“The locals are scared,” Simon noted, looking out at the remnants of the pier. The smoke had mostly cleared by this point, but the shards and debris left from the explosion still littered the shore. Even with the bodies cleared away, the blood remained. “Ironic, that they would live in fear.”

“It’s not that.” Father shook his head. “Take another look.” Why did he always have to be so critical?

“Fine.” Another look revealed more of the same: discarded shrapnel and bloodstains surrounded by cowering peasants, staring in horror at the destruction. Children tried to get a better look as parents pushed them back, while some tried to sneak away before the Territorial Guardians’ sharp stares reminded them that no one was to leave until the investigation was concluded. All throughout, the chatter and murmurings drowned out even the sound of the waves.

Father placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you see it?”

“I think I do now,” Simon lied. It was easier this way, sparing himself another boring lesson about the need for constant vigilance, the twisted courage of the Malins, or the duties of a Governor’s son. Better to just give him what he wanted to hear.

“Good boy! Always good to give a situation a second glance, make sure you haven’t missed anything. All the more vital in enemy territory.”

“We won,” Simon corrected. “It’s Avalon’s territory now.”

Father’s grip tightened, like the talons of a bird digging into his shoulder. “See, that’s precisely the sort of careless thinking that could end up getting you killed. Where did your wisdom from a moment ago flee to? I expect more from you, Simon.”

“Yes, Father,” he enunciated through clenched teeth. “May I go now? I have the Convocation of Commerce tonight.” Not for a couple hours, admittedly, but it gave him an excuse to be rid of this miserable tedium.

“You’d abandon the aftermath of this attack to count coppers with those gilded ninnies? Really, Simon?” Ugh, this again.

“It’s not a matter of what I want, Father. You appointed me the Liaison of Commerce, and I mean to take it seriously. It was impressed upon me repeatedly when I accepted the job. That means proper preparation for all of these meetings.” Not that Simon had any intention of preparing anything, but there was hardly a sweeter excuse than using Father’s own words against him.

“Very well,” he sighed. “Check in with Sir Gerald first—Prince Harold put him in charge of the investigation—and then you may go.”

Good enough. The knight had been fairly amiable since arriving with the King’s party, anyway. Stopping by before he left would hardly be a great hardship. “Thank you, Father.”

Simon nodded to Father’s excessively large circle of guards as they parted before him, allowing him to enter the cleared space around the remnants of the docks. He nearly tripped over an errant board on the approach, revealing a glimmering earring embedded into the sand. The blue gem set into it was remarkably unscuffed, so he bent down to quickly slip it into his pocket. Not exactly evidence, but it might make for a fashionable addition to his wardrobe. Especially with the accompanying story, salvaged from the wreckage of an attack. Girls loved that kind of stuff.

At least finding the man he needed to check in with was easyenough . Even with his thick-heeled boots, Sir Gerald Stewart was the shortest person in the vicinity, the messy cloud of sandy brown hair atop his head barely even reaching the eye level of the woman next to him. “…I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Charlotte, but really it’s quite simple once you look at it with rational, analytical eyes.”

Simon came upon him from behind and tapped him on the right shoulder, sliding around to his left as he turned. “Simple, eh? They’ve got the right man for the job then, don’t they, Gary?”

“Khali’s curse!” The knight flailed at the feint, practically jumping into the air. “Fuck, Simon. It’s not safe for you to be doing things like that. I’m a highly trained knight, a finely-honed sword in human form. I have to be on guard for even the slightest hint of a threat. If I weren’t so well controlled, I might have killed you just now.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.” Simon smiled, wiggling his eyebrows at the woman next to him. “Now would you be so kind as to introduce your companion?”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “Who, her? That’s just Charlotte. The Territorial Guardians lent her out to me for the investigation. Could have used a forrester or two, but I’ll make do.”

“I’m enchanted to meet you, my lord.” Thickly muscled, with her light colored hair cut roughly at shoulder length, she wasn’t Simon’s usual type, but she’d do in a pinch. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your father yet, but the Guardians serve at his pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, my dear.” He bent down to grab her hand, kissing it slightly before turning back to Gary. “Think you’ll wrap this up quickly? I heard that there’s a party in Fuite Gardens. If the day’s fair, the whispers I heard are true, and they’ll be roasting a pig soaked in rum.”

“This is as simple a case as it gets.” Gary nodded. “The locals tried to stop the might of Avalon and destroyed the harbor bridging this territory with our home. They’re scum, no other word for it.”

“You’re so sure?” Charlotte scratched her chin. “Forteen of the dead are Malins, and countless among the wounded.”

“Which just makes it all the more despicable.” The knight clicked his tongue. “Wanton destruction for no purpose save jealousy and spite.”

Charlotte returned his comment with a blank stare. “Couldn’t it have had something to do with the King? The explosion tore through his ship, didn’t it? Surely it’s no coincidence that this happens now, with King Harold and his son both here in Malin.”

“Eh, perhaps.” Simon tilted his hand. “You ask me, this is all about money. Destroying the harbor disrupts the flow of goods back to Avalon, it halts the trade enriching the lives of everyone. Until it’s repaired, Avalon might as well not be here at all for all the good it’s doing us.”

“But how long will that really be? Weeks? Months, at worst?” Charlotte flicked her eyes out over the wreckage of the harbor. “It’s not much by itself. In my opinion, something like this makes the most sense as a prelude to some kind of follow-up naval attack. Without naval defences, Malin is vulnerable from the river and the sea both.”

“The attack will come from Guerron, no doubt about that.” Gary nodded. “Well reasoned, Charlotte. Perhaps you can be of use after all.”

“Thank you,” she responded, somehow managing to sound sincere as she did.

“You’re quite welcome.” Sir Gerald turned back to Simon. “If Guerron is planning an attack, we had better strike first. At once.”

Simon snorted. “We wouldn’t really be ‘first’ if they were behind this, would we? But I see your point. I’ll mention it to Father when I see him next.”

“Mention me to your sister too. I don’t think she’s been getting the messages I’ve been leaving her.”

Hiding his mouth behind his hand, Simon stifled a chuckle. “Sure,” he lied. “You have such a way with words, Gary. I wouldn’t want her to miss out on your charm.”

“Tell her that Prince Harold himself put me in charge of the investigation, while you’re at it. I mean to bring every last piece of shit involved with this to justice, even if I have to tear them apart with my bare hands.”

No doubt.

Silence hung in the air for a moment as Sir Gerald mimed tearing into flesh, adding sound effects with his tongue to match.

“I’ll gather up the witnesses, then,” Charlotte said, finally. “We can see if anyone saw where the explosion originated. If anyone can name a ship, we can go through customs records and check prior ports of call, try to get an idea of who planned this.”

“If anyone’s willing to talk.” Simon glanced back to the crowd held in place by the Guardians, shoved back gently with the shaft of their spears if they appeared to be stepping out of line. “You might be better off starting with our people.”

“Governor Perimont already oversaw their questioning. No one remembered anything useful,” Charlotte supplied. “Most of them were playing dice in a tavern when the explosion occurred. They didn’t see any more than we did.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“It’s good to see that Avalon’s loyal customs officers are keeping us safe.” Simon shot her a grin. “Don’t worry. Father will take care of it.”

“No doubt,” agreed Gary as he cracked his knuckles. “Bring the ones who won’t talk to me. If they’re not with us, they’re against us. Simple as that.”

“As wonderful as that sounds, I’m afraid I have to be going.” Amusing as Gary could sometimes be, the smell of smoke in the air was growing annoying. “I’ve got the Convocation of Commerce and all.” The nice thing about a good excuse was that it could work again and again. Even helped keep your story straight, in case anyone started to compare notes.

Gary blinked. “That’s still happening?”

“Of course it’s still happening!” Charlotte threw up her hands. “The whole harbor just went up in smoke. You really think Mr. Clochaîne won’t want to plan a strategy to deal with the disruption? Ms. Sunderland? Mince?”

“I don’t think about it at all. Honestly, I’ve never even heard of half those people. I have a bombing to investigate; no time to deal with the trifling affairs of those penny-pinchers.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “It affects the welfare of the entire territory. Probably even more than catching the culprits. Don’t be so dismissive, Gary.”

“Fine.” Gary held up his hands in mock surrender. “That’s your business, Simon. You do what you need to do, and I’ll handle mine. Which happens to be catching the bastards who put a bomb in the harbor and destroyed a royal-class warship.”

“We don’t know it was a bomb for sure though. Depending on what the ships were transporting, it might have been an accident. If we can find—”

Gary’s finger pushed up against Charlotte’s mouth. “Yes, yes, the ship manifests, the cargo, whatever. We’ll get to all of that, but first we need to deal with the witnesses. Especially if they’re not willing to cooperate.”

And that’s my cue. “Farewell, Gary. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Charlotte.” Even if he could probably find someone better this evening, he still gave her a final smile. No cost to that.

“Keep up the good work, Simon. I’ll see if I have time to come see you at that party.”

And just like that, Simon was finally free of this tedium. He nodded to his guard as he exited the premises, and they fell into step behind him.

“What do you make of this?” Simon asked him, pulling the earring from his pocket. “Not a scratch on it, so maybe diamond?”

“I’m not a jeweler, Master Simon. But it certainly is beautiful.”

“That it is,” he agreed. Far better than the seaglass dreck that most sailors bedecked themselves with in a doomed attempt to seem fashionable. A quick wipe with his shirt, and it looked pristine enough to be new. And it slid into his ear like it belonged there.

“You look very dashing, sir.”

“I do, don’t I?” Simon smiled. Now all that remained was—

“Excuse me.” He felt a tap on his shoulder.

When he turned, it was the Crown Prince greeting him, a pensive expression across his face.

“Prince Harold!” Simon forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. How are you finding Malin?”

“Surprisingly pleasant. I was expecting it to be hotter.”

“Not until Summer.” SImon shook his head. “And any chambers fit for royalty have a mechanical means of cooling them, though the generators powering them may be noisy for your tastes.”

“Luce would probably love it. He’s all about those contraptions; sometimes it seems like his focus to the exclusion of all else.”

“And your father, the King? I hear he means to leave soon, in order to better survey the territories under his aegis.”

Harold smiled. “Nothing to do with Malin, that. Don’t worry. His Grace finds the city just as I do.”

“Excellent. What can I do for you, then?”

“I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment before you left. In private. It’s a matter of state.”

“Of course.” Fantastic. At this rate, he actually was going to have to go straight to the Convocation. “Your highness’s wish is my command.”

The Prince nodded at him, stepping onto an empty stretch of beach by the side of the road. ‘What do you think of your father’s leadership here? Any issues with the way he runs things?”

What? “I—I’m not sure I should comment on that.”

He waved his hands. “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t ask you to badmouth the man who raised you. I simply mean that no one is perfect, and each man’s particularities are liable to be different. I would rule differently from my father, just as you might yours. That’s not an indictment of them.”

“Umm… No it isn’t?” Did Prince Harold have an issue with Father’s administration? “Governorships are not hereditary though, as the Crown is. It’s a bit different.”

“Of course, of course. But you’ve been working under him, learning from him about this territory and what it takes to rule it. Am I mistaken?”

“Of course not, your highness.”

“And you’ve noticed his… fixations. Rule through overt displays of power, displays of force with the executions, the extra funding for the Territorial Guardians and the employment of these… What did he call them?”

“Forresters,” Simon supplied. “A special branch devoted to stamping out any inklings of rebellion.” Bloody waste of money, honestly. But they seemed to keep Father happy.

“Would you do the same, were you in his place?”

If I were in his place, I’d seek another office right away. Governorship seems terminally dull. But that wasn’t the sort of thing a prince would want to hear. “I would stand by my father’s decisions. He’s ruled Malin ably for nearly two decades without any major issues. Obviously, his approach is working.”

Prince Harold furrowed his brow, flicking his head back to glance at the harbor. “I see. I think I’ve learned what I need to know, then.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, your highness.”

“That’s a nice earring, by the way,” Harold added. “It has an elegant way of catching the light.”

Fuck. There was only one thing to do when the Crown Prince complimented something you were wearing. “It’s yours, your highness. Take it with my compliments.”

Harold blinked. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I insist.” Simon forced a smile as he removed it from his ear, pressing it into the prince’s hand. “Wear it in good health.”

“I’ll probably give it to my brother, then. He’s more fond of the style.” He shrugged. “Thank you then, Simon. I appreciate the perspective you’ve provided.”

“It was my greatest pleasure, your highness. Please send your brother compliments from me and my father as well, when you see him next.”

An interminable round of nodding and smiling and pleasantries followed as Simon tried desperately not to appear too eager to get away from this conversation.

By the time they were finished, any semblance of free time remaining to him before the Convocation had evaporated. Stupid bombing, ruining everything.

Simon turned to his guards the moment they were alone once more. “Why did you let him creep up on me like that? Lazy asses. Your job is so easy, one would think you have the time to actually do it.”

“Sir, that was the Prince himself. Surely he of all people is permitted to approach. We simply thought—”

Simon waved his hand in the guard’s face to shush him. If you’d actually seen him, you would have warned me. But it wasn’t worth dealing with. He had a party to attend, and before that, the Convocation.

Usually these sorts of affairs were mercifully brief, but Simon knew better than to expect that this time. The implications of the harbor in ruins were enormous, far more important than the King’s ship or a few dead sailors. Tedious as Convocations of Commerce could sometimes be, this would be anything but boring.

As was his custom, Simon was the last to arrive at the brightly lit guildhall where the gathering would take place. He represented the Governor’s Office, and it was important that the merchants here recognized that he was the one they needed to please most of all.

The warm glow of lamps coated every surface, all the better to pore over papers deep into the night if it were necessary. Not that Simon had any intention of staying so long as that. He had an appointment to keep.

“Master Perimont.” Mr. Clochaîne stepped in front of him before he could even enter the room. “You’ve arrived.” The candle merchant steepled his spindly hands, a finely crafted golden ring on each finger. His matte black coat was of Cambrian make, more expensive than a building in Malin, for all that it looked unassuming. But that was the thing about class; it was a subtle affair. New money would never understand it, bedecking themselves in gaudy accoutrements at their own peril.

With a tap of his finger, Clochaîne straightened his three-pointed hat, a deep green whose dye was only sold by poachers from the Arboreum. “These are trying times, and we all wish to recognize that in our contributions. Myself most of all.”

“Good.”

In the wake of the Foxtrap, Mr. Clochaîne had risen meteorically, extinguishing and subsuming all competition, and even building an internal shipping company to export his wares and import his materials. Even with all of that in mind, Simon wasn’t quite sure how he could put forward so much money, but that was an area where it paid to not look too closely.

“With that in mind,” Clochaîne continued, “I would like to note that my company has doubled our usual donation to the Office of Commerce. I trust you will make appropriate use of the funds.”

“I always do, don’t I?” Simon smirked. “As much as the Office of Commerce appreciates that, do you have anything a bit more… fungible? With the royals in town, I’m taking extra care to keep things above board for a while.” Especially if Prince Harold himself were interrogating him about how to rule the city. What had all of that been about, anyway?

Clochaîne nodded, gesturing to a leather bag resting against Simon’s usual seat at the head of the table, barely visible through the doorway. “From all of us, for the extra troubles you’re taking.”

“You have my gratitude then.”

“I hope you take it in the spirit in which it is intended. And in turn, keep your Office’s attention focused where it’s needed most.”

“Away from you, eh?” Simon winked. “Don’t worry. Once the royal family’s gone, so too will the need to keep everything wound up so tightly. I’ve always had your back, haven’t I?”

“You have certainly been much more understanding than your predecessor in that regard, so far.”

“Obviously,” Simon snorted. The last Liaison of Commerce had done far more than skim off the top, trying to use her position to force the merchant families directly under her thumb, demanding oversight of their accounting, investigators from the Office to pore over their every operation, and overall put a stranglehold on the economy of the city.

Simon took a bit off the top, sure. Who wouldn’t, in a position like this? What was the point in being the governor’s son if it didn’t buy him a bit of goodwill from the upstanding business community of Malin? But he would never deign to disrupt the city’s trade, or the men and women who held it up on their backs. Especially not with something as pointless as customs interdiction.

Whatever the law said, some people had goods to sell and others wanted to buy them. If anything, it was a moral duty to maintain their freedom to do so. Father disagreed, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the investigation,” Mr. Clochaîne said. “I still have some contacts in Porte Lumière, if you suspect the Isle of Soleil’s involvement.”

“Soleil?”

“I was told that spirit sundials were found amidst the wreckage. That points to worshippers of Soleil as at least a possibility. And nowhere are they more numerous than the Isle.”

“I’ll tell Sir Gerald Stewart to come find you,” Simon responded with a shrug as he stepped into the room. “He’s handling all of that business. But thank you, Mr. Clochaîne.”

The merchant smiled. “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”