Luce III: The Pragmatic
“This isn’t an interview,” the journalist realized, narrowed eyes peering over her notebook.
“More of a proffer,” Luce allowed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m happy to answer any questions you care to provide ahead of time, but not without suitable time to review them first.” While he would still hardly call himself a gifted improvisational speaker, the scattered events across the past few years that called upon to perform had at least allowed him to improve on his disastrous first speech in Malin.
Marie Laure, star journalist at The Charentemps, squinted through the warm red light streaming in through the window, then scribbled something into her notebook. With her small frame and short-cut red hair stuffed under a ragged cap, she more closely resembled the little boys running around selling papers than the journalists writing for them. But she hadn’t balked at the Tower, nor at a personal invitation from the Prince of Darkness. If she feared him at all, she hid it well. “Is this your first time talking to a journalist? Because it’s usually best not to start with a lie.”
“Really? Most of the ones I met would appreciate the honesty of it. Your pal Scott Ecrivan, for one.” Charlotte had managed to turn up that connection two days after Luce had mentioned it in his letter, finding the time to prepare a detailed response and the dossier on Monfroy that could prove so crucial today, all wedged between her desperate attempts to slap sense into Maddy Astor before she threw the entire Great Council away.
And if she’s such a headache now, how can I expect a reliable asset even if she does win? It was looking increasingly likely that Luce would need to find another solution to that problem, so he filed it away in his mind to consider further.
“It’s Scott Temple, now. It has been for a while.” Laure held up her hand to block the light from her eyes, touching a small pencil to her forehead.
“If only I could rely on the journal to keep me suitably informed.”
His floor of Memorial Tower had his desk positioned just next to the largest windowed wall, and the springtime sun just perfectly positioned to blind the eyes of whoever was facing the Overseer for about an hour every morning. Luce hadn’t so much designed that particular feature as much as allowed it to stand once he realized the pattern the sun would take. No one could rightly blame him for it—after all, who could possibly be so petty as to design it into the building?
Someone who’s come to understand that you need every advantage you can get. Luce reserved the mid-morning slot for the right sort of meetings, where he needed to leave the right sort of impression. The reputation of the Prince of Darkness, while far more often an anchor around his neck, did afford the occasional utility.
“Well, with your help, we can certainly make it happen. Starting with exposing the Twilight Society. You should know, Prince Lucifer, that I do not take Scott Temple’s word on faith. I personally visited the test sites you claim don’t exist, bombed with weapons you claim were never invented, designed by a scientist who cut her teeth trying to create slaves in your department, who belongs to a cultish society devoted to the Spirit of Darkness, all under the direct auspices of Prince Lucifer Grimoire, Lord Protector of Charenton.”
She’s actually trying to do the right thing, Luce realized, feeling a pang of disappointment that he wouldn’t be turning corruption against itself today, as Camille Leclaire had managed with Scott Ecrivan in Malin. Though the benefits of this scheme will be more reliable with an honest person, if I can pull it off.
“Nothing to say to that, Your Highness? I’m giving you your chance to comment on the story before it’s published. I even pre-wrote the part at the end about how I disappeared into your tower, never to return. I’ve got a few friends who promised to tack it on, just in case.”
“Are you serious?” Luce barked indignantly. “Why does everyone think I could conscience murdering journalists? You are in no danger from me, Ms. Laure. I do not give you leave to report on this conversation—it shall not be added to any record of yours—but at the end of it, you will return to your journal hale and unharmed. Perhaps even enriched by a shocking twist to your story. But then again, perhaps you won’t be allowed to publish it.”
Laure bristled at that. “Allowed? I sell more journals for Cordelier and the rest of those old loaves on the Charentemps board than the whole sports bureau combined. We have over a hundred thousand people reading us every day, learning about the world and their leaders from us.”
“Then you should know, Ms. Laure, that I do not find such power threatening. In Charenton and elsewhere, there have always been those who hated and feared me, more because of what I represent than anything I’ve done. More grist for their mills shan’t bring me down where armed rebellions have failed, and that presumes you’d be allowed to publish it in the first place.”
“There’s that word again, ‘allow’. The editorial board is behind me, as is Mr. Cordelier. They understand that we can’t shy away from the truth. We’re the mirror held up to society, the searchlight in the darkness, the—”
Luce interrupted her by laughing, making him slightly regret doing it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be an ambush, but, well...” He lifted his calendar from his desk, pointing to the tour he’d given one M. Camille Cordelier and the better part of the Charentemps editorial board just a day earlier. “They were honored by the invitation, and only too happy to excise the dubious and the libelous material planned for their next issue. They took heed of my words, as you have not.” Just as another Camille failed to do.
Cordelier had actually put up more of a fight than that, insisting that nothing happen to Marie Laure or the story, but after he heard Luce’s idea and the benefit it’d bring to his journal, followed shortly by the profound approval of the other board members, the old man had finally acquiesced.
“He did look guilty this morning...” Laure frowned. “I’ll be following up on this. Don’t expect me to just take your word for it.”
“Of course not.” Not everyone’s as credulous as Eustace Eserly. “And once you confirm the situation with your superior, I’d be happy to meet with you again. It’s not as if there’s any danger of that piece being published in its current state.” Unless you can convince the old man, or take it to another journal, or trade on your own reputation to publish it yourself... Luce had tried to consider all the avenues a disgruntled journalist might take when her bosses shut her down. Doing that made him realize just how precarious the situation still remained.
“You’re talented, Ms. Laure. I’ve read several of your articles and found them all to be well-researched. I found the one about temperature fluctuations over the last few years to be particularly compelling.”
“Thank you?” Her tone remained guarded.
“The problem is that you have no access. When you’re on the inside, no one can beat you to the story, because without you, there is no story. Take Lord Ernest Monfroy, for example.”
“Monfroy? He’s a factotum. Thirty years in the Twilight Society and he’s risen as high as ‘event coordinator’. It’s a little funny, but not really something I can print, like a royal scientist using the Lord Protector’s money to create slaves with the Lord Protector’s consent.”
“I shut the whole thing down the moment I found out.” The lie passed easily past his lips. The truth was that Luce had considered it, if only for a moment. Dismissing all possibilities without giving it proper thought was the province of the narrow-minded. And about two minutes later, when Luce had weighed the costs and benefits of the project, he’d furiously stormed into the lab and shut it down himself. “An inhumane monstrosity like that could not be allowed to continue, no matter the cost. And by stopping when we did, no human trials were ever performed. No one was harmed.”
“So you’d have me believe it’s incompetence on your part, allowing it to get that far, rather than malice. Fine, say that’s true. Why is Edith Marbury still employed at Memorial Tower? Why is she developing a secret DV bomb that you’re testing on our oceans, arming cannons with on our walls?”
Because if I don’t hold onto her, she’ll find a sponsor who delights at all her worst ideas, and she’s brilliant enough to see them through. “I can assure you that all rumors of this ‘DV’ bomb are unfounded. No such project was ever funded, no such mythical devices are lining the city walls.”
With Edith’s old human enhancement projects, the truth was impossible to deny. Somehow they’d gotten equipment from the lab, old design documents, and, worst of all, an experiment schedule written in Edith’s own hand. But their evidence for the DV bomb was much more dubious, primarily based on speculation from a few documents redacted within a letter of their life.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I went to two of the test sites your Tower let leak, and the islands were wiped out, every last crab and shrub withered half to dust. It’s real.” It would make my life a lot easier if you were worse at your job.
“But the official stance of the Lord Protector of Charenton is that it’s not.” Luce poured a glass of brandy using the bottle in his desk, then handed it to her. “I’m not an uncomplicated source to turn to, I’m sure, but the fact remains that I can only help you if I can trust you. Can I trust you, Ms. Marie Laure?”
“With what?” she asked, not touching the glass.
“Sensitive information about the misdeeds of a prominent Twilight Society member. When this issue came to my attention, I had my best people look into it immediately.” I should have, anyway. Thank you, Charlotte. “Enough to dwarf all these trivialities about cancelled projects and deserted little islands. A corrupt figure needs to be held accountable by the insatiable press.” And your inquisition needs to be directed elsewhere if you’re going to stick around.
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“You want to buy my silence with another story.”
“You make it sound so transactional. I told you, your Twilight Society article is already dead. I hooked the Charentemps up with a few new sponsors and guaranteed their star reporter unprecedented access to the Lord Protector.” But you have other options. You could still try to bring me down, and it might even work. “Now I’m making good on that promise by providing you with information to do with as you like. Should it prove fruitful for you, I’m certain that similar opportunities may arise in the future.”
Laure’s face curled into a frown, but when she spoke, all she barked out was, “Opportunity? What is it?”
It’s an unusual time when you get a chance to get ahead, but that’s not important right now. Luce kept his face straight while recalling Father’s tired old joke, then provided his actual answer, lifting a sheet of paper from his desk. “My investigator provided me with this bill of sale, which I’m providing you with to verify that it meets all your evidentiary standards.”
“For Monfroy? Was he buying or selling?”
“Buying,” Luce answered, then handed her the paper. “In the unlikely event you’ve forgotten your exchange rates, know that there isn’t an animal alive worth nine hundred mandala which can live for seventeen years and still be a ‘sound and healthy’ ‘utility for life’. My investigator dug up a seventeen-year-old kid that went missing days before the sale.”
“It’s... convincing,” Laure allowed, eyes poring over every inch of the document. “But not definitive. If it’s really that obvious, then the Carringdon Court would have stopped it.”
“For their city’s own Royal Exchequer? In the wake of untold famine and darkness, with war declared? We Avaline may take pride in our dedicated civil servants, but surely it’s not unthinkable that this could have come to pass.”
“But then why record it at the court at all?”
“Why not? Who’s going to stop them? It’s been four years and nothing’s been done. He renovated his house and fourteen construction workers went missing—the entire crew, top to bottom.” Another finding from Charlotte, that. It turned out that the entire western construction syndicate had blacklisted Monfroy, and they’d only barely held back from doing the same to the entire Twilight Society. Probably because of Sarah, but it’s not particularly important. More useful was the concrete evidence such a blunder left behind. “Here’s the report on them, probably buried in the walls. Is that enough bodies for you?”
“Khali’s curse...” Laure’s eyes continued to widen as she tore through Charlotte’s meticulously prepared evidence. “Why hasn’t anyone gone after him yet?”
Luce smiled, feeling that he was pulling her in. “Some have, to the extent that they can behind the scenes. I happen to know that Lady Vas Sarah has personally gathered the Twilight Society to discuss his ouster, under cover of night.” I wonder how the young Jay will feel when all of this comes out. She’d all-but confirmed that going after Monfroy would be fine, so long as the rest of the Society were left alone. Did that mean she knew already? Clearly, she’d possessed some inkling, at the very least, but perhaps her involvement went deeper. Had she or the rest of them had a hand in keeping it covered up?
Perhaps. But they were in a position to do something about it now, while alienating the Jays was not even an option. Either way, this was the best way forward.
“But they’re limited,” Luce continued. “His is an ancient and powerful family, his personal wealth and holdings considerable.” Not all that much in the grand scheme of things, honestly, but a Charentine pauper isn’t likely to know the difference. The truth was that any number of people could have brought Monfroy down long ago, including Luce, had they the knowledge and inclination to do it.
But none had, because he’d put himself beneath their notice. The closest Monfroy had ever come to making an impact in public was decades ago, when Luce’s grandmother had been queen, being asked about his skincare routine. Most people in the capital probably couldn’t place him even if one pointed him out—that had certainly been Luce’s level of awareness, before Charlotte had uncovered the truth.
“No one’s been brave enough,” he finished. “At least, no one with the right information.”
“You realize this doesn’t rebut anything about the Twilight Society—Edith Marbury is a member too! Obviously this whole organization—”
“Can be defined by two people in it? One of whom is soon to depart? That seems a very limited point of view for a student of humanity.” Luce shook his head, drawing on some of the defenses Sarah had offered him when he’d pressed the point. “None of them want Khali to return, they simply see it as inevitable. We forget, but she had sages and followers all across Avalon in her day; just as Charenton once looked to the Verrous, thousands of people looked to them. And then, once Khali began her rampage, they were cast out, castigated, marginalized. Before the Unification with the western isles, Oxton had a law allowing citizens to kill them on sight.”
Laure’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t doubt that’s true, but these people chose to support Khali even after her defeat. They chose—”
“To keep looking out for each other when the world was against them. The whole Twilight Society is 90% networking association. They’re no risk to the world, but at great risk if old wounds are reopened.” And I’m descended from them too, easy as it is to forget. Khali’s mid-ranked followers on his mother’s side, and Khali’s high Grimoires on his father’s, unified in their evil, or at least misguided loyalty. Somehow, it coexisted with the Great Binder’s blood. “I can’t agree with it, but there is precedent. Organized resistance against the Fox-Queen centered around Khali, not that it worked. Even in the Age of Darkness, thousands of sages and temple orderlies turned against Khali and helped the Great Binder seal her in Nocturne.” If you believe Sarah, those are the ones who revived the Twilight Society and cultivated its intellectual tradition into the present day. And she’s probably got an island to sell you, too.
Still, the point was to get the journalist pointed elsewhere. “And, before Pointe Gasparde descended into barbarism, Khali helped free them from Plagetine tyranny.” That last point came from Fernan, actually. It seemed the early days of the Condorcet Collective had been much more focused on freedom and self-determination than insularity and sacrifice. Strange that so little of that information had made it into the history books, but most contemporary sources had nothing but contempt for every aspect of Condorcet, so it wasn’t overly surprising that they hadn’t been properly nuanced about it.
“I’m not going to turn a blind eye to their misdeeds just because you think—”
“I’m not asking you to! I’ve given you Monfroy, and cleared up your questions about Edith Marbury.” Mostly by lying and downplaying the problem, but it looks like Sarah might want to kick her out of the Twilight Society, too. “If others among them warrant suspicion, by all means, I hope you discover it. I for one would be keenly interested to learn of any suspicious doings on their part.” And if you want to keep that access, you’ll come talk to me first.
“This isn’t a deal, alright? We don’t have any kind of arrangement. I don’t owe you anything, and you get no say in what I write. Got it?”
“Of course.” Luce smiled, offering her the drink again.
This time, she accepted, then sipped her brandy with a forlorn look.
≋
Nearly evacuating Charenton of DV bombs was likely a good idea anyway, with suspicious journalists possibly still sniffing around, but the primary purpose of loading up fifteen ships with enough of them to depopulate Cambria was to acquire the necessary materials for the Nocturne Project, as Luce had begun to call it within the bounds of his own head.
They would follow the Progress from a safe distance, just to be sure that there was no risk. Especially considering how many times those pirates have targeted me.
Luce ensured that all of them of them were loaded off the dock he’d built at the end of Harvet Point to allow easier shipping between the two Towers, then proceeded immediately to his first meeting scheduled, a crucial but annoying duty that he’d at least been able to reduce slightly by scheduling his two Palace events right next to each other.
Though I really wish Stewart had been willing to meet in the Tower. Presumably, she’d desired more neutral ground.
Or she wants Harold to be aware of it, perhaps tacitly seeking his approval before proceeding. Luce could only hope he stayed out of it, since there was no benefit to him whatsoever in obstructing the project, but that hadn’t always been enough to stop him before.
Elizabeth Stewart, presumably named after Luce’s aunt, was taller than her brother Gary but otherwise resembled him closely, looking far more comfortable in the leather chair Luce had provided for her in the solar he’d booked for the meeting. “I won’t waste your time, Your Highness. We possess mutually beneficial assets, and I’m amenable to a deal.”
“Fantastic,” Luce responded, surprised. The only Nocturne Gates far enough from any populated area not to endanger anyone in the tests are either far out at sea, where we can’t practically conduct the test, or deep in the Fortan Highlands, at the very north of Avalon. Luce had cursed his luck when he’d checked the map and found the perfect gate positioned squarely in Stewart lands, considering his history with the family.
Lizzie Stewart, for whatever reason, seemed to be willing to look past that. “I understand that this ‘test’ may prove devastating to the land—First, you’ll leave it as you found it, whatever it costs to restore the countryside.”
“Done,” Luce said, though the expense of such efforts was not inconsiderable. Even a frigid wasteland is teeming with life next to the aftermath of the DV bomb. It would have been better if there were another way to open a gate, another avenue to explore, but there simply wasn’t the time. Father had them all subject to the whims of his clock.
“Next, there’s the matter of family.” Oh no, here it is. “My mother was exiled by royal decree, leaving me as the Lady of Forta. Of course, she cannot be allowed to return until her mission is complete, but you cannot stand her way as you have. Allow her to interview this pirate you have chained up in Charenton. She’ll never catch Verrou if even Avaline princes stand in her way.”
I’d be happier if she never caught him, as long it meant she stayed exiled. But it was an easy enough concession. “Done.”
“See if you can get her an official role in the war effort, too. Mother does best with a purpose, and she may want for one should her pursuit of Verrou end.”
“But not in Forta.” Luce nodded, understanding the thrust of her demand. Considering how Anya Stewart had treated her son, Gary, perhaps this shouldn’t have been so surprising. “I suppose you’ll want some office for your brother, as well?”
“He’s not cut out to be an officer, that’s plain. But he’s experienced guarding royal persons; surely you can find room in your Shadow Guard for him?”
I’ll have to make sure he’s never on the schedule protecting me, but I’m sure we can work around it. “Fine.”
Lizzie read his face and laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s got a friend who wants to join up, too. I’ve seen him spar—it should be more than enough to cancel Gary out.”
More likely, it’s another incompetent you owe a favor to. But still, Luce accepted. He wanted this issue behind him before he talked to Harold.
Lizzie didn’t waste time with long goodbyes, either, so Luce managed to see her off and arrive in the throne room twenty minutes early.
“Ah, there you are, Luce.” Harold grabbed a paper from a man beside him and collapsed into a heap on the throne. “Everyone out! My brother and I need to have words.”
On that, I’m afraid I must agree.
And then it was just the two of them standing there, opposite sons from opposing lines entwined, the Avalon’s glistening Crown Prince and its ruthless Prince of Darkness.
“Alright, Luce. Let’s talk.”