Chapter 64: Terrible, Rotten, No-Good Person (Patreon)

Eleanor sat opposite Willem after the conversation with Galahad. The King’s Hound had already left. Despite the total blindside, she genuinely didn’t think that he had any idea who she was. If he had, he wouldn’t have come so close to her. He’d given her more than one opportunity to end him. There wasn’t a chance he wouldn’t be so incautious if he knew what she was.

She couldn’t say the same for Willem, though.

Willem enjoyed a ridiculously large meal. Whenever he was ordering on someone else’s dime, he bought top dollar food. He’d eat the things that would spoil first, and then brought the rest home. She thought it was probably more work to do all of this than to just genuinely spend the money, but she kept that thought to herself.

“With a chimera, huh?” Eleanor said.

“Like I said—content of the character, all that.” Willem ate his food in quiet.

“Perhaps you’d have her shift into a mirror image of you,” Eleanor said.

Willem snorted. “Already had that experience, thanks.”

“Were you serious about all that you said?” Eleanor pressed. “Do you genuinely think there’s hope of turning a slave against Avaria?”

“Sure,” Willem said with a nod. “But I also meant what I said in saying that she’d be stupid to reach out.”

Eleanor was all but certain that he was on to her. He wouldn’t have said that so pointedly were it not the case. She wanted to ask him how he knew, but that’d be far too obvious.

“Spent a lot of my life reading faces, tones of voice,” Willem said. “It’s important to learn those skills when making a deal… or when trying to ferret out corporate espionage. It’s like a very high-stake game of cards—you look for tells, habits, et cetera. I might miss things in a passing greeting, but after sustained contact, close business? There’s not a chance I wouldn’t notice.” Willem shook his head. “If I knew it was her, I couldn’t keep her cover. I don’t lie, after all.”

Eleanor fidgeted with her hands, secretly quite impressed. She cast a glance at Arend, covertly signaling.

“Arend, go wait outside for a minute,” Willem said.

Arend nodded and obeyed, walking out.

“Look at him go,” Willem marveled. “He’d go far in 1940s Germany. He’s used to not questioning orders.”

“Do you trust him?” Eleanor asked.

“Sure. I’m basically his reason for living,” Willem said, and Eleanor gave him a skeptical stare. “And even if I was wrong, it took him four hours to figure out a soap pun.”

“I see. Well… I’m sure the Red Raven would marvel at how you’ve changed,” Eleanor continued. “Sparring with Arend daily. Hauling him around as a bodyguard.”

“Do you know Lazzaro the Twin-Soul?” Willem asked.

Eleanor nodded, but Willem didn’t elaborate further. “Oh,” She blinked, understanding dawning on her. “Oh! Oh?”

“Yeah,” Willem said. “I’m not a murderer. Just got two minds, one spine. Twins in one, fun for none. Twice the life, half the rights. Two souls, one toll.”

“Alright, alright,” she interrupted. “You’ve probably been coming up with those for days. Let me think.”

“Months,” Willem said, but went silent just after.

Eleanor went silent for a solid minute, digesting what that meant. It put a great many things in place, that sparring session and change in demeanor among them. “That somewhat complicates things, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. He wants to learn things from me, apparently. We’ve struck up an agreement of sorts. I have to pay… rent. He was desperate for an older brother, really. He held my hand and begged me to be a part of his family.” Willem leaned in. “But enough on that. You were talking about olives?”

Eleanor nodded, but didn’t speak right away. She looked out the window. “I was, but… situation’s changed. I can be more forthright.” She looked back, then leaned in. “How would you like to ruin Duke Baptiste’s life?”

“You mean the man that likely molested my favorite mother?” Willem leaned in. “You might say I’ve been exhibiting an insatiable urge for facilitating an irrevocable liquidation of all of his assets. In simpler terms… I would very much like to ruin him.”

“Your favorite mother,” Eleanor repeated. “Hmph. I can’t even argue. But… if you genuinely want your chance… you’ll have to do well in the contest for the princess’ hand. He only gives people the time of day if he believes they’ll be valuable to him. And he’s hedging his bets, thus far.”

“Interesting. Though… why would you do that for me?” Willem asked.

“Boredom. Hatred. Amusement. Take your pick, really.” Eleanor gathered herself, prepared to leave. She paused. “What’s the other denizen’s perspective on your… stance toward the Red Raven?”

“His perspective? First-person,” Willem said, a dumb grin on his face.

“His thoughts,” Eleanor rephrased, annoyed at his willing obtuseness.

“I pay rent. What I do in my house is my business. I’m not going to let some landlord tell me what to do, even if he’s watching the place at all times.”

“Watching,” Eleanor repeated grimly. “I suppose if ever there was a valid excuse for bigamy…” She laughed. “You truly lead an interesting life, Willem. Let’s see if I can’t keep it that way. Introduce me to your ‘brother’ next time, maybe.”

***

Willem cleared his throat. “Alright, repeat after me. ‘One hand is all I need to hold your attention, baby.’”

Hans stared into the corner of the room, miserable.

Willem reached out and patted Hans’ shoulder. “I’m playing around, alright? Don’t sulk.”

“Why would any woman want a man with one hand?” Hans asked, whipping his head over. “Who are you kidding? This’ll never work.”

“You kidding? Women love handymen,” Willem said.

Hans looked away, welling up. “Man… this feels worse than when you used to spar with me.”

Willem realized he might’ve taken things a little bit too far. He got up off his chair and kneeled down beside Hans. “Look, look. I’m trying to help you here. Let’s imagine, say, a lovely noble lady heard you making jokes like those. She heard confidence coming from you—swagger, intensity. She heard the ability to overcome hardship. She sees someone with boundless positivity, who can keep moving forward with a smile on their face no matter what comes.” Willem pointed at Hans. “You know what she’s going to think?”

“What?” Hans asked.

“She’ll want that confidence, that positivity. Strength in adversity, Hans.” He shook his little brother. “You might not be able to give a good backrub, but you can still give a thumbs up. That’s all they need from a trophy husband.”

“I don’t know, man…” Hans swallowed. “Those are… jokes that dads would say. Not ours, but… you know what I mean?”

“Do you know why they’re called dad jokes?” Willem said, standing. “Because they work, brother.”

Hans looked like he’d achieved enlightenment. “So… all this time, you’ve been making those jokes… to help me? To teach me how to move past this?”

“No, I just thought they were funny.” Willem straightened his coat.

Hans lowered his head, nodding. “Right. Very funny.”

“I know, I know. It makes me a terrible, terrible, no-good rotten person, but… hell, if you can’t reform, I’ll be joining you.” He waggled his fingers. “I think I’ve earned the right to say a few jokes.”

The door to their room opened, and Viviene walked in. “Hey. Sybrand sent word,” she announced, holding up a paper.”

Hans looked at Viviene. “Uncle?”

“Yes. He’s agreed to help us host a celebratory ball for those that perform in the first stage of the king’s contest,” Viviene said. “He assures us that he can guarantee countless prominent noblewomen will attend… and that if Willem does well, he might be able to assure Hans has a partnership with one of the duke’s daughters, even.”

“He said that?” Hans perked up slightly.

Viviene smiled as she walked over to her son. “Yes. He agreed to lend us a helping ha—uhh… he agreed to help us, sweetie.” She rubbed his back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Hans said unconvincingly.

“Did Willem make fun of you again?” Viviene looked over.

“No,” Hans said, equally unconvincingly.

Viviene pointed at Willem. “Apologize to your brother.”

Willem held his arms out. “I can’t lie.”

Viviene scowled at him, hovering protectively over Hans. Willem thought he might be seeing some of why Hans was the way he was.

***

The days had passed by rapidly as Willem’s schedule became consumed with myriad things. Not only was he keeping a vigilant eye on the soap product launch, he was also helping Hans get back on his feet, sparring with Arend, occasionally speaking with Galahad who came by for return consultations, and preparing for the pivotal first contest.

The way that Willem saw this thing, no amount of preparation would mean much for what came ahead. He’d read what he could about Lazzaro the Twin-Soul, but none of it gave very much perspective on what the man was like on a day-to-day basis. It also didn’t provide much insight into their condition itself. Willem was pathologically incurious about things that couldn’t make him money, but the ability to have Junior work while he slept would be quite the boon for productivity, especially if Junior could learn a trick or two from his book.

Finally, though, after many days, Arnoud summoned them back to the throne room. This time, he was joined by his daughter. She wore quite the ridiculously bulky dress that seemed more a hindrance than a help.

“I believe I should announce an amendment to the competition,” Arnoud said. “My daughter has made a request of me, and I see no reason to deny it. She asks to participate in the contest herself,” he declared, creating some unrest. “And should she win, she’ll choose her own partner.”

Willem nodded, feeling that was quite a reasonable amendment. He believed in gender equality—meaning he believed that he’d effortlessly beat the princess into a pulp just like the rest of the gentleman around.

“I expect all of you to show her no mercy. If you can beat her, beat her, for all of you will inhabit a mental space. Do not hesitate to bloody her nose, break her bones, or smash her teeth,” Arnoud said, also showing his feminist side. “If you think to take it easy on her because of her title, or her sex… she will prove to you how those soft-minded mentalities are worthless. She is, after all, her father’s daughter.”

The Eye of Sovereigns was brought out again, and all of the assembled looked upon.

“Now, approach,” Arnoud said, rising to his feet. “And let this competition begin.”

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