ahead and tell them.”
“Tell them what?” she said, her cheeks pink with emotion.
“You know, whatever answers what they’re saying. Refute them.”
“Why should I?” she said tightly. “Why should I give you any help, you jellified dimwit? If you want the credit for publication to go to Power and not to Grace, then go ahead and sign.”
He bopped her playfully on the shoulder with the rolled up contract. “Ah, but it’s not legal anyway unless we both sign.”
Reason looked darkly at the lawyer. “I think Snare has covered that possibility. I notice another contract on the desk.” She stepped to it and flipped to the last page. “Yes, just as I thought, only your signature is required for this one, Dig’. What does it say here? ‘Rights to the story.’ Get it? Not to the manuscript. They can just have someone else start over and do the writing. Isn’t that it, Lawyer Snare?”
“It might be for the best,” said the lawyer. “We have in mind Scripto Hack, a professional who has ghosted dozens of bestsellers, including Fame Vainglory’s latest. No criticism of your skills is implied, Mrs. Reason, but Hack simply has tremendous experience and credentials.”
“Well, duh, what am I doing here then?” Reason said angrily. “Dig’, I’ll be waiting for you in the hall for—oh—five minutes. But if you sign, just stay in here and I’ll go home by myself. I want nothing more to do with you.”
After she marched out, Dignity looked around at the others with an embarrassed grin. “She doesn’t really mean that. You don’t know her like I do. If I threw myself off a cliff, she’d throw herself after me, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone during the fall.” He looked down at the contract in his hand. “And if I signed this, she’d....”
“I think we’ve about covered everything,” said Snare. “I can only add that the second version of the contract is even more lucrative for you, Mr. Dignity, than the first. Of course, if you were implying just now that your cousin will sign the first contract because you will, then—well, it’s your choice. Which shall it be?”
“None, neither, I already told you that,” Dignity said, backing away. He grinned foolishly and jerked a thumb toward the door. “You would not believe
the trouble I’ve gotten myself in when I’m away from her. It happens every time.”
Snare stiffened. “You’re not leaving?”
“Yes. You see, I’m an idiot.” He waggled five fingers at them. “It’s a wonder I have any left, I’ve burned myself so many times. I’m just sure I was about to do it again, so off I go. Very, very sorry.”
With repeated apologies, he backed out the door and closed it behind him. Immediately, Reason’s face was buried in his jacket front. She was crying.
“Take it easy,” he said to her. “We’re going.”
“OK,” she said with relief. “But just a second, I found someone here.”
She led him a few steps down the dark hallway past a large, glass doored bookcase. Slumped into the corner formed by the side of the case and the wall was a young woman wearing a silky violet gown. It was Lost Innocence.
“Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “I’m hiding from my parents.”