Clubs and Societies
A city where everybody is watched all day produces a strong appetite for rooms where they are not. What a city does about it depends on how big it is and how much of its social life it has had to arrange rather than inherit.
Two kinds of room
A guild hall is where a trade meets. Membership follows the border, so a guildwoman sits in her hall because she is in the guild, and business is done there — contracts, apprentices, standards, disputes, the price of things. A Grycha is a club, and has nothing to do with anybody's trade: a closed room kept for its members, entered by invitation and paid for by subscription, and what qualifies a person is being somebody the members want to see. Because business happens at the guild, being outside a Grycha costs nobody a contract. What it costs is the company.
Men's and women's
A Clurfaem is a club of one sex, and both kinds are equally common. Nothing bars anyone from a guild hall and nothing obliges a private society to admit anybody, which the world does not find contradictory. Men complain about their work, their wives, their guild, and their debts; women complain about their work, their husbands, their households, and their debts; either would be bored stiff in the other's room. A great deal that matters still happens in them without any of it being business — marriages discussed before anybody proposes, a young man's character settled among people who will later decide whether to trust him, a reputation made or quietly dismantled between the second and third drink.
By city
Shining Reach arranges its social life, and its Grycha are the most elaborate in the world: a subscription, a building, rooms chosen for who else will be in them, a committee, and somebody at the door whose whole trade is knowing who is a member. Forgegate has them and takes them less seriously; a Forgegate man will tell you the guild hall is the room that matters. Clearhold has few and keeps them quiet, since standing there comes from an examination result and a club can offer company and nothing else. Eldershore has almost none and does not miss them: a lineage hall is home, shrine, office, and social space at once, and an Eldershore visitor to Shining Reach finds paying a subscription to sit with people you are not related to faintly absurd. Stormharbor inherits its social life and has no clubs at all — a man drinks where his father drank, with the same men, on the same nights, and a newcomer takes years to stop being new. The Iron Coves have whichever tavern a crew drinks in, and a captain who controls an important tavern has more influence than any office could give him.
The Therplae table
Most people belong to no club and are not short of company. A Therplae has regulars, and a regular has sat at the same table on the same nights for twenty years; there is no subscription and no door, and the table is nevertheless as closed a company as any Grycha. A stranger who sat at it would be served, talked to, and not asked back. Working women have the same thing in other places: the laundry house, the washing place, a neighbor's kitchen on a fixed evening, a stall where four women have talked every morning for a decade.
Societies
Beyond the clubs are the societies, which exist to do something rather than to be somewhere. Reading societies buy books together, because a book is dear and twenty people can afford forty. Musical societies put on what they can. Breeders' and keepers' societies — Vaelith bloodlines, Vennek clans, Nywich keeping, Broek routes, the finest Gyrska — keep records, hold shows, award nothing of any value, and argue about judging for decades. Collectors collect coins, records, catalogs from famous auctions, and Vessa varieties, and a collector with forty years of careful records has sometimes been more use to natural philosophy than the philosopher who asked him. The Hearth Keeper's Guild is not a club and is often mistaken for one.
Slaves
A slave belongs to nothing and attends a Grycha only as her owner's attendant. What she has instead is the company of other households' slaves — the back gate, the market, the ice cart, the laundry house, the kitchen next door — a real society nobody arranged, in which slaves of neighboring households know each other's owners better than the owners would like. In a large household the slaves' hall does the rest, and a senpei presides over it whether or not anybody has said so.