"If it is in our power to mete out justice, should we not? Oh, the smaller slights we might let slip, for the working of the world all too oft requires such. A father daily commits a dozen small offenses against his children, in their eyes, and so it may be with master and servant, teacher and apprentice. But there are hurts that cannot be salved with a word or a shrug and the knowledge that they lead to our betterment -- the sudden hurts like a cliff in a darkness and the slow ones like the encroaching winter."
Matt feels like it might be best to come at this from a different angle first, however.
"I'm just curious," he says. Each word falls a little staccato.
"What's the justification? Your stance on vengeance I think I get." Though he disagrees, it is clear to him that Prospero operates with a specific set of justifications there. "And I get that having slaves is still a thing for a lot of cultures. But I want to know-- I mean, you're ... really well read, and you clearly don't have hugely political ambitions or you'd have spent a lot more time micromanaging the dukedom. Why the collar?"
Prospero blinks at him, and then laughs, drily and without a great deal of humor.
"That bothers you? 'Tis naught, Master Jamison, no more than Ariel himself: a thing of air and little more. When our agreement was made, when he bound his will to mine, then the collar took shape. 'Twas none of my doing. In truth, I think it to be Ariel's. It is an outward symbol of our bargain, the accidents of the spell. It only has such substance as he gives it."
He strokes a finger down the polished wood of his staff.
"How would you have framed this bargain, sir? I find that I too am curious."
"His previous mistress was a witch that he refused to serve, and in anger she pegged him within a cloven pine. Mayhap her intent was to one day set him free, but I doubt it myself; Sycorax was never spoken of as merciful. She died ere she could release the spirit, and there Ariel remained, imprisoned, tormented, as near despair as any of his kind may be, I'll warrant -- for a dozen years. On landing on the isle I heard his groans, and coming then into my power as I did tell you, I loosed him from his hell."
"If it is in our power to mete out justice, should we not? Oh, the smaller slights we might let slip, for the working of the world all too oft requires such. A father daily commits a dozen small offenses against his children, in their eyes, and so it may be with master and servant, teacher and apprentice. But there are hurts that cannot be salved with a word or a shrug and the knowledge that they lead to our betterment -- the sudden hurts like a cliff in a darkness and the slow ones like the encroaching winter."
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"And the hurts that leave scars ..."
He can make ironical references too.
"Those are of the wintry variety?"
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He gives Matt a sidelong look.
"Aye, mayhap."
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"Is that why you've gotten Ariel involved?" he said.
"To ... stave off the hurt? Or get yours, or keep the cold out, or whatever?"
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Prospero is rarely surprised, these days, but that -- that is a surprise.
"Involved?" he repeats. "Pray, Master Jamison, what do you think I have involved Ariel in? And what business may it be of yours?"
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"Well from where I'm sitting it sounds like a lengthy period of indentured servitude," he says.
"It's ... not my business any more than anything else is, but I have to admit I was interested in hearing your thoughts."
And given how they now apparently clash on the topic of justice, he's betting those thoughts will be scintillating.
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"A time of service it is, surely -- one he freely entered into, out of gratitude, and the terms of which he agreed to willingly enough."
He reaches out to steady his staff with one hand.
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"I'm not saying there was anything wrong with the contract."
Matt looks pretty dry, even though he's wondering if there's about to be a rumble. He did not come prepared for a rumble.
"I'm sure it's soundly designed, or it wouldn't hold."
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"Soundly designed, but not to your liking?"
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And not to Ariel's, which is the point, he wants to add, but doesn't because he allllready feels like he's overstepping.
He's not about to stop stepping, but at least he won't put too many words in Ariel's mouth.
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"And I ask again, sir: what business is it of yours?"
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Matt feels like it might be best to come at this from a different angle first, however.
"I'm just curious," he says. Each word falls a little staccato.
"What's the justification? Your stance on vengeance I think I get." Though he disagrees, it is clear to him that Prospero operates with a specific set of justifications there. "And I get that having slaves is still a thing for a lot of cultures. But I want to know-- I mean, you're ... really well read, and you clearly don't have hugely political ambitions or you'd have spent a lot more time micromanaging the dukedom. Why the collar?"
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Prospero blinks at him, and then laughs, drily and without a great deal of humor.
"That bothers you? 'Tis naught, Master Jamison, no more than Ariel himself: a thing of air and little more. When our agreement was made, when he bound his will to mine, then the collar took shape. 'Twas none of my doing. In truth, I think it to be Ariel's. It is an outward symbol of our bargain, the accidents of the spell. It only has such substance as he gives it."
He strokes a finger down the polished wood of his staff.
"How would you have framed this bargain, sir? I find that I too am curious."
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It's been over a year, and it was only a month and change, and at that phrasing Matt still needs a second to breathe.
So what about those hurts that leave scars?
"You know, I've heard that argument before," he says, quietly but quite politely.
"And I find it a little bankrupt."
A pause. He doesn't look away.
"But bargains, right. Refresh my memory, what's the situation? I guess I could go off Ariel, but I wouldn't be getting both viewpoints that way."
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"His previous mistress was a witch that he refused to serve, and in anger she pegged him within a cloven pine. Mayhap her intent was to one day set him free, but I doubt it myself; Sycorax was never spoken of as merciful. She died ere she could release the spirit, and there Ariel remained, imprisoned, tormented, as near despair as any of his kind may be, I'll warrant -- for a dozen years. On landing on the isle I heard his groans, and coming then into my power as I did tell you, I loosed him from his hell."
Dry: "Was this ill-done, sir?"
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"That wasn't. I don't think."
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