Chapter 63: Haven’t Seen Her, Officer (Patreon)

“Now, repeat after me,” Willem said, looking upon his new prospective knight. "I, Arend, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Free Market against all enemies, socialist and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the almighty Dollar; that I will obey the orders of the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies and the whims of Wall Street, according to the sacred principles of supply and demand. I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or threat of unionization, and I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of consumerism and corporate loyalty. So help me Willem."

Arend stared blankly, his mouth agape.

Willem patted his arm. “I’m kidding, you nit. Now, tell me… who exactly was it that you had to talk to?”

“My mother,” Arend said.

“Another one of those,” Willem noted. “How bad was she?”

“She was the best mother that I could’ve asked for,” Arend said sincerely. “And that was why I owed her the truth of the matter. She needed to know what happened to Dorothea the same as I did. She wasn’t pleased to hear the news, but it was truth that she needed to hear. And… she needed to know the truth of you, as well.”

“What, that I’m incredibly good-looking, genius, and humble?” Willem asked with a raised brow, then quickly interrupted, “Don’t answer. That was rhetorical.”

“Very humble,” Arend agreed sarcastically.

“You know, I’m actually quite glad about this whole thing,” Willem admitted freely. “I’d been missing Dirk. Someone ordinary with whom I can bandy about ridiculous ideas and confuse them and amuse myself.”

“I was a royal knight,” Arend said. “And a high-ranking one at that. Hardly normal at all.”

“You don’t know anything about business,” Willem said. “And that’s what I need. Someone ignorant and good-natured. You’re like a flat surface upon which I can bounce my ideas off. And… well, people might try to kill me soon.”

“The contest,” Arend guessed.

“Lord no,” Willem disagreed. “The guilds. My shipments of soaps are just now spreading out across the whole city, undercutting the soaper’s guild. Do you have any idea how much we made yesterday?” he asked.

“No idea,” Arend said.

“7524 silver,” Willem said. “Or 627 gold. These are bulk orders, granted, so things won’t always be this good. After expenses, that’s around 206 gold of pure profit returning to our business. 33% margins, thereabout—absurd for a mass-produced commodity in my eye. If we have a couple more days of that… why, I could pay your salary right away. Of course, I have to split that with the shareholders. Gustav and I both have about a forty percent stake, so… 82.4 gold each?”

Arend blinked. “Is that… a little, or a lot?”

“Less than it could be,” Willem admitted freely. “But we have to undercut the capital’s soaper’s guild. It’s a necessity. By ditching the soaper’s guild for my low-cost manufactory, I’ve cut out the whiny middlemen. No more overpriced, handcrafted nonsense—just cheap, mass-produced bars flying off the shelves.

“Sure, the guild members can cry about their lost livelihoods, but progress doesn’t wait for fairness. Consumers get cheaper soap, I get richer, and if a few old-timey craftsmen have to start scrubbing floors instead of making soap, well, that’s just market efficiency in action. And therein lies the threat—we’re mass-producing soaps, while they’re still stuck in their handcrafted ways. I’m positive they’ll grease some hands, put a hit out on me.”

“Oh.” Arend nodded. “Okay.”

“He didn’t even notice the grease pun…” Willem sighed. “Well, never mind. Perhaps being struck repeatedly in the head during our sparring matches isn’t the best portent for Dirk-like inquisitiveness, or Gustav-like wit.”

“What did I do?” Arend asked, confused.

“Nothing,” Willem said. “Come on, then. You’re now on Profit Protection Patrol.”

***

Galahad stared at the man behind Willem in a great deal of disbelief. It was one thing to spar with the man—that could be considered something acceptable. But this… without a doubt, Arend was guarding Willem. He had the same demeanor that he generally had when acting as a royal knight. Arend had always been a good guard and Galahad was somewhat displeased to see him go, but…

Galahad saw the pair step into a restaurant and saw his chance to approach. He filtered through the crowd as quickly as he could and stepped inside, looking around. He spotted Willem sitting down with a black-haired woman, and approached. Arend alerted Willem to his presence immediately. The woman had her back to him.

“…interested in securing yourself a cheaper supply of olive oil, then I think I might be able to help,” the woman said.

“Galahad,” Willem greeted, waving his hand. “Hold on a moment. I’m talking with Eleanor.”

The black-haired woman turned her head to look at him. Galahad regarded her evenly. She looked like a Dubois—he had almost mistaken her for Viviene. He was somewhat aware of who she was. She had been a competent aide in the capital for some years now, with a wide-reaching information network. She was also spellcaster of minor renown, and she exuded as much.

“The Galahad?” Eleanor said, clearly uneasy. “I wasn’t aware that you’d be here, sir.”

“I didn’t send notice,” Galahad said, staring at Willem. “I have a matter of importance to discuss.”

“Royal duties?” Willem asked.

“…not officially. A consultation,” Galahad said.

Willem put his arms on the table. “Pay for our meal, and I can do it.”

Galahad looked at Eleanor. “It’s a private matter. It might be a sensitive subject.”

“You calling me sensitive?” Willem said. “I’m insulted.”

“If you’re insulted, I believe that means you’re sensitive,” Eleanor said, then looked between them. “Maybe I should return later.”

“I don’t have anything I’m ashamed of doing,” Willem said, looking right up at Galahad. “Stay, leave—I don’t care.”

“What of Petronella?” Galahad asked.

“You caught up?” Willem laughed. “Still, of course not. Sit. And remember—you’re paying.” He turned, then snapped his fingers. “Waiter! I’d like to make some modifications to my order.”

Galahad sat down beside Eleanor, who settled in resignedly. He wasn’t especially bothered as Willem ordered most of the expensive things on the menu. He didn’t have much use for his money, especially not when he could use the king’s purse for most everything. It was, however, somewhat indicative of Willem’s cheap character.

“So… Petronella,” Willem began. “Consult away. She’s long gone, as far as I know, and you already seem to have figured things out.”

Galahad glanced at Eleanor. She ran an information network, and this would be valuable information indeed… but so long as he put a few tracers on her, he might expose any Avarians interested in the matter. It was only beneficial to use her as a probe into the deeper networks inside the capital.

“Do you know what Petronella is?” Galahad asked.

“She’s a turbo chimera or something,” Willem said.

“Trueborn,” Galahad corrected.

Willem pointed. “Yeah, that. Saw her shift in front of me. Why’s that important?”

“You protected her all the same,” Galahad said. “Now, we have reason to believe she’s in the capital.”

Willem stared ahead. “And?”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Galahad noted.

“You should trust Suzanne less,” Willem said. “She blabbed everything in a letter.”

Galahad was a little frustrated, but didn’t display that on his face. “The chimera hasn’t made contact?”

“That’d be very stupid of her,” Willem said. “In fact, just being here is stupid.”

Eleanor took a long drink of water. She looked annoyed. Perhaps that business deal they’d been talking about was important.

“She doesn’t have much choice,” Galahad said. “She’s a slave of war. Her heart has been replaced by enchanted lava that slowly burns out without replenishment. Nevertheless… she helped you, and you helped her.”

“Slave?” Willem frowned. “She never mentioned that. So… what, she needs an extension from her masters to continue living?”

“Yes,” Galahad confirmed. “I’m surprised you’re ignorant of the matter. She returned back to the Avarians under less favorable circumstances for the next round of negotiations. That’s why she was given this task, we believe. It’s all but a suicide mission. By contrast… she would’ve been given tremendous rewards for helping Dorothea, but she didn’t.”

Willem crossed his arms. “Puts some things into a new light. I have the whole picture, now—she had the body of a lion, the tail of a snake, the talons of an eagle, and the brains of a goldfish.”

Eleanor began tapping the table with her finger. “The food is taking quite a while to get here.”

“…given that comment, I assume the rumors of your romantic involvement are false,” Galahad said.

“Well, to credit her intelligence, she was quite hasty for a relationship with me,” Willem said. Galahad could see Eleanor roll her eyes. “In the end I refused her. I have some small regret at that fact.”

The whole table went silent. Galahad eventually leaned in and asked, “Are you serious?”

“I’m trying to step outside of my comfort zone,” Willem said. “It’s been… uncomfortable, but I think there might be some fulfillment I can find.”

“She’s a chimera,” Galahad said. “An abomination before the eyes of god and men.”

“Seemed pretty enough, even if it was a façade,” Willem said. “Besides, I have a dream that one day, we will judge a chimera not by the number of mismatched limbs it has, but by the content of its character.”

“She’s killed hundreds,” Galahad said flatly.

“We have that in common,” Willem said with a smile. “Well, mine were a group effort, to be fair.”

“It’s their nature to defile,” Galahad insisted.

“Please, Galahad.” Willem held out his hand. “You don’t have to persuade me further.”

Eleanor snickered, but quickly collected herself.

Galahad leaned back, eyeing this unusual man. “How would you deal with Petronella’s efforts?”

“I wouldn’t,” Willem said. “That’s your job.”

“I’m paying for your meal,” Galahad reminded him.

“Ah, right.” Willem thought for a moment. “Can’t you wave your hands and go ‘woo’ and cast some spell to track her?”

Galahad didn’t respond for a solid eight seconds, taking a deep breath and sighing. “No. They’re avoiding scrying efforts.”

“Well… I’m certainly no expert… but if it’s Petronella, then you have an advantage. Whoever sent her here made a serious miscalculation. You catch a great deal more flies with honey.”

“Bait her out?” Galahad asked.

“No,” Willem said with a shake of his head. “Give her a better offer than what the Avarians are offering. Do you have any idea how valuable a double agent can be? False intelligence can make or break nations. And Petronella? She seemed more than ready to die. I can attest to the fact that she wasn’t particularly happy about her job.”

“Don’t expect me to join you in deviancy,” Galahad said harshly. “All chimeras should die.”

“With an attitude like that, you’re the head of Arnoud’s espionage efforts? No wonder why this kingdom has infiltration problems.”

“Are you implying that the king’s appointment is inadequate?”

“No, I’m saying it outright,” Willem countered. “Do your job better. To catch spies, you have to think like one. This holier-than-thou inquisitorial act just exacerbates the problem, and allows people like me to use you to eliminate problems that disrupt my interests. I wasn’t serving the kingdom; I was serving myself. Just like everyone, you dunderhead.”

Silence. Then, the waiter approached.

“Gentlemen. Madam,” the man said, placing the food down. Then he left. The silence persisted as Willem picked at his meal.

“Oh!” Arend said, looking at Willem. “Greasing the hands… like soap does, right? I get it.”

Both Galahad and Eleanor looked at him, confused.

“I made a joke four hours ago,” Willem explained.

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