Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency: 5 (Patreon)

They arrived at the city of Gent at the midday. Willem sat by the window of the enchanted carriage, watching the city come closer into view. It had solid twenty-foot-tall walls of beige stone. It reminded him of his visit to Spain, and more specifically his tour of the Aljafería Palace and Alhambra. Its gates had those distinctive horseshoe-like arches he’d seen in Moorish architecture on the Iberian Peninsula.

“Does this place have proper sewage?” he wondered, casting a glance at Dirk.

“Mostly.” Dirk nodded. “And running water, too. But Gent doesn’t have the closest ties to the mages. You can’t expect the same luxury you’d find in the capital.”

Willem stood and walked to the other side of the spacious enchanted carriage, peering out at the side that could see the ocean. He was pleased to see no less than seven ships coming and going.

“Have you been here before, Dirk?” Willem sat, watching the ships coming and going.

“I stayed here for some days. Why?” Dirk stood behind him politely.

“Is it always this busy? The ports, I mean.”

Dirk ducked low to look out, then nodded in confirmation. “Yes, in this season. If they aren’t, the capital will starve. Most of those are grain ships owned by the crown, hauling food from the more fertile overseas territories. They’re delivered here, then carried by barge or caravan upriver to the capital.”

Willem said nothing, calculating and evaluating. The foundation of the business was the most important part. Proper location could earn him millions more than an improper one. A spot by the port? A spot in the noble quarters, near the count’s estate? It was all a matter of value extracted from the land. Mistakes made at this junction could turn even the best business models into dirt.

#####

Dirk watched Willem uneasily. During the whole journey he’d been somewhat chatty. He was either reading or talking about business—on that subject, Dirk could make him ramble for hours. Perhaps rambling was the wrong word, because it all had some sound theory to it. Or… at the very least, Willem was a good orator.

Still, his prolonged silence brought concern, so Dirk asked, “Is something—”

“Just shut up.” Willem waved at him.

Commanded so blatantly, Dirk obeyed. He diligently handled things on his end, including the check with the guards. He flashed the van Brugh sigil, told them who was inside, and they were let in without a fuss. Once they were inside the walls, Willem’s mood didn’t abate. He lifted the chest of gold out of the carriage, and then left the guards and carriage both without a word as he advanced into the city. Dirk could only follow.

Willem watched the comings and goings of the city, standing off to the side of the street for a long time. It was like he was evaluating everyone that he saw. His blatant and unflinching stare frightened some, but no one confronted him. Dirk stood around, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

“Do you think it’s happened yet?” Willem asked.

“What’s happened?” Dirk sought more information, but he was pleased Willem had finally spoken again.

“Do you think the guards have told the count I’m here?” He looked at Dirk. “If it were me, I’d make sure my people told me if my wife’s brother was visiting. Am I wrong?”

Dirk honestly hadn’t considered the notion. “Time enough has passed, certainly.”

“There are a great many power plays in business. I don’t like them especially, and I don’t do them. But you have to get used to them, especially when you’re the weaker side at the bargaining table.” Willem hefted the chest he held, and Dirk looked around to make sure no one heard the sound of ringing coin.

Dirk studied Willem peculiarly. “What does that have to do with what you said?”

“I get the impression no one likes me,” Willem said.

“Well…” Dirk trailed off.

Willem looked. “It’s okay, Dirk. You can admit what you think.”

Emboldened, Dirk dared to say, “I haven’t heard good things about you.”

Willem narrowed his eyes. “I was prompting you to admit that you­ liked me. Your starting salary is going down and down the more you run your mouth…”

Dirk said nothing, but he was glad he took payment up front for this job.

“If even you, who’s been amply exposed to my overflowing charm, don’t gush your undying admiration… I can’t imagine my sister likes me, either. If I visit, she’d surely make sure to display her authority. Maybe she’d make us wait. Maybe she’d refuse us all together with some vague excuses.” He looked at Dirk. “Either way, she’ll want to demonstrate the security she has in her position, so we don’t think we can walk all over her for favors.”

“I can’t speak to that,” Dirk said neutrally.

“I do need to visit her. But I’m not going to.”

Dirk blinked. “It’s common courtesy for nobles to pay tribute to the lord whose territory it is they’re visiting.”

“Seems reasonable. But I have some excuse not to, considering recent events. Instead, let’s start scouting the city out. What are the chances I get robbed here, you think?”

Dirk felt a festering nugget of panic when Willem asked that, but he calmed down as he was reminded of something. “You’re an aura user. You can defend yourself.”

“Hmm. And what if I forgot how?” He looked over. “I’m strictly non-violent. It’s the lowest form of masculinity.”

Dirk took it as a joke. Willem set off walking into the city without waiting for an answer, hauling around a literal fortune in gold coins. It certainly didn’t appear like he was heading to the count’s estate.

#####

Tielman stared at the piece of paper with his son’s signature on it. Even sick as he was, seeing this almost gave him the energy to throw off the blanket and get out of bed.

“We have to dispute this.” The baron looked at his steward.

“That’s… difficult, baron,” the man said.

“Difficult. It certainly wasn’t difficult for you to conspire with my son.” He tossed the paper aside.

“I served at his leisure. He was utterly committed to seeing this through—my intervention would’ve only delayed the inevitable,” the man justified.

“Hmm.” Tielman shook his head. “Tell me, then. Why is it difficult?”

“Young lord Lennard involved the regional mage consul in the verification process in an effort to make disputing the matter be very… painful.” The steward dipped his head. “To refute it would be to insult the consul.”

“And to insult the consul would have repercussions,” Tielman finished, then scratched at his chin. “Lennard is insecure and cowardly, but at least he schemes thoroughly.”

“I think it’s far more pertinent to discuss what the young lord Willem took with him,” the steward said.

“My son is gone,” Tileman said sharply. “What could be worse?”

“Young lord Lennard paid him off with the majority of the war chest,” the steward blurted out all at once.

Tielman looked away from the steward, staring ahead with a blank face. “The war chest took ten years to build to what it was. It could’ve paid all expenses in the barony for a year.”

“It… it could have,” the steward confirmed.

Tielman looked over. “In the brief time I was incapable, my most talented son was disinherited, and you allowed the entire war chest to be handed off. Does that about summarize your contribution in facilitating the transfer of power?”

The steward looked down at the ground, paralyzed before the baron. Tielman pulled off his blanket, then rose to his feet. Though weak himself, he appeared strong before the trembling administrator.

“I could have you executed for treason. No one would bat an eye. I could leave your children fatherless, and your wife a widow,” the baron said evenly.

“…mercy,” the man barely managed.

“If you want mercy, you have to earn it.” Tielman nearly fell, but he placed his hand upon the man’s shoulder, lurking threateningly. “Go to Lennard. Tell him if I see him again before Willem returns to this family, restored of his inheritance, he won’t need to worry about succession ever again.”

“Of course, baron. Of course,” the man muttered quickly and sheepishly.

“I suggest you ‘help’ him as you ‘helped’ these past few days.” He drew close to his ear. “If you don’t prove you can rebuild this barony as well as you can destroy it, your death won’t be quick. But you’re still alive, and you have some chances. Now, I suggest you start running if you want to stay that way.”

The steward bolted out of the room, and Tielman put his hand up against the wall to stop himself from falling over. He took a few moments to gather himself, then threw on the robes that had been set on his bedside. He walked to the door and opened it.

“Do you enjoy listening in?” Tielman asked his son, Hans.

“Just taking notes on how you make use of people.” Hans studied him cautiously. “Are we going to talk about the poisoning? I mean… you survived, yet…”

“I’m glad it happened.”

Hans laughed disbelievingly. “What?”

“Mere days I was absent, and the Brugh family withered.” Tielman leaned against the doorframe, peering throughout the hall. “I intend to make some changes.”

Hans looked a little eager, but he had the intelligence not to say anything overtly. “Who do you think was responsible?” He waited for a bit, but Tielman didn’t answer. “I mean, of everyone… Willem benefitted—”

“My son did not poison me,” Tielman said firmly.

“Sure, sure.” Hans nodded, unafraid. “But… what if he did?”

“I looked into his eyes as I ate that meal.” He looked at Hans. “I looked into his soul. Willem did not poison me.”

Hans scoffed. “Are you sure the poison’s not messing with your head?”

The baron looked on his son. “I may have been too soft on you, Hans.”

Hans crossed his arms uncertainly.

“Go on,” Tielman insisted. “Tell me a joke.”

“Dad?”

Tielman walked up to him, staring him down. “Say something funny.”

Hans swallowed, unable to meet his father’s gaze.

Disappointed, Tielman backed away. “The van Brugh family is rotten. I lack the stomach to toss it aside completely, but I do intend to cut away the decay. I’ll salvage only what I can. Do you understand?”

“…yes, father.”

“Then perhaps you ought to be thinking of what can be done to help… and then doing it.”

Hans turned and walked away much the same way the steward had.

Once he had disappeared elsewhere, Tielman showed weakness, leaning up against the wall. Disinheritance… Tielman could think only of his brother, living far away from here. His brother had said that children growing up motherless was detrimental to their outcome. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he never should’ve assented to the divorce. Tielman was a warrior and a ruler—in these things, he had complete confidence. Yet his children? They were beyond him.

Tielman would focus on the question Hans had asked—who was responsible for the poisoning. He could think of several people who benefitted from his death. He would be sure to extract that information, even if he needed to take apart every stone of this castle. These were things he intimately understood. As for his household…

Perhaps it was time to bow his head and ask for a favor. Perhaps it was time to have Willem’s mother visit him.

Tielman sighed. Asking her this favor might finish the job where poison failed.

#####

Willem, true to his word, wandered around the city with his family’s collected fortune in his hands. Dirk seemed far more paranoid than the former young lord ever was. He only travelled the more reputable parts of the city, retaining that same somber attitude as he evaluated the whole city. Often he’d stop inside establishments, and though he ate his food, he was intimately focused on what everyone else was saying. He didn’t spare a single word for Dirk.

They travelled from establishment to establishment—banks, shipping depots, and all kinds of stores. Willem listened intently, asked a few questions, and then moved on without doing much of anything. He never even came near the count’s estate. Near the end of the day, Willem sat atop the chest he’d been hauling as he sat by a fountain in a public square.

“What was the purpose of today?” Dirk wondered.

“Foundational information gathering.” Willem drank something he’d bought earlier. “Seeing if this place is worth doing business in.”

“And?”

“Could work. There’s a clientele. Lot of luxury spending. Everything else depends on whether or not this place proves to be a business-friendly climate. Considering the success of others… must be something. But something ain’t everything, son. There don’t appear to be many easy sources of credit, and good property seems more exclusive than I’d hoped. Exclusive means expensive. Expensive is bad.”

Dirk looked at Willem, hundreds of questions brewing. Before he could ask them, someone came up to them.

“Young lord Willem van Brugh?” A soldier stood before him.

Willem looked up. “They tell me that’s my name, yes.”

“The countess has requested your presence immediately.”

“Ah.” Willem rose. “Alright. Wonderful. I’ll head there immediately.”

The man saluted. “I shall bring word.”

Willem watched the man walk away, then looked at Dirk. “This is a big moment, Dirk.”

“Yeah?” Dirk looked at him.

“I intend to do two things in this meeting. One—access census records. Two—get business permits.”

Dirk followed, but something nagged at him. “Aren’t you eager to speak to your sister again?”

Willem looked away. “I don’t even know what she looks like.” He picked up the chest. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Dirk was unsure if Willem was a terrible brother or a tragic figure. But he’d been paid to do a job, and he’d see it through to the end. He followed after Willem.