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Today was Montluson’s day. The sky was slightly overcast, clouds obscuring the summer sun and promising a gentle drizzle later. He’d gotten up a bit earlier than his usual time and managed to snag a slice of one of Debord’s famous cakes, and he’d even seen Lady Furina leaving as he did! A quick jaunt over to Café Lutece for the house blend, and then a leisurely half hour to finish off his cake and coffee.
It was a lazy day, but didn’t he deserve this? It’d been years of effort but he’d finally created the most vivid dye possible and figured out how to integrate it into his printing presses. The world was his soon enough. A monopoly on the vividest, brightest colors that’d make each page nearly glow with radiance! He’d gone straight to the Steambird and negotiated a deal for a front page advertisement as soon as he could. Nothing would beat a Steambird news spread with colors that nearly jumped off the page for getting word out.
Those were the thoughts running through his head as a little melusine came up to his table. He’d gotten a second cup and a couple macarons at that point, and offered both to her. She’d declined of course, but thanked him and handed over a written notice requesting him at the Palais Mermonia. Out of the ordinary, but maybe one of the bureaucrats had taken notice of his success and wanted to congratulate him? A fanciful thought, but he supposed more likely he’d be told new rules and regulations and fines would be set up around his dye. A boring endeavor but one he’d gladly sit through for his future successes.
“Effective immediately, all advertisements for your dye must be recalled.”
That was what the little melusine at the desk had said. Not a single hint of guile was in her eyes, and the pressed uniform of a Marechaussee Phantom bureaucrat meant this wasn’t a bad joke. He’d spent an entire week poring over laws and quadruple checking he hadn’t run afoul of anything and somehow messed up still?
“If I may? What exactly is the problem?”
“False advertisement. You made spurious claims about your product.”
It took a while for him to regain his words. False advertisement? Spurious claims? He’d admit he’d used quite grandiose language for his dye, but it was all true! Each and every word he’d penned for that advertisement was checked for authenticity so he wouldn’t run afoul of something like that! Unaware of his thoughts (or perhaps very aware; he’d never been able to tell with melusines) she’d pulled out a copy of the Steambird and continued.
“See, here you claim your dye is an “unprecedented” invented with “unmatched” radiance.”
“But that’s true! No other dye is as vivid as mine, which is both an unprecedented invented and truly unmatched.”
The little melusine nodded. She opened up a drawer and pulled out a folder, opening it to unveil a plain sheet of paper. She slid it over to him as she continued.
“Unfortunately for you Monsieur Montluson, we have a report to the contrary.”
He looked down at the paper. It detailed a Fontainian lady who saw his dye on the Steambird and remarked to a melusine she’d once seen something like it in Natlan. He turned the paper over. A smooth, blank expanse of the slightly off white paper the bureaucrats used stared back at him. He turned it over once more, double checking. The only words on the page were that brief testimony.
“I think there might be a mistake? This isn’t a report. This is a lady mentioning offhand she might have once seen something like my dye elsewhere.”
“No mistake. We have her report that ‘your’ dye has been made before.”
He turned the paper over two more times. Still completely blank on one side, and the incredibly brief ‘report’ on the other. With a tinge of regret he moved on to the next question he had.
“Then, what proof do you have that my dye has been made before? Do you have a sample of the dye?
The little melusine blinked at him before shaking her head.
“Any written records of the dye?”
A second head shake.
“Any proof whatsoever that my dye is not the first of it’s kind?”
A bit of pleading had crept into his tone, but damn it. He had to know. The melusine nodded her head a bit before she started her speech.
“Certainly. We have the fine lady’s word.”
“The lady who visited Natlan once and offhandedly mentioned it?”
“Quite so. She mentioned she’d seen it before.”
“Where did she claim to have seen my dye before?”
“In a scroll of the Masters of the Night-Wind.”
Ah. Had he only found something the people of Natlan had discovered ages ago? He’d spent years figuring out how to make this dye, and how to make it quickly enough at large enough quantities to truly make use of it, and he’d only rediscovered someone else’s work. He had to laugh at his own folly. Still, he might as well finish the questioning while he could.
“Ah. So this dye was also found in all of there scrolls?”
“What? No, of course not. It was seen in one of those scrolls.”
His heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. A piercing pain gouged behind his eyes as he tried to ignore the rising migraine.
“So. The ‘precedent’ is someone who visited Natlan once said she saw a dye like it in one scroll?”
“Glad you are on the same page.”
“She didn’t bring any copies of the dye back? Or any pictures? Just she said it?”
“Exactly.”
“...May I at least know what scroll it was?”
“Ah. It was a scroll showcasing the Battle of the Seven Colors, where a great shaman used that dye to win the battle.”
That was a partial relief at least. He’d only rediscovered something, but at least it had other properties if it had been capable of winning a battle. And if he’d truly been second to the punch, at least there was pride in rediscovering what a great shaman had found rather than a common dyemaker.
“Well. At least I’ve learned a bit if history of this dye, even if I can’t claim it as my own.”
The melusine blinked at him. “History? No, the Battle of the Seven Colors is apocryphal.”
“Apocryphal. As in, my dye’s “precedent” is that a probably fake battle once took place where my dye was used?”
“Mhmm. There’s not much evidence the Battle happened. No battle site was found, not one of her many students learned any technique that could produce dyes, and there’s nothing besides that one scroll mentioning the Battle ever took place.”
“But you are using that lady’s remarks as evidence I lied in my advertisement?
“Yup.”
“The lady who visited Natlan once? Who saw a scroll with a color similar to my dye, detailing a battle that has no battle site, no written records, and no passed down traditions involving my dye? A battle that supposedly took place 200 years ago? That’s the evidence?”
“Glad to be on the same page monsieur.”
He stared at the melusine. She stared back. His entire life’s work being crushed by a bureaucrat because a lady had once visited Natlan and thought two dyes were similar. He wasn’t even sure if the second dye existed. He had his modest income, but he’d spent years figuring out how to create his dye and now would have to recall each newspaper about it. He’d have to spend mora for each one, and issue a correction. No one would trust or believe in his product now.
With a shaking hand he picked up the paper again to look at it. One single Archon damned scroll in Natlan having a dye similar to his had ruined him. He could waste the rest of his money recalling and retracting newspapers, locked to his modest printing business until his ignoble death. Or he could do something bold. Something unprecedented. Something that only a man who had spent several hours finding out his life was bureacratically fucked due to a minor piece of gossip could come up with.
“I’m going to blow up that scroll.”