Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency: 9 (Patreon)

For this chapter to make sense, read the changelog if you haven't.
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“You are Willem van Brugh, are you not?” Petronella asked him, smiling as sweetly as a priestess in white garb ought to.

She had taken a great deal of care in selecting this form. Young men were all too often entranced by those of the cloth, and she had made this woman’s form entrancing. Modest clothing concealing an immodest body—it was something out of poetry, and too often those so young could not realize they were the star of a tragedy instead of a romance.

She was looking forward to how this story unfolded. A great talent, bewitched by a monster bearing the guise of the church. All too often, young men saw red flags as only frills for their silken romance. Would this one be the same? The Canadev Sultanate had assigned her to gather information and infiltrate the administration, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have her own fun.

Willem didn’t wait to finish chewing his lobster before he said, “If you think we know each other, you should be aware I’ve no clue who you are.”

She kept that sweet smile up as she said, “Our paths have not before crossed, but I’m another twisting branch of the great tree that is the church. I answer to Petronella.” She bowed elegantly. “Rumor says the church has refused any aid to your charitable endeavor.”

Willem brushed off his hands. “Who told you this?”

“Many grapes fall from the vine that is the church, young lord Willem,” she answered in this form’s husky, flirtatious voice. “I’ve merely plucked the rumor from the ground.”

“The grapevine, huh?” He studied her carefully, but she noticed no flush across his face. The young man was composed. “Believe none of what you hear, and half of what you see. It’s definitely not charitable. So, what do you want?”

She spread her arms magnanimously. “Only to help.”

Willem crossed his arms and said quietly, “Mmm. To help, you say.” Only once she mentioned help did she see any desire flicker across Willem’s face. Narrowed eyes, and focus. He had calculating blue eyes. “You know… Countess Anne Claire… she’s an old woman. She’s proud—and she has reason to be. Despite that, she lowered her face and asked the church for help. Do you know what she got? A veritable door in the face.”

“Our tree is a vast thing. Sometimes, branches struggle against one another in their bid to reach the light,” she answered smoothly, then sat down beside him on the stone railing. “I came to remedy that. Because… inside of you, young lord Willem… I see a light I want.” She deliberately moved closer to him.

“Then you’re smart.” He kept his eyes locked on hers. “But you should have more dignity. I don’t want any fruits from your tree, just some shade.”

The girl whose form she was taking would’ve been embarrassed, but his comment struck Petronella’s true heart and she could only laugh. After she settled down, she couldn’t help but ask jestingly, “Does the young lord get fruit enough already? Or does he, perhaps, prefer to eat meat?”

“Of course I like fruit,” he said, not quite stern, yet not quite humorous. If she could describe his demeanor, it would be professionally amicable. “I’m simply a little too old to be indulging in sweet things whenever I please.”

She raised her hand up, leaning her chin against it. “A man who doesn’t eat whatever he lays eyes on? Quite the riddle indeed. I do enjoy a good riddle, you know. Solving them, especially…”

“Riddles, is it?” His eyes rolled back as he thought, then refocused on her. “I have one for you. It’s thin, and growing thinner… but the smaller it becomes, the faster I go.”

“Hmm…” she thought on the matter. She briefly questioned if he was being vulgar.

He leaned in. “The answer is my patience. It’s growing quite thin.”

“You didn’t give me time to answer,” she whined demurely, but then laughed. “I suppose that’s fitting for your thinning patience. Very well. I’ll be frank. The church… what it wants, my stonehearted young lord, is proper supervision. The priestess of our grand cathedral is a woman with a vying heart, and as such, she wants a scrying part. Your society has secular influence, yet she wants a confluence.” She said no more, watching to see if he’d get her meaning.

Willem didn’t take long to figure it out. “She wants the church to be a part of mutual aid society. Some sort of advisory role, to supervise us?”

“Most definitely,” she answered, pleased. “It irks the priestess that the church is so uninfluential in this city. The king, lording on high, has put special restrictions on them, given the importance of this port in keeping the capital fed. She wants to fight back.”

Willem nodded as if it all made sense. “Since you’re being so helpful, do you intend to bring that idea to the priestess?”

“On one little condition.” She raised a finger. “I do so look forward to working with you.”

“You’re the supervisor.” He looked a little annoyed. “Can you read and write? Are you numerate? Do you expect to be paid?”

“Fourteen languages flow from my mouth, and seven stream from my pen. I can perform basic math, but I’m not too familiar with it.” She entwined her hands. “As for payment… the church gives me plenty. From you, I expect payment in entertainment.”

“I don’t like generalities like that.” He frowned. “Would you like me to pay for visits to poetry clubs? Theater? That seems like your cup of tea. As for myself, I don’t much like tea at all.”

“That generality is your reality,” she said with a slight tilt of her head. “Unless you have another method to persuade the church to surrender their records, of course.”

“In that case, I’ll tell you straight—you’re going to get underpaid and overworked.” He stared at her seriously. “I’m all business. And we’re not talking funny business.”

Petronella laughed sultrily. “If this conversation is the standard, I very much doubt that.” She rose to her feet, then brushed her hand across his shoulder. She could feel powerful aura coursing through his being, and it sobered some of the amusement she felt. “It was a pleasure, Willem.”

“It may be for me, too, if you hold up your end.” He waved at her. “Nice talking, Petronella.”

“I’ll have a good riddle for you, next time,” she promised, running one hand through her red hair.

“I may ignore it,” he told her bluntly.

With a smile, she turned and walked away. She had just bought herself a lot of legwork. She’d need to deepen this disguise, somehow getting on the inside of the local cathedral. Already, ideas were brewing in her head about her method of infiltration. Perhaps she could pose as someone sent from another church with more authority.

The Canadev Sultanate surely couldn’t protest at her little game. Infiltrating both the church, and earning a position within the society ran by the countess… that was well within the purview of her information-gathering assignment. Amusements like these were her nature… and this promised to be an amusing assignment indeed.

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Dirk walked back up to Willem uncertainly, not knowing what to say.

“You take a long while to go to the washroom,” Willem chided. “I ate your lobster. I needed it more than you did, being the size I am and all.”

Dirk might’ve bristled ordinarily, but he was a little subdued after having seen a strange scene. A jaw-droppingly beautiful woman in modest priestly clothes with red hair, sitting at Willem’s side, laughing, smiling, and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Who was that woman?” He decided to ask.

“You saw her?” Willem looked up. “I don’t know. Said she was from the church. Said she was going to help me with the mutual aid society. Seems a bit young to have any real influence, but what do I know?”

“What did she ask in return?”

Willem shook his head. “I think I’ve yet to see. I’ve met her type before. The people that act like they’re cotton floating in the breeze when in reality, they’re rather serious people. Just have to keep your head on straight, ignore all their bizarre behaviors. The worst thing you can do is acknowledge how strange they act. It’s only then that they get you.”

Dirk raised a brow disbelievingly. “What if they’re actually strange?”

“We’ll see, I suppose.”

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A long while passed by without any more news from the church. Willem busied himself with reading, learning more and more information about the surrounding territories and conflicting interests. Lifelong learning was the tenet of any exceptional businessman. Delving deep into the numbers could be done when there were substantial numbers to delve into.

One day, however, Countess Anne Claire arrived far earlier in the morning than she generally did. Dirk let her in and woke Willem up urgently. When he went out to meet her, still blinking dreams from his eyes, the reason became immediately apparent.

“The church is trying to extort us,” Anne Claire declared, making frantic use of her peacock fan she loved so much. “After refusing me so blatantly, they dare to make demands to fulfill my request. Willem, young man, I—”

“Did they ask to have someone supervise the society?” He interrupted her.

Anne Claire snapped her fan shut. “Did you speak to them?”

“I did, yes.” Willem rubbed his eyes, having been woken up so early by her arrival. “I don’t think it’s an exceptionally grievous compromise. We’ll gain more from their financial records than they’ll learn from the society.”

Anne Claire shook her head. “It’s the principle of the thing. I have to think of my son. If I bow before the church, giving them even an inch into the county… it’s a terrible precedent.”

Willem scratched at his cheek. “Then… why don’t you make a show you’re not involved in the day-to-day affairs of the county, anymore?”

“But I am,” Anne Claire pointed out.

“Well… the church needn’t know that. Why don’t you move in here?” Willem suggested. “It is your manor, and I’m a humble tenant. You’d be welcome. You spend a lot of time travelling back and forth—in the early morning, especially. Your knuckles look a bit swollen—I imagine it can’t be comfortable on the knees, either.”

The countess touched her hands, where the signs of her arthritis were apparent. She was a little touched Willem noticed and said something like that… but she could never admit her joints troubled her. She had to stay strong. She certainly wouldn’t drain her family’s resources paying for daily healing, like others she wouldn’t mention.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “The walks are good for me.”

“They probably are. But… honestly… it’d be a great help if you had some more of the staff in the count’s mansion move here. They could help with the furnishing, the cleaning. That’s my main motive.”

Anne Claire sighed. “You’re just saying that to convince me, aren’t you? Well… fine. It’s true that the stairs in my son’s mansion are somewhat rough on me, these days…”

She looked around at the wide-open Diamant Manor. She’d made so many memories with her husband here. She’d hoped those memories would invigorate her for the task of managing the Society of Assured Prosperity. To live here again, though…

“Perhaps I can move some of my things over… and stay sometimes.” Anne Claire opened her fan. “Perhaps there are memories yet to be made here.”

“I’ll help,” Willem suggested. “Let me remind you, Claire… these years can yet be your golden years. Whether we’re speaking of money, or happiness.”

“Listen to you. Can’t even grow a full beard, yet you know everything.” She sighed. “Well. Let’s hope the one the church sends knows how to be quiet. Subdued. I want a meeting with them. They need to know their place…”

Willem grew disquieted hearing that, but calmed himself. Surely a serious person like Petronella would know how to tone her personality down…

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“Shall I call you countess, Anne, or Claire?” Petronella asked as she smiled at the old woman.

She stared daggers back. “You may call me Countess Anne Claire van der Duyt.”

One side was smiling, while the other side was stony. One was old, one was young, yet none could deny both of these women seemed like wild animals sizing one another up.

“So… Willem tells me you approached him first. Uninvited, at that.” The countess pointed her fan. “Why don’t you enlighten me on your intentions?”