Chapter 25: Willem's Deadly Battle (Patreon)

Catharina walked through the gardens of her husband’s estate, having just finished one of the many books in the vast library of the Duyn estate. She always felt a little empty and sad when a book was finished, even if the ending was a happy one. She was lost so deep in thought that she almost missed the fact that Willem, too, was walking right in front of her.

At first, her breath caught in her throat, and she made no move to approach. Eventually, she mustered enough courage to call out, “Willem.”

He turned his head upon hearing his voice, and she quickly bridged the distance.

“…Catharina?” he said uncertainly.

Catharina wondered about his tone, but then assumed he was questioning if she actually wanted to talk to him.

“I’m alright,” she said with a smile. “What brought you here?”

“Your mother,” he answered back. “She wanted to spar. I refused. She cried a little.”

Catharina’s eyes widened. “That’s… not what I expected.”

There was a trace of awkwardness in Willem’s posture, like he wanted to leave. Catharina felt it too. What did she even say?

“Shall we walk together?” Catharina dared to ask.

“I’m heading back. So… ‘til the gates, sure.” Willem shrugged.

They walked through the gardens in a leisurely stroll. There was really one thing that came to mind as to the subject of Willem. “So… I heard that you had Matriarch Petronella as your date to that event.”

“No. She came as another guest.” Willem shook his head. “I cleared that up. There won’t be any unions of church and commerce.”

“I see.” Catharina glanced at him, but he didn’t look too uncomfortable with this topic of conversation. “Do you have any plans for marriage?”

“I am married,” Willem said. “She’s called the Society of Assured Prosperity. I think you’d like her.”

Catharina let out a short laugh. “Be serious. Does marriage interest you?”

“I can’t devote the time a partner deserves,” Willem said, stopping to admire a dragonfly.

“I didn’t realize you had such gentlemanly ideas,” Catharina said in surprise. “They must be new. I remember… when you slept with Godfried’s fiancée,” she trailed off hesitantly, not wanting to bring up bad memories.

Willem looked at her plainly. “Don’t recall doing that.”

Catharina smiled, getting the message. “You know… I’ve had thoughts about that. Dorothea, she was… well, my lady friends have a term for it. It’s somewhat vulgar, but…” She walked closer, then whispered in his ear, “She was a green tea bitch.”

Willem smiled. “New youthful slang. How quaint. And what does that mean?”

“She acted all dainty and sickly and precious, but she was really awful,” Catharina insisted. “She took the dress that father had ordered for me even though it didn’t fit her, and she would always try and make me look bad in front of my friends for no reason. So… I think you honestly did Godfried a favor.”

Willem laughed and resumed walking. “Try and convince a man that you did him a favor by cheating with his fiancée. Tell me how that goes.”

“Well, Godfried was head over heels with her. He is still is, actually!” Catharina complained, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Hopefully he’ll see the truth someday.”

“He’ll learn. Some people have to do it the hard way.”

“Maybe that’s true.” Catharina sighed. “I’d like us to be a proper family someday. Mother and father were never normal, but… they didn’t hate each other, once. If we could go back to that… I just think it would be really nice.”

Willem went silent as they continued down the garden. They neared the gate leaving the count’s estate, and Catharina felt briefly disappointed. Willem had changed a great deal—she wanted to talk to him more.

“If someone cuts out your eye, I think that’s good justification for divorce,” Willem said.

Catharina paused. “What are you talking about?”

“Viviene’s eye,” Willem said, pointing. “Tielman did that.”

“What?!” Catharina said in shock. “How do you know?”

“She just told me,” Willem gestured.

As Catharina’s brain retreated into itself upon this news, the gates to the count’s estate opened for someone’s passing. Catharina turned her head, speechless. An unfamiliar, sharp-looking man walked through the gates, but his eyes froze upon Willem.

***

Gustav’s eyes wandered the count’s estate as the gate opened for his coming. He didn’t expect much from this, but he had to at least check and be 100% sure that the count wouldn’t uphold the Soaper’s Guild’s monopoly charter. He gave a nod to the soldier that’d opened the door, and made to proceed until his eyes landed upon someone.

Willem van Brugh stood right beside the countess, Catharina. Their gazes met, and Gustav felt the cold air on his skin more intensely than ever before, as though Willem had brought it from the north. Gustav took a deep breath, letting the chill seep into his lungs, and then stepped forward boldly.

“Young lord Willem,” Gustav greeted evenly.

 Willem studied him. “Just Willem. Who are you?”

“Gustav, Guildmaster of the Soaper’s Guild,” he responded, watching Willem’s face.

Willem smiled broadly, a glint in those icy eyes of his. “Ah… it’s you.”

Silence settled in between the two of them. Meanwhile, Countess Catharina touched Willem’s arm, mumbling something and then walking away. He was worried he had been rude, but he was too caught up in this meeting.

“It looks like you’re one step ahead of me,” Gustav said. He assumed Willem was here to quash his proposal to appeal to the Soaper’s Guild monopoly.

“One?” Willem raised a brow. “If we’re racing… I’m about to lap you.”

Gustav shook his head. “I can count on one hand the number of guilds that actually failed in the past hundred years. Even if you manage to replace the soapers, all you’ll do is unite the other guilds against you. All of your business is going to grind to a halt. That’s why I wanted to tell you that it’s in our best interest to settle this dispute, here and now.”

Willem smiled, not revealing anything. “Society of Assured Prosperity. You know… you can shorten it to SOAP. Isn’t that interesting? It’s like fate.”

For a moment, Gustav didn’t know what to say to that. The implication set in quickly enough—that, from the very beginning, Willem had been planning the attack on the Soapers Guild. That level of vision, of foresight…

It’s a coincidence, Gustav insisted in his head. It has to be.

“The same lumberjacks that supply the shipwrights in Gent also supply the majority of the potash that you use to make soap,” Willem continued. “The primary customers of these shipwrights are all in my SOAP.”

Gustav narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have the clout to influence the shipwrights yet.”

“I won’t have to,” Willem said. “People act according to their interests.”

“This doesn’t need to get dirty for either of us,” Gustav pointed out. “We could collaborate.”

“Doesn’t need to get dirty? You’re right.” Willem smiled. “We’re fighting over soap, after all. One of us is going to walk away clean.”

A soap pun? Gusta’s competitiveness flared. I’ve been training my soap puns on my wife for twenty years. This newcomer won’t stand a chance.

“We’ve been lathering our business for centuries,” Gustav said—a decisive, well-practiced opener. “You? You’re like a bunch of bubbles with no substance.”

Willem grinned widely enough to show his canines. “I’m not blowing bubbles, Gustav. I think you’ll find things are very quickly slipping out of your control.”

Gustav’s face grew serious at the respectable parry. “My operation is squeaky clean. You’re still wet behind the ears. But go ahead. Let me pop the bubble you’re living in.”

“Please,” Willem stretched out the word with a scoff. “If there’s bubbles here, it’s because I’m positively bubbly about this opportunity. Foam up support all you want—in the end, you’ll just be left high and dry.”

Gustav paled—how could a man who hadn’t brewed even one batch of soap have so many of these prepared? This was no ordinary combatant. This needed to end here and now, or he could face defeat.

“The fact is this,” Gustav said boldly. “We’ve got the perfect formula for success. Don’t be so slick. You may think you’ve got it in the bag, but when it comes to bars, I’m the one who’s going to scrub you out of the picture. This won’t be a clean break.”

Willem didn’t answer back immediately, and Gustav thought victory was close at hand.

“I shine and sparkle like new, true, but I’ve substance to my shine. All you are…” Willem walked closer, and put his hand on Gustav’s shoulder. “…is washed up.”

Gustav closed his eyes as the bitter, soap-like taste of defeat flooded his mouth. Willem van Brugh… a hidden master. He must’ve been training in isolation. As Willem walked past, clenching victory tight in his slick hands, Gustav turned.

“Don’t think this ends here,” he called out. “This won’t be as clean-cut as you want.”

Willem walked backward as he said with his arms outstretched, “Don’t start foaming at the mouth, now. Be patient.”

As Willem left, Gustav finally remembered his surroundings. He saw the eyes of the guard standing by the gate. His gaze was full of contempt and scorn. The mighty Guildmaster of the Soaper’s Guild, brought low by an impudent—

“Sir, if you could please step out of the way of the gate,” the soldier said. “The count doesn’t like it staying open.”

Gustav cleared his throat. “Mmm. Of course.” He fixed his coat, a little embarrassed. “I was just leaving.”

***

Karel strolled through his workshop somewhat eagerly upon hearing that Willem had come to visit. The man was somewhat annoying, but what wasn’t annoying was the sound of gold coins clinking together. From what he heard, the man had seen some success in his business. That might mean some more success for him. He brought along the sword he was forging for Lennard as an excuse, but honestly, he was really eager to see if more money might be flowing his way.

Upon opening the door, he saw Willem looking out through his office window at the back where the ironworks were kept. Willem turned.

“Karel. You came quickly,” he said. “You probably smelled gold.”

“Gold doesn’t smell,” Karel pointed out. “That’s part of the reason you can know. Still, before you get started…” Karel van der Heiden held up Lennard’s sword he’d been working on. It wasn’t especially ornate, but it did look pretty enough. “What do you think of this?”

Willem studied it. “That’s a sword, alright.”

“It’s for your brother,” Karel wobbled it. “Don’t you have any interest?”

“It looks… very metal,” Willem managed. “Very striking. Clear-cut, shall we say.”

“I can see why your father gave up bringing you back into the family.” Karel looked at Willem in disgust, then set the blade down gingerly on a leather hide. “Why are you here? More of those brooches to make? Have you run out of people willing to tolerate your inane babblings?”

Willem shook his head. “I’m going to be buying into a lot of failing businesses in the city. You came to mind.”

Karel frowned. “Here to defecate on my craft some more, then.”

“No.” Willem looked back to the ironworks. “You seem to have experience with a wide variety of different trades. Weaving, woodwork, metalworking, even magic.”

“By necessity,” Karel confirmed. “Why?”

“I don’t really know how to do anything with my hands,” Willem demonstrated, holding them out. “But you do. And you’re money and status obsessed, which I respect.”

Karel crossed his arms. “I have thoughts, but continue.”

“I’m going to attempt to establish a more efficient production process, but I’m not knowledgeable enough to do it on my own. You’ve picked up on it partially, but you haven’t realized the potential.” Willem raised his hands above his head and spread a rainbow as he said, “The production line.”

“Okay…” Karel gestured. “Elaborate.”

“Which do you think would be more time and cost efficient—eight master shipwrights and their teams, or one master shipwright overseeing two hundred men, each individual focusing on only one part of the ship, to combine it at the end?” Willem leaned in to hear the answer.

“I don’t know,” Karel said with a shake of his head.

“Well, I do.” Willem tapped his chest. “I’ll focus on the business. You focus on the technical side, the engineering side. I think it’ll be very rewarding work for the both of us.”

“I’m not sure why I should get involved with you again,” Karel said. “The blade and the brooch was one thing, but taking things further?”

“One thousand gold commission,” Willem said with the eyes of a dead fish.

Karel snapped. “Shall we work out the details now, or should I come to your place tomorrow to work out the details?”

Willem retrieved one of the brooches Karel had forged for the Society of Assured Prosperity. “Come to the monthly meeting of my society.” He held it out. “You don’t have to talk, even. It’s my job to pitch. You just have to nod along and say that it’s feasible.”

Karel waved away the brooch, intent on making his own. “Is it feasible?”

“We lack an easily-available source of energy… or at least, one that I understand,” Willem said. “Without automation, it’s less efficient. Still, it should be. Venice did it with her ships.”

“Who’s Venice?” Karel raised a brow. “A female shipwright? Rather rare.”

Willem smiled. “Just be there, in your best clothes. Bring your wife if you want.”

Karel shifted on his feet. “I’m not sure…”

“It’s free food,” Willem said.

“We’ll be there,” Karel agreed.

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