Charlotte II: The Fixer
The Progress was stopped in the Carringdon harbor for a customs inspection, which was a blatant overreach for a domestic voyage even before considering that it belonged to the Prince of Crescents. The motivation became immediately clear when the thickly built harbormaster arrived to chastise them for failing to provide advanced notice and she learnt his name: Laurence Delbrook.
Once Charlotte made it into the city proper, her first stop was the city hall, where important governmental records would be accessible to better inform her investigation and approach. Behind the counter was an eighteen or nineteen year old girl who introduced herself as Georgia Delbrook, her eyebrows visibly curling into a frown the moment she heard Charlotte’s accent.
Ten years learning Avaline in school, three more using it for all official Guardian business, another four serving Luce, and I still can’t escape that look. In Malin, at least, it had been expected, but the Avaline were so insulated from their conquered territories in the homeland that it seemed to set them off far more often. It was disheartening, but Charlotte’s reputation was of no particular concern here—what mattered most was getting the job done promptly and without room for error.
The results were illuminating—not least because Charlotte met another three Delbrooks still embedded into the lower rungs of the city’s government before the day was even done. Ever since she and Luce had dealt with Perimont’s trusted steward, the late Agnes Delbrook, nominal control of the city had passed to Sir Gerald Astor, father of the deceased Douglas Astor and the vacated Ostian Astor.
In practice, Butcher Arion—Lord Miles Arion, I must remember; this is Luce’s uncle, who granted us refuge after the fall of Malin—had Carringdon in his pocket. With longtime rivals, the Perimonts, cleared from the board due to their follies in Malin, and their chosen stewards dealt with rather decisively by Luce, none could rule in Carringdon without the erstwhile Governor’s leave.
Looking at the employment records, no less than thirty Delbrooks and Perimont cousins had been cleared from the upper levels of government, Directors and Officers and two-thirds of a department called ‘Economic Enrichment’ which seemed to be rather more focused on the enrichment of the families that dominated it and their entrepreneurial partners than in the welfare of Carringdon. After Arion’s reforms, the remaining staff appeared to spend most of their time arranging contracts with prominent Fortescue businesses.
Nothing new, really—Arion and Perimont had both done the same during their tenure in Malin, as had Magister Ticent in Charenton—but Carringdon was particularly blatant about it, perhaps because the Perimonts’ focus had been aimed so squarely at Malin for so long, allowing the foxes to help themselves to Carringdon’s pheasants with reckless abandon.
Lord Arion had done what he could from afar, as did his Astor representative, but there were limits to the extent they could purge when so much had been covertly captured. And limits to what they’d even want to change. For all that he’d done for Luce, for all that his soldiers had been the seed from which the Shadow Guard had first sprouted at all, Lord Arion was not his nephew. No one could grow up in Malin under his governorship and earnestly believe in his good intentions.
The lesser Delbrooks and Perimonts still embedded in the government weren’t the primary concern, though. Sir Stuart Delbrook no longer held any formal position after Astor had expelled him from the position in the Exchequer’s Office his aunt had generously bestowed upon him during her abortive tenure as the ruler of Carringdon.
“The selection process was unbiased, I assure you. Auntie Agnes wouldn’t have abided by any nepotism.” Stuart Delbrook had made Charlotte wait two hours before finally inviting her inside, pouring himself a glass of single malt without even pulling out a second glass. Charlotte would have refused anyway, but she’d seen Luce carry out enough meetings to understand the gesture for the insult that it was. “You do remember her, don’t you? Your patron prince arrived at our gates under the guise of assisting her, then strung her up by her neck so he could hand the city to his uncle.”
“There was a trial,” Charlotte reminded him. “His Highness insisted on it.” Though it wasn’t his first thought—he told me ‘hang her’, and only insisted on the trial once he saw us haul her off and balked at the picture it painted. After that, he’d always been sure to include the appropriate trials and evidence into his plan from the start, rather than as an afterthought. Still, who could truly blame him for that first impulse when Agnes Delbrook was such a callous tyrant?
“Did he? Well, that’s reassuring, then. As long as she was hanged by the book.” Delbrook sneered, then took a sip of his drink. “If you only came here to defend the indefensible treachery of the Prince of Darkness, then this meeting is over. I’m beginning to question why I even allowed you up here.”
“There’s something important to discuss regarding Ostian Astor’s seat in the Great Council. I understand—”
Charlotte stopped as Delbrook broke out into a loud, obnoxious laugh. “Ah, there it is. It’s never enough, is it? You’d think a favored prince would learn to be satisfied, but I suppose there’s always more power to seize from the deserving.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m afraid the Prince of Darkness is out of luck if he wants me to step aside. Especially when his messenger is an insult in and of herself.”
“Excuse me?”
“When I heard that he shared his bed with a Malinese commoner, handpicked by the snake Leclaire to worm her way into his confidences, I expected someone a bit more comely. Though you still wouldn’t have had any luck sweet-talking me.”
“Lies,” Charlotte lied, since she’d been exceedingly careful to leave no proof. Right now, this was simply another rumor, salacious enough to be both interesting and believable for the hated Prince of Darkness. The fact that it was true was irrelevant—she wasn’t going to be the one to confirm anything. “Prince Lucifer sends his regrets that he was not able to see you personally, but I assure you, he meant no insult. I am the commander of his forces, founder of the Shadow Guard, and Commander in Charenton.”
Delbrook laughed, more quickly than the last time. “Just because he gave you titles, that doesn’t make you anyone important. I admit that I was curious, Charlotte of Malin, but you haven’t disappointed me. To think that his tastes are so vulgar... Well, I suppose it’s fitting. Are we done, then?”
“No,” Charlotte insisted through grit teeth. “His Highness has a modest proposal for Astor’s seat, considering the unusual nature of the succession.”
“Maddy Astor went crying to him? Boo hoo.” Delbrook finished his drink, then poured himself another. “Ostian chose me. It’s as simple as that.”
“Is it?” Charlotte stepped closer to him, footfalls heavy enough to echo across the floor. “Ostian Astor isn’t here, while a royal representative is. And Madison Astor is quite close with Princess Elizabeth. Do you think the First Speaker will look kindly upon your usurpation? I can assure you that the Prince of Darkness will not. If he’s as villainous as you say, imagine him as your enemy, the full might of Charenton and Fortescue set against you.”
“If he’s as righteous as you say, it seems curious that he’s made so many enemies. And Elizabeth Grimoire won’t be the First Speaker for long, considering that I’ll tip the majority over to the Harpies. Touching as your concern for me is, I’m afraid it won’t amount to anything. I’m not giving up the seat no matter how you threaten me.”
Charlotte stepped closer still, staring right into his still-unbothered face with stern determination in her eyes. “You won’t have to. The Crown has decided that the Carringdon seat will be decided by election, along with the rest of the western isles.”
“Election? Lord Ostian already elected to choose me as his successor. The peers will fall right in line behind him, and the landed gentry in their wake, should you presume to open the rolls beyond convention. It’s done.”
Charlotte shook her head. “An election by the people. The whole of Carringdon shall decide who represents them in the Great Council, each citizen casting a vote to choose their representative.Vas Sarah and the other Jays have already agreed, as has the Prince Regent. I’m not asking you, but informing you.”
“What—” Delbrook stepped back, brow furrowed. “But the Jays already support the Owls against us. Jeopardizing their own seats just to—You do realize that I’m guaranteed to win this election, do you not? The whole of Carringdon remembers the Prince’s overreach and Arion’s misrule, and Astor stands as a symbol of every indignity visited upon us. You could hold this ‘election’ right now and fair Maddy wouldn’t receive a quarter of the votes.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Then you should have no issues campaigning before the citizens. The election will be held a week before the seat turns over, so be sure that you’re ready.”
“I suppose...” Delbrook scoffed with disbelief, all traces of anger fully replaced by bafflement. “Is your prince a total fool? How hopelessly naive must he be to believe this can benefit him in any way? If the Jays even lose a single seat, any hope of carrying the Assembly will be totally lost to him.”
He’s no fool; he simply trusts me to get the job done. Based on the current climate of the city, unfortunately, Delbrook was surely correct about his chances. But the election wouldn’t be held today—there was still time to arrange for the correct result, and Charlotte knew exactly where to start.
But first, she needed to coordinate with Delbrook’s opponent, Lady Madison Astor.
“Are you utterly daft? I’d be lucky to get a quarter of the vote. My own father disinherited me from the seat as part of some dirty deal with Stewart and the Prince Regent.” Astor had offered Charlotte a glass of wine when she’d poured her own, but hadn’t concealed her judgmental reaction to Charlotte’s accent any better than Delbrook had.
“An outrage that Prince Lucifer hopes to help you correct,” Charlotte attempted, though Astor didn’t look particularly encouraged. But it’s interesting to hear that Lord Stewart was part of this deal—that bears closer examination. After Luce and his brother—Jethro, as it turned out—had banished Anya Stewart for her treasons in Malin, that family was surely another that he could count amongst his enemies. “The election is a chance for you to win the seat back, no matter Lord Ostian’s wishes.”
“Can’t you just kill Delbrook? If it’s good enough for his aunt, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work here.”
Trust me, I already considered that. “The Prince Regent made his deal with your father to get another Harpy in the council. Absent this Delbrook, he’d simply choose another, or some other reliable Harpy. I assure you, there are far too many of them about to kill them all.”
“Then why are you even here? Ugh.” Astor took a large gulp of her wine, enough to drain it, then set the glass down on the table with an audible thud. “This whole thing is just so unfair. It was my turn, damn it! All those years running errands for the First Speaker, all that time plying my father... I wouldn’t expect a commoner like you to understand, royal mistress or not, but I have a lot to lose and nothing to gain by making the attempt, whether or not the selection is performed by this quaint foreign custom.”
“If you win, you’d be the decisive seat in the Great Council. Both Princes would be desperate to curry favor with you.”
“But only one of them would have earned my gratitude for helping me out here? That’s the idea?” Astor shook her head. “If I back this election scheme, I’m essentially sure to lose. To the Mamela, I’m another eastern Owl, while the majority are angry enough at Prince Lucifer to toss out anyone they believe he’s backing. The desperate masses are wholly incapable of understanding the basics of good governance, and as soon as they repudiate it, my own career will be far more damaged by the loss than it ever would be if I step aside. Unfortunate though it is, it’s just a setback. Princess Elizabeth knows I’m a steadfast Owl; she’ll help me find a borough to move to with an aging Councilor and exert the appropriate pressure.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have it right now?” Charlotte asked, drawing on her experience with Gary Stewart to talk down to her like a child. Honestly, Luce might be the only aristocrat I’ve ever met who wasn’t irreparably damaged by that upbringing. As frustrating as it was to deal with for Charlotte, this sort of lazy entitlement didn’t seem to be particularly enriching to their lives either.
“If there was the slightest chance I’d win? Certainly. As things stand now, it would be folly. Please give your patron my apologies, but my career has been damaged enough of late, and it wouldn’t do to jeopardize it further.”
“Under the current conditions. If there’s a path to victory, you’ll enter the race?”
Astor let out a short laugh. “I suppose, but there isn’t one. The Great Binder herself could rise from the dead to grant me her endorsement and I’d still lose to that upjumped clown.”
“Let me worry about that,” Charlotte assured her, seeing no further point in continuing the conversation.
Now that the irritating meetings were done, it was time to get the actual investigative work done.
Brief as his time had been in the office, Stuart Delbrook had still left plentiful records as Carringdon Exchequer, many of them signed personally. Charlotte wasn’t an accountant who could pore over all of it and get a satisfying answer in a matter of hours, but it certainly looked as if he’d diverted millions of mandala earmarked for royal taxations towards his own family’s ventures.
It wasn’t even particularly well hidden, likely because he hadn’t expected any consequences to befall him for it. And thus far, he’s been correct. During the Dark Famines, the Great Council had primarily been concerned about receiving crop tribute from the western isles, even to the exclusion of direct monetary taxation. In the years after, they hadn’t been particularly inclined to investigate the matter too thoroughly—and why would they, when it only made their callousness clear, and trade with the Lyrion League more than exceeded any shortfall?
Any and all of those factors might blunt its impact if I revealed it now, though. With a vested interest in sweeping the whole affair under the rug, the Great Council could not be counted on to hold Delbrook to account.
A few of the documents made reference to an off-site storage facility, though they failed to indicate its location. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be found—looking through a number of the vendor records, several made reference to office supply deliveries and cleaning services to places not officially mentioned in their own right. Those addresses had been scrubbed too, but Charlotte suspected that at least one of the vendors would still have their own records of the services rendered, and had likely been far less diligent about erasing it.
Two of them had already ceased operations, purchased by a joint-stock company called Venture, about a third of which was owned by the Cambrian company Versham-Martin. Even if they had kept the records, that meant a trip back to Cambria at a time that Charlotte could ill afford it, so she had no real choice but to continue down the list.
All told, it took another three days to find a former cleaner irate enough to speak with her, though Charlotte could likely have managed it in one had she hidden her connection to the Prince of Darkness from the start, rather than realizing only belatedly that what should have been a mark of official authority was only a hindrance here. Stuart Delbrook’s failure to pay in full was Charlotte’s gain, else the cleaner might never have opened up.
It took another week to find something worthwhile, holed up in her room squinting over papers by candlelight like Luce in his workshop, but the time spent more than paid off when Charlotte found the Bill of Sale, signed by Stuart Delbrook’s own hand.
Only then did she meet with Madison Astor again.
“I don’t understand what I’m looking at here.” Astor gestured to the incriminating document dismissively. “Would you care to explain?”
Charlotte lifted the paper and began reading the relevant sections aloud.
“Bill of Sale, Witness and Signed in the Year 118... Know all men and women by these presents that I, Stuart R. Delbrook, Royal Exchequer for the City of Carringdon, have on this day, for and in consideration of nine hundred mandala, to me in hand paid by Albert Dewing and John Smallberries, Trustees for Lord Ernest Monfroy, now recorded in the office of the Carringdon city court, Sylvan Province, bargained and sold unto said Trustees, a certain specimen aged about seventeen years; which I warrant to be sound and healthy; and I also will warrant the right and title of said specimen unto said Trustees, their heirs, executors, &c, &c and that said specimen is a utility for life.
Witness my hand and seal, this sixth day of the eleventh month, Year 118, Age of Gleaming.
Stuart Delbrook, Royal Exchequer of Carringdon.”
Charlotte kept her voice steady as she read, difficult as it was to fully remove emotions from consideration, but Astor seemed to have no issue with any of it.
“That’s it? He sold some exotic pet to Monfroy? Why should anyone care about that?”
“It’s not a pet!” I didn’t want to believe it at first either, but this goes past willful ignorance. “Do you know of many animals that live to seventeen years? That sell for nine hundred mandala? For that matter, any animals that Delbrook would have any business possessing, let alone trading?” Charlotte shook her head, pulling out the accompanying document that fully damned him, a missing persons report dated three days before the bill of sale. “George, aged seventeen, was arrested for pickpocketing and released pending trial. Only his family said they never found him, and he‘d vanished from the jail without a trace.”
“So you’re saying...” Astor’s face briefly twisted with horror, but only for a moment. She couldn’t stop the hint of a smile curling around her lips at the thought she might actually get what she wanted now.
Keeping her tone professional, Charlotte drove the conclusion home. “He sold a person, Lady Madison, and barely even covered it up.” She doesn’t deserve this any more than Delbrook does, but getting her in place is the job, and I can’t fail. “If that isn’t enough to turn Carringdon against him, nothing is.”