4th Summer, 516AV.
“Negotiation is the art of compromise.”
Ever the dutiful student, Tavia wrote this down.
“This is done to avoid further conflict between two or more rival parties.”
Another scratching of her quill, another crisply written note.
“Of course, in reality negotiation is far less formal than this uptight definition. We have all negotiated at some point in our lives, but most likely when we’ve purchased something and that pig of a salesman is trying to charge us too much.”
Tavia was so busy writing down notes, that she missed the smattering of laughter that rippled through her classmates. For the first time, she looked up from her papers and inspected her peer group. They were a mixed bunch: there was a real variety in age, an even spread of the sexes and an eclectic mix of wealth. The class size was also significantly bigger than her politics class. Though this was hardly surprising: negotiation was a useable skill that applied to several crafts. Politics was a thing that barely interested the average man or woman in Zeltiva.
“Most of you, as I understand it, will be using the skills you learn here on your trade. Please, raise your hand if you’re a merchant.”
Thirty of the forty hands rose quickly in the air. Immediately the students began comparing their businesses in casual competition:
“Baker, you?”
“Blacksmith.”
“Dog trainer.”
“A fisherman you say? I’m a courier myself.”
Tavia kept her hands on the table and her lips sealed.
Their teacher nodded serenely, waited for silence to reign over the room once again, and then continued: “I am a trader myself. Or rather, I used to be. I trained as a cobbler as a boy, from my father’s own business. Eventually, we became quite successful and he decided to extend our business, to open another shop in the city. West Street, in fact.” He paused comically to allow for a spatter of impressed oohs and aahs from his fellow tradesmen and women. “But when it came to employing the good folk of Zeltiva, I realised that the average man and woman, those who had not grown up with a family business, had no clue how to negotiate with customers. That’s not to say they were rude, of course. But their customer service and ability to deal with clients was… less than impressive.
“So I began to give classes to my employees about how to negotiate and deal with customers. Fast forward fifteen years, and here I am. The cobbler business is still going strong, ran now by my daughter and her husband.
“Now I warn you. I am no scholar. To me, negotiation is not a thing you can learn by taking notes and studying them—”
Tavia, feeling she was being watched, looked up from her continuous note taking. Her cheeks flushed, and she slowly set the quill down. No sooner had it touched the table, though, did her fingers began to twitch. There was no doubt that her teacher knew what he was talking about of course, but to Tavia learning was all about taking notes and studying them afterwards. Not for the first time since she sat down in this classroom, she felt anxious about learning such a non-academic skill.
The teacher smiled kindly to Tavia, recognising the discomfort of a scholar in a room filled with practical types. “Don’t worry,” he said gently, “it’s a different style of learning but it really will be worth it at the end of the season, I promise. And there will be some writing in this course, I assure you.”
With that, he moved to the next part of the lesson. “The first thing to do when negotiating is to recognise what your partner – or rival – wants. This is crucial, and though it sounds simple, it’s all too easy for a discussion to twist away from the original point. In trades such as cobbling, you don’t want to be discussing the price of a pair of boots, but end up arguing over the meaning of life.”
“Negotiation is the art of compromise.”
Ever the dutiful student, Tavia wrote this down.
“This is done to avoid further conflict between two or more rival parties.”
Another scratching of her quill, another crisply written note.
“Of course, in reality negotiation is far less formal than this uptight definition. We have all negotiated at some point in our lives, but most likely when we’ve purchased something and that pig of a salesman is trying to charge us too much.”
Tavia was so busy writing down notes, that she missed the smattering of laughter that rippled through her classmates. For the first time, she looked up from her papers and inspected her peer group. They were a mixed bunch: there was a real variety in age, an even spread of the sexes and an eclectic mix of wealth. The class size was also significantly bigger than her politics class. Though this was hardly surprising: negotiation was a useable skill that applied to several crafts. Politics was a thing that barely interested the average man or woman in Zeltiva.
“Most of you, as I understand it, will be using the skills you learn here on your trade. Please, raise your hand if you’re a merchant.”
Thirty of the forty hands rose quickly in the air. Immediately the students began comparing their businesses in casual competition:
“Baker, you?”
“Blacksmith.”
“Dog trainer.”
“A fisherman you say? I’m a courier myself.”
Tavia kept her hands on the table and her lips sealed.
Their teacher nodded serenely, waited for silence to reign over the room once again, and then continued: “I am a trader myself. Or rather, I used to be. I trained as a cobbler as a boy, from my father’s own business. Eventually, we became quite successful and he decided to extend our business, to open another shop in the city. West Street, in fact.” He paused comically to allow for a spatter of impressed oohs and aahs from his fellow tradesmen and women. “But when it came to employing the good folk of Zeltiva, I realised that the average man and woman, those who had not grown up with a family business, had no clue how to negotiate with customers. That’s not to say they were rude, of course. But their customer service and ability to deal with clients was… less than impressive.
“So I began to give classes to my employees about how to negotiate and deal with customers. Fast forward fifteen years, and here I am. The cobbler business is still going strong, ran now by my daughter and her husband.
“Now I warn you. I am no scholar. To me, negotiation is not a thing you can learn by taking notes and studying them—”
Tavia, feeling she was being watched, looked up from her continuous note taking. Her cheeks flushed, and she slowly set the quill down. No sooner had it touched the table, though, did her fingers began to twitch. There was no doubt that her teacher knew what he was talking about of course, but to Tavia learning was all about taking notes and studying them afterwards. Not for the first time since she sat down in this classroom, she felt anxious about learning such a non-academic skill.
The teacher smiled kindly to Tavia, recognising the discomfort of a scholar in a room filled with practical types. “Don’t worry,” he said gently, “it’s a different style of learning but it really will be worth it at the end of the season, I promise. And there will be some writing in this course, I assure you.”
With that, he moved to the next part of the lesson. “The first thing to do when negotiating is to recognise what your partner – or rival – wants. This is crucial, and though it sounds simple, it’s all too easy for a discussion to twist away from the original point. In trades such as cobbling, you don’t want to be discussing the price of a pair of boots, but end up arguing over the meaning of life.”
