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Chapter 15: The Battle of Lobster Table
🕑 Added 2024-12-29 06:49:34 +0000 UTCWillem picked his teeth with lobster legs as Dirk procured some chairs for the newly-arrived. He’d spent a great deal of effort creating a pleasant atmosphere for negotiations, but it seemed this unexpected arrival had somewhat chilled it. Still, it might play to his advantage to have both of Willem van Brugh’s parents present.
But these weren’t his parents. He’d never lie for convenience’s sake.
“It would be rude of me to interrupt your conversation,” Viviene said, assuming a dignified pose on her chair. “Please, continue.”
“Why not.” Willem set his lobster leg down. “So, Baron Tielman. Maybe you can help me understand why I’d want to live and die in a cold frontier, killing monsters and people monthly with the prospect of a huge invasion always looming overhead.”
“You’re frightened?” Godfried pressed.
“Of course not.” Willem scoffed. “The word’s too mild. I’m absolutely terrified.”
“Fear can be overcome,” Baron Tielman said. “I can help you.”
“Fear can also be entirely ignored, because it’s miles behind me in the north.” Willem shook his head, then leaned back in his chair. “I like reading numbers and letters. I like learning about how things are priced due to the flow of goods through the region. I like figuring out the profit margins of local industries, and how they can be scaled. I like reading about industries overseas, and wondering if they might be relocated to Gent. I like studying economics, and working out formulas for life insurance. Not much place for that in the frontier.”
Viviene looked amused as she watched Tielman’s hardening expression.
“Given how awful our majordomo is, maybe you could take his job,” suggested Hans. “Do you have any wine, by the way?”
“Two silver a cup,” Willem said.
“…never mind, then.” Hans slumped in his chair. “Pretty funny how you find your love for money after spending it purchasing poison to kill Dad.”
“It’s galling.” Viviene nodded. “I would have provided it for free.”
Hans laughed, but then saw the serious faces of everyone else at the table and trailed off awkwardly.
“How did you have five children if you hate each other so much?” Willem looked between Tielman and Viviene.
“Six,” Viviene sharply corrected.
“Maybe you forgot Suzanne. She is rather forgettable.” Hans tapped the table with a smile.
“Viviene.” Tielman’s firm voice cut across the table. “I asked you to speak to Willem because I thought you would understand that Willem belongs in the family, no matter our differences.”
“I understood that much.” Viviene crossed one leg over the other. “But it’s not why I came. I heard my son was a talented aura user. Here, today, I can feel that to be true. Despite what he claims, one cannot possess fear of battle if they have such an aura.” She looked at Willem. “That’s why I intended to formally invite Willem to join House Dubois.”
Willem kept a poker face, but he was smiling inwardly. A competing offer—one of the largest points of leverage in any negotiation. The others, though, wore their emotions on their faces plainly.
“Mother!” Godfried stood up quickly, shocked and angered. “Him?”
“You would need to learn our language,” Viviene ignored Godfried as she looked at Willem. “But such a thing would only improve your marriage prospects. My home was once the capital of the Kingdom of Valdérie, before these brutish people took it over. There are no invaders, no threats. My people fight as you do, Willem. With intrigue, with clever words that cut deeper than any blade. And we have no disdain for merchantry, unlike these highfalutin beasts.”
“All reasons why they lost,” Tielman said, voice hard. “Viviene… this is serious. The king could get involved if a rift forms in House van Brugh.”
“That would be rather unpleasant. For you, at least.” Viviene smiled. “Much like how losing my eye was unpleasant for me.”
Tielman closed his eyes and went silent alongside the rest of the table. Dirk sat beside Willem in abject fear, his eyes wandering between all these emotionally-charged aura users airing their grievances. Willem felt a bit of a burgeoning headache listening to this family drama, but he tried to keep his focus on what could be very promising.
A bidding war.
The bidding war was a very nuanced art, far more so than most negotiations. He already had something working in his favor—this was an emotional purchase for both parties, and thus they’d be willing to overpay. Honestly, neither offer appealed to him very much, but he had something he actually wanted from the Brughs, so they were presently his favored choice.
That was exactly why he had to make them think they weren’t.
“It’s getting late.” Willem put his hands on the table. “I’ve heard what both of you have to say. I’ll think about it. Viviene.” He focused on her. “Would you like me to prepare a room for you here?”
Viviene smiled like she’d won, but Willem had said nothing of the sort. “Absolutely.”
“Dirk.” Willem looked at his friend. “Could you see everyone else out?”
“Everyone?” Dirk said sheepishly.
“Well, not me. Or Viviene. Or yourself.” Willem shook his head. “They don’t bite. Probably. Don’t bite Dirk,” he ordered all of the Brughs. “He’s somewhat important to me.”
“Willem.” Tielman leaned in. “Please, rec—"
“There’s always tomorrow, baron.” Willem smiled at him. “For now… good eating makes me sleepy.”
“Umm.” Dirk stood up, looking between all of these big men seriously. “My lords, if you’ll just… follow… me?”
There was a great deal of hesitation for all those seated at the table, but a yawn from Willem prompted Baron Tielman to rise to his feet. He gestured toward Dirk, and with his departure, all the other scions of House van Brugh followed shortly after him.
***
Dirk led a convoy of hulking brutes down the stairs of Willem’s home. It sounded like there was a shelf falling down the stairs just behind him, but he managed to not trip, stumble, or otherwise embarrass himself. The total silence was unnerving, but Dirk certainly didn’t want to be the one to break it.
When he arrived at the bottom, he was all too eager to walk to the door and open it up. “I hope you had a pleasant…” Dirk began, but trailed off when he remembered precisely how awful that dinner had been. “Thank you for coming, baron, young lords.”
He hoped for them to leave quickly without a word, but the baron gently removed the door from Dirk’s grip and shut it, staring down at him. Dirk looked up uncertainly at the Shield of the North. The man’s gaze inspired a fear of death, it was said. It could break lesser men.
“How is Willem?” Tielman asked.
Dirk swallowed. “He’s… actually quite well. Quite happy, baron. Dowager Countess Anne Claire has some affection for him. She’s done right by him.”
“I’m aware.” Tielman nodded. “I’ll expect more details in your report tomorrow.”
Dirk furrowed his brow. “Lennard actually transferred my contract to—”
“Lennard didn’t pay for your contract,” the baron interrupted. “I did. It was dictated quite clearly that you were to give reports to me. You bear no fault for not doing so in the past, but I expect it in the future. If not, I believe it well within my right to retract payment.”
Dirk glanced around at Lennard and the others, but it was clear they all deferred to the baron. Dirk gave a quick nod, fearing what might happen if he didn’t.
“We’ll be staying…” Tielman trailed off, then sighed. “…outside the city walls. Probably.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you for taking care of Willem.” The baron opened the door, leaving those words behind.
Once all of them had gone, Dirk waited a long few moments before sliding the lock in place with a heavy sigh. He leaned up against the door, exhausted and conflicted. He hadn’t realized quite how liberal working beneath Willem actually was until he dealt with the rest of the van Brugh family. Perhaps Anne Claire had a point, despising them so.
But the fact stood. Dirk had entered into a contract. That salary was paying for his mother and his siblings back home. And now he’d have to keep good on his word, or risk blowing that all up.
“Damn it all…” Dirk began to laugh at how difficult this all was.
He eventually turned around, looking toward the stairs. He was reminded that one guest had stayed—and considering the woman was from Valdérie, well-known for its luxurious banquets and grandiose halls, he came to peace with the notion that tonight might be entirely sleepless.
***
“That was good fun,” Viviene noted, turning her head away from the stairs. She studied her son. He had grown to look much like her ex-husband did in his youth. He possessed that same confidence Tielman had, too. It had been many years since she’d seen her boy. She remembered him differently. Low cunning and malevolence—neither graceful nor deep-minded. That was Willem before. Now? Now, she couldn’t be sure.
Whatever the case, the change didn’t displease her.
She adjusted the elegant white mask covering her left eye. “It was worth the trip after all,” Viviene continued. “Shall we share a glass of wine, son?”
“Two silver a cup,” repeated Willem.
“Even for your mother?” She raised a brow.
“I don’t have any wine,” Willem admitted. “I’ve just found it’s easy to make people stop asking if you involve money.”
Vivienne laughed richly, then focused her one good eye on him. “So… what is this, exactly?”
“Could you be more specific?” Willem asked as Dirk walked back up the stairs.
Her eye went to Dirk. If she knew Tielman well, that servant could well be a spy. She asked a diversionary question instead. “This building. What is it for?”
“The Society of—”
“Yes, I can read,” she interrupted. “What is that?”
“The business I’m starting,” Willem explained, turning his head as Dirk approached.
Viviene gave the servant a pointed look, then another at the door. Fortunately, the young man was smart enough to catch on.
“Going to wash the dishes outside,” Dirk explained quickly, and Willem nodded.
Viviene focused on Dirk, and once he’d left with the plates and closed the door, looked back at Willem. With the servant gone, she voiced her true curiosity. “What I really want to ask is about this situation. Did you poison Tielman? What’re you actually trying to do?”
“Of course I didn’t poison him,” Willem said incredulously. “All of them seem to think I did, except the one whose opinion actually matters.”
“Yet now you have all of them here, practically begging you to rejoin the family.” Viviene narrowed her eye. “And instead of accepting my offer, you invited me to stay, sending them all away. I’m no heiress. Objectively speaking, Tielman would be your better choice.”
Willem studied her—unlike before, he seemed to genuinely pass judgment upon her. Years in the courts as a Dubois had taught her to recognize those eyes. They were discerning eyes—eyes that could assess someone’s value in a glance.
“The worst thing I can credibly be accused of is opportunism.” Willem shook his head.
“Are you trying to get the king involved? Trying to catch his attention?” Viviene pressed.
“Not at all. The tallest tree is the most likely to get struck by lightning. All I want is a little sun.” Willem rose to his feet. “I do wonder if you’re serious about inviting me to the Dubois family, though.”
“I wonder myself. It was mostly spitting in your father’s eye.” She raised her hand and shrugged. “But what I said is true. In the courts of the Valdérie, we value diplomats, negotiators, and schemers far more than brute strength. I was educated in stewardship, for example.”
Willem pushed in his chair. “Says the woman with a rapier.”
“Prowess will always have a place in the world,” Viviene answered. “You know that, or else you wouldn’t have mastered aura.”
“Greed can start fights, and it can end them.” Willem sat on the table, looking at her seriously. “I prefer the latter. Still… you know numbers?”
“Was I so invisible to you, Willem, that you don’t know that much? I managed the finances of the biggest barony in the kingdom for twenty-five years. So… yes, you might say I ‘know numbers.’ From what I hear, you ended up taking all of the money I saved up for the baron during my tenure.” She smiled at her son. “You’re welcome.”
“Interesting.” Willem crossed his arms. “There is one question I have.”
She turned on her chair. “Is it perhaps, ‘how have you been in the last five years, mother?’”
“No.” Willem shook his head. “It’s just… is the Dubois family worthy of me?”
Viviene laughed at her son’s audacity. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or merely delusional. “Is one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the entire kingdom worthy of you? I may be no heiress, Willem, but still… we have a storied martial history, vast and fertile lands, and some of the strongest aura aptitude of any family.”
“I don’t care about most of that. Why don’t you show me how well you know numbers tomorrow?” Willem gestured at her.
Viviene continued to be surprised. “Are you asking for my help with your business?”
“No, the bulk of the work is done. I want to see if you can understand it. If you can, maybe I will want your help.”
“Why would I help you?” Viviene probed, wondering if he might call upon kinship. He’d certainly shown none when she and Tielman had divorced. He might’ve been called callous, then.
Willem shrugged. “Dirk tells me you’re unemployed, so… money. The opportunity to get in on the ground floor of an enterprise that I intend to build far beyond Gent.”
“I watch over my family’s ancestral vineyard,” Viviene pointed out. “It’s not as though I’m idle.”
“It’s not like you manage distribution, roam the fields, crush the grapes, right? The way I see it, you can either stand around and wait for wine to age, or you can get the opportunity to prove yourself in a very dynamic, burgeoning business.” Willem held his arms out.
“Well… fine, why not.” Viviene shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to see what Willem was actually doing, and this seemed the best way. “Either way, the wine ages.”
“That’s the right attitude,” Willem said with a snap. “I’m going to sleep. I’ll clean your room, and you can get some rest. We’ve an early morning tomorrow.”
“Your manservant can do that, can’t he?” Viviene said as she rose to her feet.
“Dirk’s been working overtime lately. Besides, he already cleaned most of the rooms. I just have to claim the credit…” Willem walked away quickly.
Viviene crossed her arms and watched as her son entered a room with a tallow candle in hand, marveling at his change. Five years apart, and he seemed to have become another person entirely. Then again, he’d always been smart, deceptive. Perhaps this was merely a ploy. She was eager to find out.
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Comments
Nemorosus
The house always wins.
WarStrider72
So who won the battle?
