Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency 1, page 11
part #1 of Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency Series
Tielman glanced at the vacant seat beside his son. “Dowager Countess Anne Claire is coming, I presume?”
“Her? No, she was busy.” Willem shook his head, then pointed. “That’s Dirk’s seat.”
“Who’s Dirk?” Godfried asked.
“Short guy right there is Dirk.” Willem grasped the lobster with his bare hands, gesturing with a pinky toward the man serving food. “Come on, Dirk. Job’s done. Sit, enjoy.”
Dirk glanced between all the young lords and the baron, clearly feeling a great degree of trepidation at the prospect of sharing a table with them all. “Maybe I should let you speak alone.”
“Nah, I trust you.” Willem tore the shellfish apart with his hands. When Dirk still hesitated, he said, “It’s fine. Sit.”
Dirk uneasily pulled back the chair and sat. He looked like a child amidst all these big men, the effect only made worse by his shrinking posture. He stared at his food, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“How was the trip?” Willem asked.
“Do you care?” Godfried cut in.
Willem broke the lobster apart, unbothered. “Not really, but it’s polite to ask.”
“I’m well again,” Tielman said in conclusion. “I’d like to ask you to come back to the family, Willem.”
Willem chuckled. “Little hasty. Why not enjoy your food before we bring up business?”
Lennard looked at Willem squarely. “The last time he ate with you ended poorly.”
“Unless you’ve a shellfish allergy, the food’s fine. What, want to trade plates?” Willem pushed his forward.
“It’s fine.” Tielman tore the claws off, cracking the shell with his bare fingers. Willem smiled happily.
Lennard looked at his food uncomfortably. “How do I actually…?”
“It’s a pain to eat, but it’s ridiculously cheap here and it tastes good.” Willem demonstrated extracting the meat from various portions.
For Lennard and Godfried, learning how to deshell and eat a lobster was such an absorbing task that they couldn’t waste any time thinking about why they’d come there. Dirk humbly used a cracker to open the shells, while all the fiercely strong men of House van Brugh just used their hands and knuckles. The oddly satisfying sounds of cracking filled the room. Initially the first-timers of the group seemed hesitant, but eventually they scoured for more meat. Godfried elected not to eat the tomalley, and Willem took it right off his plate without shame.
After about forty-five minutes, everyone was finished. Dirk passed around towels so that everyone could clean up, but as they were, a loud knock echoed in the room.
“Dirk?” Willem looked at him.
“I’ll see who it is,” the man nodded, walking downstairs.
“Never eating this again,” Godfried said, staring at the scattered shells with some discomfort. “Sea-spiders. Disgusting.”
“Good. I don’t want you ignorant people driving up the price. I’ll enjoy it all by myself.” Willem began to take the plates from their tables, moving them away.
“This is common food for slaves in southern Avaria,” Lennard noted. “Right, dad?”
“And soldiers.” He nodded. “In the Grand Crusade, these were all we had, sometimes. They would wash up on the beach in piles. To preserve rations, we’d cook them immediately. They go bad too quickly, otherwise.” Tielman studied a claw moments before Willem took his plate. “This was… interesting. It tastes better than I remember.”
“They’re fresh, that’s why. Even a day dead, they go bad.” Willem set the plates down elsewhere, then turned his head as Dirk came back. The man walked in frenzied steps, then whispered something in Willem’s ear.
“What?” Willem looked perplexed, then looked at Tielman. “Did you have people coming later?”
“We were the only who came.” Tielman shook his head.
“Why? Who’s here?” Godfried leaned in.
Willem moved back to sit at the head of the table. “Your mother, I think.” He looked around. “And Hans, his name was. Right, Dirk?”
The atmosphere of the table, which had calmed somewhat, reassumed much of the tension it had lost in their shared lobster-eating experience.
“Yes, it’s the young lord Hans.” Dirk lowered his head. “Shall I…?”
“Yeah, bring them up.” Willem held out an insistent finger. “But don’t cook anything for them. I don’t want to go to sleep smelling lobster or fish.”
As Dirk walked away, Lennard asked, “Is that all you have?”
Willem nodded. “Somewhat. I’m on a seafood diet. I see food, I eat it.” He laughed to himself. “It’s just cheapest here, that’s all. You’ll get sick if you eat too much.”
The stairs creaked as three people walked up them. Dirk was the first to crest the top, then Hans. The man looked around at everyone here in some alarm. The third to arrive was a dark-haired woman with a long and elegant ponytail. She wore a riding outfit and a cloak, the colors of which matched her green eye. Indeed, eye—a white mask with elegant gold flourishes and a mock eye covered the upper right quarter of her face. An emerald-studded rapier hung from her waist, and her gloved hand hovered near it as she looked around. In time, her gaze settled upon Willem.
“You’re too late for food, I’m afraid,” Willem said decisively, taking command of the room. “Come on, sit. Tielman was just about to ask me to do something stupid, and I was about to refuse him.”
Viviene Dubois walked in with elegant, soundless steps, then said with a melodic, flowing accent, “You contradict yourself, Willem. No food? That sounds like wonderful fare to me.”
Chapter 15
Willem picked his teeth with lobster legs as Dirk procured some chairs for the newly-arrived. He’d spent a great deal of effort creating a pleasant atmosphere for negotiations, but it seemed this unexpected arrival had somewhat chilled it. Still, it might play to his advantage to have both of Willem van Brugh’s parents present.
But these weren’t his parents. He’d never lie for convenience’s sake.
“It would be rude of me to interrupt your conversation,” Viviene said, assuming a dignified pose on her chair. “Please, continue.”
“Why not.” Willem set his lobster leg down. “So, Baron Tielman. Maybe you can help me understand why I’d want to live and die in a cold frontier, killing monsters and people monthly with the prospect of a huge invasion always looming overhead.”
“You’re frightened?” Godfried pressed.
“Of course not.” Willem scoffed. “The word’s too mild. I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Fear can be overcome,” Baron Tielman said. “I can help you.”
“Fear can also be entirely ignored, because it’s miles behind me in the north.” Willem shook his head, then leaned back in his chair. “I like reading numbers and letters. I like learning about how things are priced due to the flow of goods through the region. I like figuring out the profit margins of local industries, and how they can be scaled. I like reading about industries overseas, and wondering if they might be relocated to Gent. I like studying economics, and working out formulas for life insurance. Not much place for that in the frontier.”
Viviene looked amused as she watched Tielman’s hardening expression.
“Given how awful our majordomo is, maybe you could take his job,” suggested Hans. “Do you have any wine, by the way?”
“Two silver a cup,” Willem said.
“…never mind, then.” Hans slumped in his chair. “Pretty funny how you find your love for money after spending it purchasing poison to kill Dad.”
“It’s galling.” Viviene nodded. “I would have provided it for free.”
Hans laughed, but then saw the serious faces of everyone else at the table and trailed off awkwardly.
“How did you have five children if you hate each other so much?” Willem looked between Tielman and Viviene.
“Six,” Viviene sharply corrected.
“Maybe you forgot Suzanne. She is rather forgettable.” Hans tapped the table with a smile.
“Viviene.” Tielman’s firm voice cut across the table. “I asked you to speak to Willem because I thought you would understand that Willem belongs in the family, no matter our differences.”
“I understood that much.” Viviene crossed one leg over the other. “But it’s not why I came. I heard my son was a talented aura user. Here, today, I can feel that to be true. Despite what he claims, one cannot possess fear of battle if they have such an aura.” She looked at Willem. “That’s why I intended to formally invite Willem to join House Dubois.”
Willem kept a poker face, but he was smiling inwardly. A competing offer—one of the largest points of leverage in any negotiation. The others, though, wore their emotions on their faces plainly.
“Mother!” Godfried stood up quickly, shocked and angered. “Him?”
“You would need to learn our language,” Viviene ignored Godfried as she looked at Willem. “But such a thing would only improve your marriage prospects. My home was once the capital of the Kingdom of Valdérie, before these brutish people took it over. There are no invaders, no threats. My people fight as you do, Willem. With intrigue, with clever words that cut deeper than any blade. And we have no disdain for merchantry, unlike these highfalutin beasts.”
“All reasons why they lost,” Tielman said, voice hard. “Viviene… this is serious. The king could get involved if a rift forms in House van Brugh.”
“That would be rather unpleasant. For you, at least.” Viviene smiled. “Much like how losing my eye was unpleasant for me.”
Tielman closed his eyes and went silent alongside the rest of the table. Dirk sat beside Willem in abject fear, his eyes wandering between all these emotionally-charged aura users airing their grievances. Willem felt a bit of a burgeoning headache listening to this family drama, but he tried to keep his focus on what could be very promising.
A bidding war.
The bidding war was a very nuanced art, far more so than most negotiations. He already had something working in his favor—this was an emotional purchase for both parties, and thus they’d be willing to overpay. Honestly, neither offer appealed to him very much, but he had something he actually wanted from the Brughs, so they were presently his favored choice.
That was exactly why he had to make them think they weren’t.
“It’s getting late.” Willem put his hands on the table. “I’ve heard what both of you have to say. I’ll think about it. Viviene.” He focused on her. “Would you like me to prepare a room for you here?”
Viviene smiled like she’d won, but Willem had said nothing of the sort. “Absolutely.”
“Dirk.” Willem looked at his friend. “Could you see everyone else out?”
“Everyone?” Dirk said sheepishly.
“Well, not me. Or Viviene. Or yourself.” Willem shook his head. “They don’t bite. Probably. Don’t bite Dirk,” he ordered all of the Brughs. “He’s somewhat important to me.”
“Willem.” Tielman leaned in. “Please, rec—"
“There’s always tomorrow, baron.” Willem smiled at him. “For now… good eating makes me sleepy.”
“Umm.” Dirk stood up, looking between all of these big men seriously. “My lords, if you’ll just… follow… me?”
There was a great deal of hesitation for all those seated at the table, but a yawn from Willem prompted Baron Tielman to rise to his feet. He gestured toward Dirk, and with his departure, all the other scions of House van Brugh followed shortly after him.
***
Dirk led a convoy of hulking brutes down the stairs of Willem’s home. It sounded like there was a shelf falling down the stairs just behind him, but he managed to not trip, stumble, or otherwise embarrass himself. The total silence was unnerving, but Dirk certainly didn’t want to be the one to break it.
When he arrived at the bottom, he was all too eager to walk to the door and open it up. “I hope you had a pleasant…” Dirk began, but trailed off when he remembered precisely how awful that dinner had been. “Thank you for coming, baron, young lords.”
He hoped for them to leave quickly without a word, but the baron gently removed the door from Dirk’s grip and shut it, staring down at him. Dirk looked up uncertainly at the Shield of the North. The man’s gaze inspired a fear of death, it was said. It could break lesser men.
“How is Willem?” Tielman asked.
Dirk swallowed. “He’s… actually quite well. Quite happy, baron. Dowager Countess Anne Claire has some affection for him. She’s done right by him.”
“I’m aware.” Tielman nodded. “I’ll expect more details in your report tomorrow.”
Dirk furrowed his brow. “Lennard actually transferred my contract to—”
“Lennard didn’t pay for your contract,” the baron interrupted. “I did. It was dictated quite clearly that you were to give reports to me. You bear no fault for not doing so in the past, but I expect it in the future. If not, I believe it well within my right to retract payment.”
Dirk glanced around at Lennard and the others, but it was clear they all deferred to the baron. Dirk gave a quick nod, fearing what might happen if he didn’t.
“We’ll be staying…” Tielman trailed off, then sighed. “…outside the city walls. Probably.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you for taking care of Willem.” The baron opened the door, leaving those words behind.
Once all of them had gone, Dirk waited a long few moments before sliding the lock in place with a heavy sigh. He leaned up against the door, exhausted and conflicted. He hadn’t realized quite how liberal working beneath Willem actually was until he dealt with the rest of the van Brugh family. Perhaps Anne Claire had a point, despising them so.
But the fact stood. Dirk had entered into a contract. That salary was paying for his mother and his siblings back home. And now he’d have to keep good on his word, or risk blowing that all up.
“Damn it all…” Dirk began to laugh at how difficult this all was.
He eventually turned around, looking toward the stairs. He was reminded that one guest had stayed—and considering the woman was from Valdérie, well-known for its luxurious banquets and grandiose halls, he came to peace with the notion that tonight might be entirely sleepless.
***
“That was good fun,” Viviene noted, turning her head away from the stairs. She studied her son. He had grown to look much like her ex-husband did in his youth. He possessed that same confidence Tielman had, too. It had been many years since she’d seen her boy. She remembered him differently. Low cunning and malevolence—neither graceful nor deep-minded. That was Willem before. Now? Now, she couldn’t be sure.
Whatever the case, the change didn’t displease her.
She adjusted the elegant white mask covering her left eye. “It was worth the trip after all,” Viviene continued. “Shall we share a glass of wine, son?”
“Two silver a cup,” repeated Willem.
“Even for your mother?” She raised a brow.
“I don’t have any wine,” Willem admitted. “I’ve just found it’s easy to make people stop asking if you involve money.”
Viviene laughed richly, then focused her one good eye on him. “So… what is this, exactly?”
“Could you be more specific?” Willem asked as Dirk walked back up the stairs.
Her eye went to Dirk. If she knew Tielman well, that servant could well be a spy. She asked a diversionary question instead. “This building. What is it for?”
“The Society of—”
“Yes, I can read,” she interrupted. “What is that?”
“The business I’m starting,” Willem explained, turning his head as Dirk approached.
Viviene gave the servant a pointed look, then another at the door. Fortunately, the young man was smart enough to catch on.
“Going to wash the dishes outside,” Dirk explained quickly, and Willem nodded.
Viviene focused on Dirk, and once he’d left with the plates and closed the door, looked back at Willem. With the servant gone, she voiced her true curiosity. “What I really want to ask is about this situation. Did you poison Tielman? What’re you actually trying to do?”
“Of course I didn’t poison him,” Willem said incredulously. “All of them seem to think I did, except the one whose opinion actually matters.”
“Yet now you have all of them here, practically begging you to rejoin the family.” Viviene narrowed her eye. “And instead of accepting my offer, you invited me to stay, sending them all away. I’m no heiress. Objectively speaking, Tielman would be your better choice.”
Willem studied her—unlike before, he seemed to genuinely pass judgment upon her. Years in the courts as a Dubois had taught her to recognize those eyes. They were discerning eyes—eyes that could assess someone’s value in a glance.
“The worst thing I can credibly be accused of is opportunism.” Willem shook his head.
“Are you trying to get the king involved? Trying to catch his attention?” Viviene pressed.
“Not at all. The tallest tree is the most likely to get struck by lightning. All I want is a little sun.” Willem rose to his feet. “I do wonder if you’re serious about inviting me to the Dubois family, though.”
Her hand went near the elegant white mask on her face, and she readjusted it. “I wonder myself. It was mostly spitting in your father’s eye.” She lowered her hand and shrugged. “But what I said is true. In the courts of the Valdérie, we value diplomats, negotiators, and schemers far more than brute strength. I was educated in stewardship, for example.”
Willem pushed in his chair. “Says the woman with a rapier.”
“Prowess will always have a place in the world,” Viviene answered. “You know that, or else you wouldn’t have mastered aura.”
“Greed can start fights, and it can end them.” Willem sat on the table, looking at her seriously. “I prefer the latter. Still… you know numbers?”
“Was I so invisible to you, Willem, that you don’t know that much? I managed the finances of the biggest barony in the kingdom for twenty-five years. So… yes, you might say I ‘know numbers.’ From what I hear, you ended up taking all of the money I saved up for the baron during my tenure.” She smiled at her son. “You’re welcome.”
