Chapter 78: Contortionist Extortionist (Patreon)

It was quite early in the morning. It had to be, because as Willem’s fame grew, more and more people were paying attention to the sparring grounds in the arena.

Willem Junior finished another fight with his bodyguard by disarming his foe and kicking his legs out from under him. He paused to look down at Arend, not quite short of breath. “You’re stepping up your game. But it seems like there’s a lot more stairs to climb yet.”

Leaving that behind, Junior passed control back over to Senior—not because he wanted to leave, but because the fight had lasted so long his will had strained. Any longer, and Arend might’ve emerged on top.

Arend panted noisily. “How the hell… do you… move like that?”

“Soap.” Willem looked around, adjusting to his surroundings quickly. “It greases my movements, making me slick, smooth, and clean.”

“Really?” Arend asked, rising to his feet.

“Well, you’ll just have to buy it and find out,” Willem said uncompromisingly. “Now that people are fairly addicted, I’m going to cancel the free samples. That’s the way this business works, if you’re selling drugs.”

“Hey,” called out a third man’s voice, and both of them looked to see who it was. Raphael moved toward them with a speedy jog. “Talk to you a minute?”

“That’s up to you.” Willem stood still, staring at his supposed rival.

“It’s not something that should be shared in public,” Raphael said, coming to stop before them.

“I’m already in a relationship, sorry.” Willem shook his head with a sarcastic smile.

Raphael stood without wavering. “I’m serious. This is something that you’re going to want to hear.”

Willem gave a look at his bodyguard, and the man walked away to give him some privacy. Then, he looked back toward Raphael. “What is this about?”

“I’ve decided that you’re going to give me what I want.” Raphael crossed his arms. “We’re going to have a duel.”

“Funny. I think that we already talked about my going rate for duels,” Willem said, meeting his gaze evenly. “My price for a session has gone up significantly since I became one of those awfully named Six Drakes. You understand supply and demand, I hope.”

“No, you don’t seem to understand.” Raphael stared like a cold-blooded killer. “We’re going to have a duel, or I’m going to make sure that your plans with Eleanor don’t come to fruition.”

Willem raised a brow. “Blackmail? Very fascinating. It’s been a while since I’ve experienced that. I’m usually quite careful.”

“You’re not denying it?” Raphael uncrossed his arms, his hand hovering near his sword’s pommel.

“If I denied everything people said about me, I wouldn’t have time for hobbies. I don’t think you’d be coming here so gung-ho if you didn’t have something solid. You strike me as someone too busy for flirting.” Willem shook his head certainly. “No, you only come to a date if you think you can stay the night.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t like the implication. “So, will you give me what you want?”

“If what you want is to be humiliated, sure,” Willem said with a nod. “That’s some people’s thing, and I’ve learned in my old age not to spend too much time worrying about what other people do.”

Raphael’s already narrowed eyes narrowed further. “I think I’m older than you.”

“Tomorrow at first light in the morning, so there’s not very many people around,” Willem said. “I know that might not be ideal for your humiliation fetish, but you’ll have to compromise.”

Even despite the blatant mockery, Raphael couldn’t help but give a smile. “Why are you so confident?” he asked.

“In fights, I tend to lose track of myself. I just wake up having won. It’s a very nice feeling.” Willem shrugged. “I don’t see why you’d be any different.”

“I’ll show you.” Raphael gave a pleasant smile, as if he was a secretary rather than a cold-hearted warrior.

When Raphael turned and walked away, Willem watched him go. It was only when he faded out of view that Willem’s face turned into a frown, and he put his hands on his hip. It was never a good feeling to be blackmailed. That was usually why he tried to avoid doing things that could get him blackmailed, even though it was generally quite fun.

“Whatever. I’ll just get my little brother to fight for me.” Willem shook his head and muttered.

After that unpleasant little conversation, nothing would soothe his mind more than shoving his head into his incredibly stressful startup business.

***

Willem stood in his warehouse in the capital watching the crates of soap exchange hands between diligent workers. Apparently there been some efforts to boycott by the Laborers’ Guild, but the king had quickly cracked down on those and lifted the strikes. Now, the soap was flowing into water like water, and business was growing as fast as ever.

And recently, another link in the supply chain had been ironed out. With the introduction of cheap imports from Duke Baptiste’s olive plantations, their cost of goods would go down dramatically, enabling them to be more competitive long-term. With things as cheap as they were, Willem was over-importing, expecting some turmoil in the short term when he pulled the rug out from underneath the duke. Gustav wasn’t exactly complaining. His letters contained puns that were considerably happier in tone.

And on the front of the Society of Assured Prosperity, Dirk had settled into his position enough to actually expand the business somewhat. He was more than a little insecure about doing so, consulting thoroughly for every new client, but Willem had yet to reject a single prospective client that he’d chosen. Dirk was smart enough to choose merchants, or people whose businesses were already inextricably bound to the Society of Assured Prosperity.

Once again, Willem’s impeccable judge of character proved correct. Dirk was good at this game—maybe good enough for more responsibility. That was always the trouble of being competent. It meant more work. Unless you were the boss, of course.

Willem blissfully looked over the dense scrawl of accounts, checking to see precisely how much money they made and just how much money they spent. To him, this activity could be likened to slacking off. He wasn’t doing anything more than reading numbers, but it brought him great repose in this time of uncertainty. When he was feeling particularly adventurous, he even thought about how he could bring these numbers down or up. It was ecstasy.

As he sat there, however, his bodyguard Arend tapped his shoulder. “There’s a man that’s been watching you for some time.” he said, then pointed toward a direction. “I think that I recognize him from somewhere.”

Willem followed his finger to eventually land upon someone that shouldn’t be in his warehouse. Levente. Seeing that, Willem immediately put down his papers and walked out of his office. He strode toward the figure that had violated his sanctuary of numbers, profits, and lavender soap. It was like a single speck of dirt on a flawless plate—in a word, insufferable.

“Welcome! How can I help you leave this place as quickly as possible?” Willem asked, like a customer service representative. “Is there anything you need to accelerate your journey the hell out of my door?”

Levante looked over at Willem, and then at the giant pile of soapboxes. “I was under the impression that you didn’t have a bias against people of Avaria. Was that a mistake?”

“No, I just have a bias against solicitors. And you seem to be one, from what I can tell.”

“Maybe I’ll come back when Eleanor is here,” Levente suggested. “After all, this matter concerns her, too.”

Willem sighed. “If you want a duel, I’m afraid I’m booked for tomorrow. You’ll have to come back the day after.”

Levente looked at Willem cryptically and smiled. “Perhaps we can talk in your office,” he suggested, gesturing toward the room where Willem had been reading peacefully not moments ago.

***

“I’m going to lay it out plainly.” Levente leaned into the desk. “I want in on what you have going against Duke Baptiste Dubois.”

“Do you have any money to invest?” Willem raised a brow. “Because I’m going into the soap business with him.”

“I do have money to invest,” Levente confirmed with a nod. “But right now, I’m after something different. Right now, I’m trying to position myself the most advantageous way that I can.”

Willem sat back in his chair behind the desk. “Alright. And why are you coming to me?”

Levente put the tips of his fingers together like those annoying evil masterminds. “Right now, I don’t have enough proof to bring you and the Red Raven together in a nice bag to present to the king, I’ll admit it. All I have is instinct and fragmentary pieces. But I have enough to grind whatever it is that you’re trying to achieve to a halt. I could do that… but, frankly, I’d rather not.”

Willem met his gaze. “And why is it that?”

“Because I don’t like putting my thumb in the eye of people that can kill me,” he said, staring forthrightly. “I’d much rather work together with them, peacefully and profitably.”

“Alright. We’re alike, then,” Willem nodded. “I’d say that I don’t like putting my thumb in people’s eyes at all, though. What did you have in mind?”

“The fact is… I can’t win this competition. Even if I win, I lose. Why?” he asked, but it proved rhetorical. “Because I was born of parents from Avaria,” he said as if it was obvious. “That fact will forever flavor how I’m treated, how I’m perceived. No one would ever accept me as their king. Even the dukes swarming around were hesitant to offer their help at all. The person that I’m working with is going to betray me at the first opportunity, make no mistake.”

Willem nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“What I’m looking for in this contest isn’t winning,” Levente said. “I’m looking to extract maximum. I want to put myself in the best position possible for the future, and I see that coming through you. I’m fine playing the second fiddle, but I do want my song to be played. Do you understand what I mean?”

“You want to be cut into things. I suppose but I don’t have any choice, unless I find myself wanting a thumb in my eye.”

“Exactly,” Levente said, shooting out a finger.

“Am I correct in assuming that you’re more interested in profiting than gaining any credit?” Willem asked.

Levente smiled. “You would be correct.”

Willem rubbed his clean-shaven chin in silence as he thought of his answer. “I suppose you were right. You really are my rival. You struck me in the only place that hurts: my money.” Willem reached under his desk and pulled out a big pile of papers. “Let’s discuss the details,” he said, plopping the heavy stack down.

“Don’t look too sore. I’m doing this for everyone I can manage to,” Levente said, smiling widely.

It turns out that this guy had the best gig out of all of them—extorting anyone and everyone to retire early. Willem almost envied him.

***

Willem sat in a secluded corner of a baker, indulging in a rare treat: a cake. Today was one of the extremely rare occasions that he would spoil himself—when he lost a great deal of money. It was probably counterproductive to spend money when he was losing it, but he needed something to calm his nerves. Levente had been a brutal negotiator, and he would be reaping a great deal of profits from the fall of the Dubois family. At least it gave some peace of mind as to the outcome of that event.

As Willem sat there, however, his bodyguard approached him once more and tapped him on the shoulder. “Willem. There’s someone who said that he wants to speak with you.”

Willem looked toward this newcomer and felt a great deal of annoyance when he saw who it was. Jurre. This was the man that Eleanor had claimed had essentially dropped out of the race, courting Yasmine, the daughter of the Duke of Usman. The huge man sauntered over, his steps shaking the floor.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Willem said, looking genuinely hurt. He stabbed the fork into the cake. “Well, sit down.”

“Uhh… thank you.” Jurre sat opposite Willem, and then looked around.

“Get on with the extortion,” Willem said, gesturing toward him.

Jurre looked a little confused. “Well… I was wondering if you could introduce me to your uncle Sybrand.” The man set his big arms on the table. “My… father-in-law… has said that no one holds a party better than Sybrand.”

“Well, at least you got to the point quickly.” Willem have looked at him suspiciously. “There’s nothing else? Is that all you want for your pound of flesh?”

“I don’t follow.” Jurre just looked confused.

Willem leaned in. “You… don’t know Eleanor?”

“Sorry, no. Should I?”

Willem smiled. “Let’s talk about my fee. Maybe the duke can help pay it.”

Back in business, baby.

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