ARC 7-Cursed Fates-84 (Marcella) (Patreon)

In Marcella’s experience, the worst thing in business was not competitors or an unstable market, but surprises. She hated surprises. A loss she could handle. Problems could be turned into opportunities if used properly. But surprises? By their nature, they could not be foreseen, planned for, or managed.

Even what should be a good surprise could be dangerous, disrupting carefully laid plans or tempting sensible men to foolish action in vain hopes of making the most of fate. No, Marcella hated surprises and lately, she’d had to contend with nothing but.

It started with the assault on the hotel. Proof that the guilds had lost their minds in the face of the north’s demands. Her father had yet to respond to her report about that slap to their faces and she wasn’t looking forward to how the prideful man would demand recompense. Or how she, who allowed it to happen, would be sanctioned.

Before the assault, Marcella was fairly certain she could, if not control, predict Lou’s actions against the city. After? She didn’t know would happen when the noblewoman stormed out of the hotel. If Lou hadn’t handed over the assailant she questioned, alive and unharmed if more than a little shaken, the merchant might have retracted her offer to broker a meeting and divested herself of the situation entirely. The act proved Lou was still guided by reason. That, perhaps, the situation could be salvaged and order imposed on the chaos if she acted quickly and decisively enough.

As such, Marcella focused on the things within her control. Namely, keeping her word and using the Guiness name to stop the hunters from stalling and bring them to the negotiating table. A simple task, especially given that the guilds were quite harried to please her after the actions of their so-called dark guild.

Her guards had questioned the lone survivor of the assassins. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard of the Third Hand, but was surprised it was their members behind the attack. It was true they had a distinguished history but many years of peace and more official orders like the city guards made the Hand redundant.

The most notable thing its members got up to in recent days was hunting down slick thieves and putting a little muscle on hunters that made the guilds look bad. The dark guild thought far more of itself than anyone else did, which could explain taking on the request to assassinate Lou. It would be a quick way back to notoriety.

Unfortunately, the only thing they accomplished was insulting one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. Hunters were romantic and prideful creatures. They thought of Quest as their territory, believed in their own power. They didn’t care much for the crown’s authority, let alone that of a high noble.

But the people who ran the guilds, not the guildmasters but the administrators that handled the tedious details needed to keep an organization functioning, knew better than to anger the most powerful merchant in Harvest. Quest would be a very different place if the Guiness Company stopped moving grains from the south or ensuring the raw materials harvested by hunters had consistent buyers. Things could get downright uncomfortable for the residents if her father used his considerable wealth to play fast and loose with the market. The world became a scary place when one couldn’t guarantee the price of bread.

Not even the last minute request brought by Lou’s brightly colored imp to change the meeting place from her hotel to the estate of Lord Teppin dissuaded them. Rather, it made the hunters more eager to comply. Lou was correct. Brazenly sieging the estate of a noble was a good way to make a point. Forget challenging the city. Lou had, in the most undeniable way possible, challenged the king. A bold move that thoroughly quashed the rumors that Victory didn’t have the forces to march on the city. If they dared challenge the crown, they certainly dared to challenge the guilds.

Their quick response didn’t allow for much preparation, though that was perhaps for the best. It was her experience that the more voices involved in a negotiation, the more tedious it tended to be. With that in mind, having a single man to represent the guilds’ interests in the first round of talks seemed be the saints’ blessing, though the man himself was not very impressive.

She was sure he could cut a more impressive figure in better circumstances, but the consequences of stress, dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes, an unhealthy pallor, and slouched posture as he dragged himself forward, made for an inelegant figure. His jacket and trousers were of a good quality, the best a common man with sensible ideals would spend his hard-earned coin on, but poorly combed dark hair and scraggly facial hair gave him a bedraggled appearance more suitable for a laborer. He looked exhausted and the constant manner in which he dragged a hand over his face didn’t help the impression.

Lou’s message said that the meeting would be an evening affair over dinner, which we should provide. The hunter arrived late in the afternoon. Marcella, a big believer in creating opportunities through goodwill, offered the man a room to lie down in. He’d refused at first, instead wanting to ask her about her thoughts about the noblewoman he was soon to negotiate with, but Marcella wouldn’t have a fraction of her reputation if she couldn’t convince a man to do something he quite desperately wanted to do. She had him in a room in short order.

When her men roused him two bells later, he looked much better, both because his eyes were not so red and because he bothered to wield a comb. Compared to how he arrived, he was downright energetic and after a glass of wine, almost pleasant.

It took no effort at all to convince the man to take her more spacious carriage. Then, with him relaxed on expensive cushions and sipping on chilled wine, she was rewarded for her attention, as words poured from the man like an overturned bucket.

“This whole thing shouldn’t be happening,” the hunter said with a deep sigh. “I don’t mean to push aside the blame, ancestors know I can’t escape my share of it, but this disaster was in the making for years. The guilds are a welcoming bunch, I should know, but they are prideful. Saints, all of Harvest is. No respect for people who do things a different way. I’ve told them for years that they took the campaigns too lightly. It’s not just cold and manabeasts.”

“You are in charge of sending hunters to the north?” she asked when he paused to take a drink.

“In charge? Bah! Wouldn’t my job be so much easier if I had any authority. Guildmasters are worse than dogs when it comes to their bones. There’s no way they would give a little administrator the power to command their hunters. No, I am an adviser only. I give them the information they need to make decisions for their people. In theory.

“In reality, it’s much easier to listen to a man who knows about these things so they don’t bother second-guessing my words. I’m in charge of hunters working the campaigns in all ways that matter but it’s important for my job that I don’t say as much. The older I get, the more I try to avoid violence. Even the verbal kind.”

“A rare attitude for a negotiator.”

The hunter scoffed. “A negotiator! That I’m not, girl. I’m just a man who knows a few things. I warned them about the March. That they needed to take it seriously. It took all kinds of storm-raising to get them to listen but by then it was too late. Well, now I’ve warned them again. This time, they’re listening, but they don’t like what I have to say. They think by sending me to speak with this crazy girl, I might learn something that changes my mind, but it won’t. I don’t know this girl, but I know the north. My warning and my advice isn’t going to change but the games must be played.”

The hunter paused before taking his next drink and looked Marcella in the eye. “Dare I ask what game you’re playing? I’d have thought you would be too busy handling that business with the Hand to be escorting me to this meeting.”

“Oh? I didn’t think a hunter would so casually mention the dark guild.”

“Bah! Who cares about those fossils and their traditions? Traditions. I tell you, they’re the bane of this world. It’s tradition that’s got us all in this mess. It’ll kill us all.” He takes a large drink before pointing a thick finger at the merchant. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“No games from me, good sir. As a merchant, I’ve a stake in the city and would not like to see it burned or ransacked. My family has a connection with Lady Tome, albeit a faint one. I believe I can make a difference. Do you know of Lady Tome’s reputation?”

“I know too much of her. It’s hard to separate the facts from wild speculation. Though there are a few things that remain constant. Beautiful women for one.” Marcella smirked as dark eyes looked her up and down. “Suppose you’ll be of help then.”

“I can only hope. Though there’s no need to be so worried. Lou’s isn’t half the villain the city thinks she is.”

“Ancestors willing.”