Florette IV: The Disruptor
This city is everything that’s wrong with Avalon. That became clear almost immediately at the shore when Florette was taken aside for additional questioning, forced to bluff her way through an explanation for what she was doing there without letting on the slightest distress.
The Twilight Society had been invaluable to getting through it, which was more support than Monfroy had ever given her before. Without Florette even having to ask, Vas Sarah had passed on a letter requesting to scout out the Carringdon election for the possibility of a Jay candidacy, either a favor to Monfroy or a genuine instruction. Perhaps both. On paper, Srin Sabine was now an official employee of the Jay Party apparatus, though Florette had been cautioned against trying to approach any of the other Jays without talking to Sarah first.
Not that Monfroy cared, though. All he wanted was a winner in his pocket. If anything, he’d probably prefer someone without any visible connection to him to a known Jay.
There wasn’t much chance of the Jays having any success, anyway. Every single Jay seat was drawn from the western isles, and every representative numbered among the Mamela. There wasn’t the slightest chance of the party shaking that association, which just about killed any prospects here.
Carringdon had been the tip of Avalon’s spear of imperialism before Avalon had even existed, a Mamela city named Balachand brutally conquered by Inferno Arion. In time, Carringdon had been wrested from his grip by Walsden Perimont, ‘The Relentless’, an extension of a family rivalry that saw them both racing to take as much land in the west as they possibly could, but it had done little to improve the plight of the people who lived there.
Most books at the Cambrian College still called that time ‘the Settlement,’ though the very oldest still used ‘the Liberation Wars’ after Arion’s pronouncement on his day of victory in the city that would, from then on, only be known as Fortescue. He’d personally executed eleven sages of the moon with a single swing of his axe, then proclaimed that Fortescue would forever be free from the tyranny of the spirits. Today, Fortescue’s Mamela made up less than a third of its population, and Carringdon had even less. The conquerors had been thorough.
According to the Professor, and confirmed by Sarah, most of the western isles called the whole period ‘The Narakam’, or ‘the Inferno’ in Avaline, after Arion’s sobriquet. Srin Savian had called them ‘the beginning of the end’ for the independence of the Mamela principalities, and for his family’s fortune in particular. While only the easternmost island entirely fell, no one escaped devastation, and their failed attempts to retake it in the time that followed only furthered their decline.
By the time of the final union with Avalon in Year 50, most of the educated Mamela saw it as tragic but inevitable—at least, that was what people like Srin and Sarah said now, with over seventy years of hindsight. The reality on the ground had likely been far more sudden, though Florette had no real way of knowing for sure with literacy at the time so low. The only people writing accounts were the ones with enough education and status to see that they could cling on to much of their privilege in a united Avalon, though few of them truly believed that Harold Grimoire would honor his promises forever. The famines in the Summer of Darkness and the months that followed, unfortunately but unsurprisingly, had proved their skepticism correct.
Florette had figured she would start at the library, in case there was anything local to Carringdon that would better inform her about the correct approach to take here, but after being held for questioning for the better part of the day, it was already closed.
No matter. Crawling the taverns to talk to people directly was always a useful way to get the sort of information that wasn’t written down, and might provide a bit of relief on this nightmare of a trip. Florette guided herself using the ancestral Perimont castle, Woodfell, lit up on the hill as a landmark to navigate by even as darkness fell.
The first place she’d tried, Jonny’s, was packed to bursting with burly workers from the foundry, clearly surprised and suspicious to see a girl like Florette even setting foot inside, but most of them were drunk enough not to care too much once she started chatting.
The discussions were illuminating, if somewhat depressing. Aside from closing down Jonny’s every pay day, there wasn’t any kind of organization, nothing even close to the neighborhood meetings of the garment workers in Cambria. Most of them weren’t even aware that they had any choice in their Great Council seat this time, and didn’t seem much interested in voting once Florette did mention it.
Not that I can really blame them for that. Astor or Delbrook, it’s some aristocratic fucker traveling to Cambria to wine and dine with other Councilors while they talk about how best to wring every scrap of wealth from people like us. Worse, unless Florette failed, they’d be in Monfroy’s pocket, forever weighing the risks of rebuking him, terrified of being exposed as they counted the days until he died and their secrets were safe.
Of course, unlike me, they won’t know that he’ll never die on his own. Florette wasn’t sure exactly how often he needed to drain the life from people to maintain his youth and vigor, but unless the day came when lords were held accountable for murdering ‘unimportant’ people like the construction workers, he’d always have enough to keep himself going.
It wasn’t as easy as stabbing him, either, not that that approach didn’t come with its own risks regardless. Monfroy had made that clear himself two years ago, as if daring Florette to try it, making a big show of cutting a deep gash into his finger with the royal sword of Micheltaigne as he lifted it by the blade from his mantle. Before a minute had passed, the wounds were already healed, hopes of a simple solution gone.
The Blade of Khali would probably work, but Florette didn’t have it anymore, per her deal with King Magnifico, and now that it was locked up in Camille Leclaire’s clutches, acquiring it would be a massive, time-consuming challenge of its own. She’d looked into another blade called the Spark Sword, which had apparently been involved in the killing of the Moon Spirit, but nothing had substantiated its existence beyond rumors.
The next two taverns were a pretty similar story to Jonny’s, though Florette did find a few committed Astor voters, grateful for her family’s role in the ouster of the hated Agnes Delbrook. Back when Prince Luce was still new to the family business, Delbrook had invited him into the city with a plea for help with the famines. When he’d discovered the depths of her mismanagement, he’d had her executed instead and turned control of the city over to his uncle.
“You’re wrong about that, mate,” a middle-aged man cut in from down the bar. “Prince Luce showed up with an army of his shadow people, tainted by his sorcery, and threatened to burn the whole city to the ground if order could not prevail. Agnes Delbrook pleaded with him to spare the city, to take her life instead, and the Prince of Darkness obliged. She was a shit steward of Carringdon, aye, but when the time came, she did what was right.”
“Yeah, where’d you hear that?” the Astor voter barked indignantly. Around thirty-five, she’d told Florette that she was an engineer at an office in the center of town, mainly involved in the machinery for ammunition factories, since that was where the money was. “Out of her nephew’s mouth?”
“So what? He’d know, wouldn’t he? Anyone wants to put on a banquet where the whole city’s invited, they earn the benefit of the doubt.”
“But Agnes Delbrook—”
“She ain't the one running, is she? Prince of Darkness saw to that. You know the only reason these elections are happening is because he wants absolute power? Couldn’t abide by the seat going to a Harpy loyal to Prince Harold, so he stuck his fingers in it. This is our chance to show that manipulative, elitist fuck what happens when you mess with Carringdon!”
Florette jumped back in her seat slightly, then offered to rejoin to a table with the engineer.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get home. I’ve got a two year old and a husband that acts like one. But it was nice to meet you.”
“Sure.” Not a very promising picture, though. “Is there anything to what that guy was saying, though? Anything dirty about Madison Astor?”
The engineer shrugged. “I’d prefer a sack of potatoes in the Great Council over a Delbrook, but Astor seems fine enough herself. She’s the natural choice, right?”
You might think so, but I need to know who will win.
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She hit another three taverns before heading back to the inn, meeting a few more supporters but mostly people who couldn’t spare a thought to any of it, dissatisfied and skeptical that either representative would do anything meaningful to improve Carringdon or truly fight for its people in the Great Council.
Florette woke up close to noon the next day, dragging herself out of bed with a groan so she could get back out there and work on this problem. Another night picking peoples’ minds would be time well spent, but considering the hour, it wasn’t much of an option at the moment. Instead, she went with her first plan, walking up the gentle slope from the harbor towards the modest brick library building near the center of town.
A single guard was standing in front with his arms crossed, eyes visibly narrowing with disgust as Florette approached, but he didn’t stop her from going in.
I suppose they weren’t wrong that I can pass for Mamela. Without that, Florette wouldn’t even be here, and the Blue Bandit wouldn’t even exist. It was important to remember that. She had to remember who she was, lest the mask overtake her. Instead it would be Maxime, or whomever else the Queen of the Exiles saw fit to send.
And I would be...
What, exactly?
It was hard to imagine staying in Guerron for four years—even on assignment in Cambria, Florette had managed to see more of the world than that. Returning to base piracy lacked a certain appeal after everything with Eloise and that girl, Cassia, but what else was there?
Rebecca wouldn’t be in her life, for certain. No love, no lies, no guilt. But what would it actually look like?
I definitely wouldn’t be posted up in the Carringdon library, that’s for sure.
Starting with the local maps, it looked like there were four villages about a day’s walk from the edge of the city, which boasted little save farmers. If any of them had made it out of the Summer of Darkness intact, they were sure to be as opposed to Delbrook as anyone here was likely to get.
The journals from that era had obviously been heavily censored, Avalon’s ostensible speech protections be damned, but there was still enough there to pick through to get a better picture of Carringdon’s deterioration up to the point of Delbrook’s execution. Afterwards, once the Astors had been installed, things cleared up significantly. The system of rents was still more or less intact, though, which could be a promising wedge to drive in if the farmers needed any further convincing.
All debt from the hated tenancy contracts had been forgiven, an obvious choice considering the total inability to pay the necessary rent when crops didn’t grow which had somehow eluded Agnes Delbrook. Cruelty had inevitably exceeded pragmatism, as was always a risk for despots. The only surprise was that Prince Luce had been the one to take her out. Looking through these journal articles, Florette had expected her to have been torn apart like Captain Whitbey.
The real issue was finding compromising material, ideally on both candidates. Delbrook would be easier to start with considering he’d actually held an office in Carringdon before. According to a large list of names squeezed into the corner of a journal from just before the Summer of Darkness, he’d been the Royal Exchequer, whatever that was.
After consulting a few more articles and the Grand Avaline Dictionary, a new book inventorying the entire language that Florette would sorely have appreciated when she was first learning Avaline four years ago, it seemed like he’d been basically in charge of taxes. With any luck, he’d been corrupt enough about it to be scared about some dirt getting out.
Florette figured she’d skim through the next couple weeks of journals and then poke around the government office for the city, maybe try to charm whoever was stuck working behind the counter. She was just reaching for the next one when a woman walked through the door that locked Florette rigid with apprehension.
Charlotte of Malin, Prince Luce’s Lieutenant. That alone was reason enough to avoid her, but they’d actually met once, back in Malin. Back when I drew a firmer ethical line about mixing romance with deception. It had only been the one party, but if Charlotte recognized her...
Surreptitiously, Florette began to pack the notes she’d taken and stack the old journals to return them to the archives. Trying to keep her face turned away, she slipped past the Lieutenant in the frightfully narrow hallway—
Only to find herself fallen on the ground, the borrowed journals scattered haphazardly around her.
Charlotte bent down and lifted Florette to her feet, a gesture that couldn’t really be refused in an unsuspicious way. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
Did she fucking do that on purpose?
“Here let me,” Charlotte said, bending down to help pick up the scattered journals while Florette stared with mute horror. All I had to do was walk down a hallway! How could I slay a sun and still fail at that?
As Charlotte passed back the last paper, her eyes narrowed with terrifying recognition. “Countess Sabine, is that you? It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” As Florette stared in mute horror, she continued. “I’m Charlotte. I work with Rebecca.”
So much for avoiding a conversation. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to recognize her, but talking longer would only be tempting fate. “I was just on my way out,” Florette answered. “Thanks.”
“Do you have a minute? Luce has been trying to get you and Rebecca over for dinner for the better part of a year—he wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t at least try now. I mean, isn’t it strange that both of us are in Carringdon right now?”
Alright, a hasty exit is out. Nothing for it but to bluff. “Not that strange, I don’t think. You’re here for the election too, aren’t you?”
Charlotte blinked. “Perhaps. I don’t see why that would have anything to do with you, though.”
Florette forced a laugh. “That’s what I said! Carringdon will elect Camille Leclaire before they ever let a Jay represent them in the Great Council. I doubt our candidate gets even five percent of the vote. But Sarah insisted that we contest every election for at least a chance at a clean sweep, and I drew the short straw to make it happen.”
Charlotte frowned, but Florette made sure not to react. “I wasn’t aware that the Jays would be mounting a challenge. Whatever meager votes you do get are sure to be pulled straight from Astor’s pocket, and then we all lose when the Harpies take the Council. Is there any chance I can persuade you to reconsider?”
Ok, just more election stuff. Florette was pretty sure that Sarah understood how hopeless a real Jay challenge here would be, so abandoning the pretense wouldn’t be likely to upset her. Monfroy, certainly, didn’t care at all as long as he got another addition to his collection that could be leveraged when he needed them. Aside from losing her cover for being in Carringdon, there wouldn’t be any real downside to dropping the pretense.
But giving in quickly would be more suspicious. “Hey, I know how futile it is, but I can’t exactly head back and tell Sarah I just gave up without even trying. Don’t worry, I’m sure Astor has it in the bag anyway.”
“What?” Charlotte’s composure momentarily broke. “Everyone I’ve talked to is dead-set against her. And my prince, to be entirely honest. Barring some dramatic news dropping at just the right time, Lady Astor seems all but certain to lose. What makes you so optimistic about her chances?”
“Well, I mean, it’s only been four years since Agnes Delbrook tried to starve everyone to death. No one’s memory is that short, even if your patron Prince isn’t particularly popular either. Stuart Delbrook’s putting out all the stops, though, I’ll give you that. He’s already got some made up story about his aunt heroically sacrificing herself for the good of the city. Were you here when Prince Lucifer was? I’m guessing that’s total shit, right?”
“Yes.” Charlotte frowned with consternation. “Thank you. I need to deal with this.” She pulled a card from her pocket and scratched an address onto it. “If you change your mind, this is where I’m staying. Feel free to think about what Luce can offer you, and remember that a Harpy Council is bad for both of us.”
“Thanks.” Florette hesitantly grabbed the card and put it away, not glancing at the address. “It was nice to meet you,” she lied, then walked away.
As horrifyingly close as that had been, Florette apparently still couldn’t shake the Prince’s Lieutenant.
“Oh yeah, lot of people asking about that.” Georgia Delbrook, the girl behind the counter at the government office, looked incredibly bored, no life in her eyes. “Gotta warn you, we don’t have enough copies for you to take one home.”
“I can look through here, if it makes things easier.” Florette paused, then decided to ask. “When you say ‘a lot of people’, would that include a stern, sandy-haired woman with visible muscles?”
“Oh, you know her?” Georgia let out a puff of air. “Figures.”
Even the documents weren’t free of her trace, filled with black bars that she’d clearly added in order to cover her tracks. Everything useful was redacted in some way, but Florette still managed to find some useful scraps.
Particularly, the fact that Charlotte had returned the copies she’d borrowed. Obviously, she’d gotten what she wanted on Delbrook.
Which meant there was something there; Florette just had to find it.
Should be easy—just a little break-in to Delbrook’s house. Next to the Malin Railyard or the Tancredi Museum, it was nothing, especially with a Cloak of Nocturne in hand.
The real problem was Charlotte. She was here to ensure that Astor won, and that gave Florette nothing to work with. Madison Astor was a career toady for Princess Elizabeth and the Owls, but that wasn’t the sort of fact that people feared exposure of. She’d never done anything, which made it difficult to imagine there was anything serious to dig up.
Still, now Florette had a plan: get evidence of whatever dirty deeds Stuart Astor had committed, then make sure he won.
Without arousing any suspicion from the detective working directly in opposition to her.