DFAC 10 (Patreon)

Willem had almost been expecting the worst when Anne Claire practically marched into the meeting with Petronella, a scowl on her face. A couple hours later, she returned markedly more cheerful than she’d left.

“Petronella will do as our liaison with the church,” the countless said. “I was ready to tear her apart starting with those pretty lips once I set my eyes on her. But when she told me exactly what you said to her…” she reached up and pinched Willem’s cheek. “You know the score, don’t you, son? Your mother must’ve taught you a lot better than that oafish father of yours. Women like that make passable friends, but bedmates? You’re better off buying a female dog—both are bitches, but at least one will be loyal.” She laughed heartily, then paused. “Ah… forgive my crass tongue. Speaking with Petronella brought me back to my youth, when I was a bit less… restrained.”

“We all slip up now and again,” Willem said generously. “Then… the records, will they be…?”

Anne Claire turned back. “Walter. Walter!” she shouted, and her manservant came rushing forth. “She’s already delivered them. Part of the reason I took a shining to her, you see. The young lady acts. She’s ambitious. She just puts on the charm to make the men fall over themselves, I’m convinced. The gods only know how often I did that in my prime.” She giggled, then broke off into a dignified cough as if embarrassed.

Willem’s eyes brightened as he laid eyes upon the papers that Walter held. He took them in hand, eager to pry them open.

“I must be off, though,” Anne Claire said regretfully. “There’s a cockroach demanding my attention. I keep stomping on him, but he keeps coming back.”

“Good luck,” said Willem absentmindedly. “I’ll see you again when I’m done with these.”

“Such a diligent young man,” Anne Claire said, waving her fan. “Good luck yourself.”

Willem turned and walked deeper into the estate, shadowed by Dirk. He told the man, “Dirk, I’m going to be staying in my room the rest of the day. Just bring me some food when I should be eating.”

“What? Why?” Dirk looked at him incredulously.

Willem raised the papers. “I have to get through these.”

“But…” Dirk looked confused. “You don’t like to work hard.”

“Work?” Willem stopped and turned. “Reading financial records isn’t work. It’s fun. I get to see how the church functions financially. If you see how money flows, you see how the world works. And that’s fun.”

Dirk looked at him incredulously, but followed along in total silence.

#####

Lennard tried very hard not to grind his teeth together. It was a bad habit he’d had since youth. These days, it was almost impossible not to.

He’d come to Gent pursuing his younger brother, Willem. That alone was humiliation and embarrassment enough—the one major act he performed as baron regent was the biggest faux pas he’d made before his father in his whole life. Not only would his order of Willem’s disinheritance be rescinded, now Lennard himself stood at threat of disinheritance.

Upon arriving here several days ago, however, he’d been barred entrance to the city. He’d been forced to stay in an inn outside, where the accommodations were poor and the food poorer. Seven entire days he’d been barred entry—and now, he was finally granted access to the gatehouse, not even the city itself. Some small recompense for that fact was that he’d been told the countess was coming—surely, his sister would help correct things.

But hours passed with no one more appearing—only the constant return of a messenger, who brought the words, “The countess will only be another minute, young lord. If you could wait a bit longer…”

Lennard would’ve left long ago if he didn’t fear what his father would do. He didn’t know what he’d done to the Duyt family to earn this humiliation, and repeated inquiries to that point bore no fruit. When the messenger entered the room again to speak, Lennard regarded him wordlessly and waited for a repetition of familiar phrasing.

“The countess will see you now, if you’re ready,” he said.

It took Lennard a few moments to realize that something different had been said. When it was, he rose to his feet with a start. He almost wanted to channel his aura to run faster, but instead he said enthusiastically, “I’m ready. Very ready.”

“This way, young lord.” The man bowed professionally, then led him away.

Lennard looked forward to seeing his sister again. She had always been very agreeable, very pliable. He was sure he could get her to help with bringing Willem back into the fold. As to whether or not the gold could be recovered… he didn’t have high hopes. By now, Willem had surely spent it all.

Eventually, they stopped at a room, and his escort opened it up. “In there, young lord.”

Lennard walked in, but stopped at the entrance when he saw only an old woman inside. He looked to the escort. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

“The countess will see you now,” the man repeated, then walked away from the door.

Lennard watched him walk away, bemused, then looked back at the woman.

“Welcome, young lord Lennard,” she said. “I am Countess Anne Claire van der Duyt. Please, have a seat.”

Lennard felt like the curtain had been drawn back, and the trick revealed. This was the countess—not his sister, but the wife of the former count who’d passed away many years ago. Even still, he walked inside slowly and shut the door, taking his seat opposite her as she hid her face with her fan.

“I do so apologize for the long wait,” Anne Claire said to begin. “To compensate you, I’ve had a delicacy brought out from the count’s kitchens, you see. It was picked just for you, to match your rumored personality. It’s a unique drink, the ingredients of which are harvested by hand. It was grown in fermented foods and earthen soil, you see, and gives it a rather rich aroma and unique taste.”

Lennard felt like healing light had found him after that respectful greeting, and leaned forth to take his cup. He had the words ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue, when he looked inside the cup. He saw what was unmistakably a dead roach within, swollen with water. He looked up, horrified and confused.

“Like I said. A delicacy.” The countess snapped her fan closed. “My dear daughter-in-law Catharina says that she tried it once, at the age of seven. You tricked her into trying it.”

Lennard’s mind raced. He did vaguely recall tricking Catharina into drinking water that had a dead roach inside it, but… hadn’t he been nine years old, then? He remembered it more for the paddling his father had given him when he learned of it. He couldn’t walk for the rest of the day.

“Well?” Anne Claire smiled. “You came all this way, and stayed here so persistently. It must be an important matter. It must be something you can’t afford to make any mistake in, without facing some dire consequence.” Her eyes felt like they saw right into Lennard’s soul. “You wouldn’t want to insult your host, after they so graciously prepared a delicacy catered to your character. I’m positive it’ll suit you.”

#####

Countess Anne Claire had a bounce in her step as she led their crew to their destination—the crew being Dirk, Petronella, and Willem. They walked through the dusty halls of the Diamant Manor, which now had a great deal of the staff from the count’s estate working to spruce it up.

“You seem rather happy today, Anne Claire,” Willem noted.

“I had quite the productive interaction. Sometimes, gifts come where you don’t expect to find them. People can surprise you in so many ways…” She shook her head with a smile playing about her lips. “Now, in here.”

The countess pushed aside two large wooden doors, and they dragged against the floor unpleasantly before opening into a grand, wide-open room with impeccable marble flooring coating by a thin layer of dust.

“This is the ballroom,” the countess declared, walking in. She looked around. It was a circular room with a huge open area, pillars lining the side and two spiral staircases leading upward to walkways that led to balconies. “I’m going to have it renovated—separate it from the manor, and open it up to the street. It’ll suffice as the Society of Assured Prosperity’s meeting area, don’t you think, Willem?”

Willem looked around in silence. Meanwhile, Petronella walked ahead. She’d abandoned her priestly garb, instead dressing up in an elegant black fur coat replete with matching gloves and boots. It looked luxurious, yet classy. He suspected she was being a bit more true to herself now that he’d clarified their relationship as one of business alone.

“You must’ve had quite the time in here, countess,” Petronella said, her low voice echoing pleasantly in the building. “Hosting kings and queens, princes and princesses…”

“Only one king, but yes,” Anne Claire said proudly. “If it works, Willem, I can order the renovation right away.”

Willem scratched his chin. “We should change the walkway into a second floor—lots of unused space in this grand, open area. Create two rooms in the back…” He turned to where they’d walked in. “The back would be there. One, smaller—my office. The other, a private meeting room, for clients. Yeah… yeah, I could see this working. How much will it put me back?”

“Consider it a gift,” the countess said.

Willem narrowed his eyes. “A gift? That doesn’t feel right to me. Gifts are supposed to be reciprocated equally, and I’m a little lacking in premier real estate of yet.”

“We’ll work something out.” Anne Claire snapped her fan shut. “For now… over breakfast, you mentioned something?”

“Of course.” Willem reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I’ve decided on our first target clients. They’re largely married women with no children and wealthy husbands—the most at-risk of trouble when the time for inheritance comes. The principal strategy is to convince them to pursue a policy in case of their husband’s untimely expiration. We can expand our clientele in the future, but I’m confident this will be the most productive course of action.”

“Hmm… make the wives ask their husband for a gift, then busy their idle hands with work, here in the society.” Petronella crossed her arms. “I very much like it, Willem.”

“It’s a noble cause.” Anne Claire nodded sagely. “The tales I’ve heard… women marry a man, he dies young, and they’re left with nothing on account of squabbling relatives—cousins, and the like.  They can’t remarry, often, due to the stigma, and oft times their family won’t take them back.”

“Right.” Willem looked between them. “Anne Claire—you’ve already agreed to handle a lot of the day-to-day with the society members. I’ll handle the financial aspect of it all.” He turned to his right, then put his shoulder on the silent servant’s shoulder. “Dirk, you’re on sales.”

“What?” Dirk shot his head back. “You were serious?”

“Why wouldn’t you want me on sales?” Petronella put her hand to her heart, almost as if hurt.

“You’re the last person I’d want talking to childless married women,” Willem said, and Petronella laughed in response. “Yes, Dirk, I was serious. For now, since we’re not yet established, all you’re doing is spreading the word. You’ll go to these people. You’ll do a soft sell. Mention Anne Claire’s name, mention the name of our mutual aid society with specific clientele designed to promote welfare. Drum up curiosity. Your sad eyes and short stature will ensure they remember what you say a lot more than what you look like, so rehearse your pitches in advance.”

Dirk looked both annoyed and daunted.

“And what am I to do, leader man?” Petronella walked closer.

Willem looked at her. “I’m stuck with you, so I’m going to make you do all the things I don’t like doing.”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Accounting can be quite dull, though I enjoy reading it. I prefer to be the ideas guy—reading, talking, while everyone else does the actual monotonous busywork.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re going to learn my accounting standards.”

“That’s rather dry,” she protested.

“I certainly don’t want you doing wetwork.”

Petronella stiffened upon hearing those words, then she said, “Right… right, of course not… wetwork… I’m certainly no assassin…” She straightened her coat, and managed a laugh. “Very amusing.”

Willem took her awkwardness as dislike of her new role. He added, “Lighten up. My standards are simpler and more efficient than you’d find in most other places in the world.”

Petronella sighed. “Of course.”