Chapter 56: Mutualism (Patreon)

Under ordinary circumstances, Willem probably wouldn’t have given this Eleanor woman the time of day. But the fact was, if he was going to make something happen with the Dubois family, he needed someone on the inside. He didn’t know much about this woman, but Baptiste had spoken quite highly of her. She didn’t seem to have that diehard loyalty he’d expect from someone trusted, but he intended on probing her to find out.

Fact was, he needed a rat if he was going to hurt Baptiste.

“So, how long has Baptiste had you jumping for his every whim?” Willem asked as they ate lunch in one of the restaurants in the capital. Notably, she was paying—that was one of the only ways that he’d be willing to eat out these days.

“Duke Baptiste has hired me temporarily to aid him with the contest in the capital,” Eleanor explained, eating a hearty meal of bloody red meat. “But I have the recommendations of several noble houses, all of whom I’ve worked alongside at some point. I’ve even received inquiries from the royal palace, but I prefer to have freedom of movement.”

She’s temporary, Willem noted. That’s a good thing, I’m sure. Even despite that, he trusts her. Maybe I should be wary.

“Etiquette in the capital is very much a game of symbolism—smoke and mirrors, if you know the term.” Eleanor looked at him with those sharp green eyes. “For instance… Arend. He’s a persona non grata. It would be in your best interest to sever all ties with the man. It sends the wrong signal, associating with someone exiled.”

Willem entirely ignored her, asking, “What does Baptiste have you do, exactly?” He leaned into the table. “He called you an aide, but right now you’re trying to teach me to tango and which hand to hold my cutlery.”

“Waltz is the common social dance,” Eleanor disagreed. “And only Valdérie cares about cutlery etiquette.”

“So… what are you? Eye candy secretary, teacher, or his aide?”

Eleanor stared at him without saying anything, cutting apart her steak with a measured elegance. Good table manners looked excellent, but to Willem, they all seemed a pointless exercise.

“Arend,” Eleanor repeated, not giving an inch. “He’s the one responsible for some of your troubles in Gent, isn’t he? Why are you wasting your time with him, much less fighting him? From what I know, he wanted a duel with you then. Why indulge him now, after reporting him to the crown?”

Willem was getting a sense of her character. “Seems we’re talking past each other. Let’s change it up, then. Tit-for-tat, this-for-that. Instead of the waltz… let’s do a barter ballet.” He tapped his chest. “I ask a question, and then you ask a question. Both of us have to answer. How’s that? Do you know that dance?”

“Hmm. Very well, I suppose,” Eleanor conceded. “But I’ll answer in metaphor and vagary. You need to learn how the nobles of the capital talk.”

“Fine by me,” Willem said. He preferred direct speech, but having done business long enough, he’d spoken to plenty dithering bastards that refused to commit. CEOs were basically nobility in his day and age. “I’ll be gracious. Ask your question.”

Eleanor pursed her lips, then ate at her steak in silence. When she’d finished chewing, she asked, “Why are you associating with Arend?”

“My brother wants me to help him, and I want a bodyguard,” Willem explained succinctly. “Now… what do you do for Baptiste?”

“I do the things generally expected of a right hand,” Eleanor said. “At Valdérie, Baptiste has built a grand network of roads, toll booths, fortifications, et cetera. Everything that occurs in his territory he’s privy to. The people flow smoothly and quickly, and all are accounted for. But when he ventures to a territory where his infrastructure does not stretch? Uncharted, unclaimed territory?” She gestured to herself. “He needs a local guide. Maps, scouts, knowledge… and so he reached out to us, and my people put forth my name.”

She’s saying that Baptiste doesn’t have connections in the capital… but her organization does, Willem quickly translated in his head. Baptiste talked like a big fish, but he’s outsourcing his political connections in the capital through this woman. Why in the world would he send someone like that to talk to me?

“Now, me,” Eleanor said. “Why are you interested in what I do?”

Willem looked around, and then leaned in. He decided to speak as she had, if only for the fun of it. “A guide can lead someone a variety of different directions. If they’re boring, they lead their client right where they asked. If they’ve got some zest, it might be they can take a slight detour to introduce whoever it is they’re guiding to a friend. Or… they might guide them down the wrong road. That’s why having a good relationship with guides is important. The same principle applies here, between us.”

Eleanor ate her steak in quiet. When she’d finally swallowed, she said, “So… you can speak with finesse.”

“I can finesse with the best.” Willem smiled. “I assume your organization has a pre-existing relationship with Baptiste. Can you explain the balance of power in your organization’s relationship with the duke?”

It was a double-ended question—one, it helped Willem understand how large the organization backing Eleanor was. Two, it highlighted the nature of their cooperation with Baptiste, and let him know if there was room to maneuver.

“Let’s say that you wish to attend a ball, but lack an invitation,” Eleanor said, elegantly sawing through her steak. “You search, then, for a person that does have an invitation, and you ask to attend as their partner. There are plenty of available partners, but Duke Baptiste has proven to bring the most prestige and influence to us. There are no strong personal feelings between such partners of convenience.” She put a juicy cut in her mouth and chewed quietly.

So… it’s a partnership of convenience, Willem realized. Their main interest is the contest, I’m guessing. But they don’t want a candidate—they want someone with political clout. She made certain to note that they weren’t close partners. Given that, I assume they aren’t worried overmuch about losing his favor. It’s just about the balance of power.

“Given what you’ve already said… what’s your proposal regarding Duke Baptiste?” Eleanor leaned in. “Where do you want me to guide him?”

“Slow down. If I’m propositioning someone, I at least like to know where I stand first,” Willem said. “If a guide is already bought and paid for, you have to learn their price before asking any favors of them. You certainly wouldn’t want to plant ideas in their head before mutual trust and interest are established. If I could learn more about your associates, that’d be a different story.” Willem pointed. “Now… if I’m Baptiste, the last thing I’d want is for my guide to be talking to people that I might not be able to trust. Why does he trust you enough to speak with me? Are you relatives?”

“Men have two heads,” Eleanor said. “The thoughts of the one below tend to pollute that of the one above. They tend to think too little of a woman’s ability to remain detached. Men think if they enter a partner’s bed, they’ve entered their partner’s head—but for a woman like myself, that’s never the case.”

Willem laughed, but as he looked at Eleanor his smile died somewhat. Green eyes, black hair, tall, stern… he’d been thinking about who that reminded him of, and the answer was quite obvious. Viviene. Just the thought made his blood boil a little. He’d had that thought about Baptiste in the back of his head, but didn’t have enough confirmation. Her words seemed to be another nudge in that direction.

“And on the topic of men and their two heads… what’s your intention for the contest?” Eleanor asked.

“Consider me the headless horseman.” Willem rubbed his hands together. “The only bed I’m trying to jump into is stuffed with golden coins. I don’t care so much about the contestants or the grand prize so much as I do the spectators. When a lot of eyes turn toward you, a lot of people forsake that opportunity. I’ll seek some attention, sure, but… I’m not playing the role of Prince Charming. I’d much prefer to be the people’s champ. Prince Charming gets roses thrown at him. The people’s champ? He gets the money.”

Eleanor finished eating her steak. “I don’t think I need to teach you how to speak to nobility. I think your issue is a fundamental lack of respect in these institutions, and the people participating in them. That can’t be fixed with lessons… at least, not lessons of the kind I have the authority to carry out with you.” She rose to her feet. “Nevertheless, I think I’d very much like to keep in contact. You’ve expressed some very interesting ideas. I’ll keep what’s been said between us.”

Willem almost made a remark about pillow talk… but sometimes, very rarely, he could be tactful.

“Do or don’t,” Willem said. “I’ll be fine either way.”

Eleanor pulled out a bar of soap. “And please don’t try and plant things on me.” She set it on the table. “It’s unbecoming.”

Willem leaned back as Eleanor walked away, impressed. She was the first person to catch him.

***

King Arnoud looked to his majordomo, Count Nicolas. He picked up a stack of papers and handed them over. “Deliver these to the royal criers. Have them announce that the contest for my daughter’s hand is beginning tomorrow.”

Count Nicolas took the papers. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said politely.

“When you get back, I want you to ready all of my men. Tomorrow, they’re to find every contestant and bring them to the royal palace.” He looked to the commander of his royal guard. “All of them are here, aren’t they?”

“All except nine, Your Majesty. I’m led to believe they’ve died or been otherwise incapacitated.”

“Hmm. We have some early starters, hmm?” Arnoud drummed the desk. “Nine is enough to overlook. We’ll bring the contestants into the royal palace tomorrow. I must admit, I’m growing rather fond of testing people.” He leaned back into his chair. “It suits my demeanor.”

“On that point, Your Majesty, you wanted me to remind you today that the Brugh brothers are awaiting your final judgment,” the majordomo spoke up.

“Ah.” The king rose to his feet. “Excellent. Hand me my sword,” he gestured to a nearby royal guard.

One of the royal guards walked forward, kneeling and presenting a sword sheathed in an elaborate golden scabbard. Arnoud took it confidently, briefly unsheathing it. It was like drawing out the void from the scabbard—the blade seemed to eat away all light around it. Arnoud put it back away, and then took it.

“I intend to judge the sons of Baron Tielman,” Arnoud said to his commander. “Make sure we’re not interrupted… or seen.”

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