The history course that morning was one of the few where I found myself fully immersed. The professor, an elderly scholar with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, had a way of bringing the past to life with every word. Today, we were delving into the founding of the kingdom, a topic that always commanded the rapt attention of the students. After all, understanding the roots of power was crucial for those who sought to wield it.
The kingdom of Eldralis, as we were reminded, was forged in a time of great strife. The earliest noble families, those whose names had become synonymous with power and wealth, had risen through bloodshed and alliances, their fortunes built on the ruins of their rivals. The history of these families was taught not just as a recounting of events, but as a lesson in the brutal reality of power—a power that could be seized, held, and just as easily lost.
Among these tales of glory and downfall, the name Aldridge was mentioned briefly. Cedric's family had played a minor role in the founding of the kingdom, supporting the rise of a more prominent house. While they had retained their noble status over the centuries, the Aldridge family had never ascended to the heights of the greatest houses. Their influence had remained stable but unremarkable, a far cry from the towering power of families like Vellan's.
As the lecture drew to a close, I found myself reflecting on the implications of this history. Cedric’s ambitions were likely driven by the knowledge that his family’s place in the kingdom’s hierarchy was not secure—something I could use to my advantage, should the need arise.
My thoughts were interrupted as the class ended and students began to gather their belongings. I noticed Roderick, the student I had helped the previous evening, lingering by the doorway, his eyes darting nervously around the room. I watched him for a moment, noting the way his hands fidgeted with the strap of his satchel and the slight sheen of sweat on his brow. He was clearly anxious, but it seemed he was waiting for something—or someone.
I decided to approach him, offering a small, reassuring smile as I did. “Is everything alright?” I asked, my tone calm and professional.
He looked up, startled, and then nodded quickly. “Yes, I mean—no, not really,” he stammered. “I—I wanted to thank you again for last night. And... I was hoping I could ask for your help with something else.”
“Of course,” I replied, keeping my voice even and encouraging. “What seems to be the problem?”
He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. I could see he was struggling to find the right words, so I waited patiently, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough to create a subtle pressure. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his troubles was too much to bear.
“It’s Vellan,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or rather, one of his friends—Carson. I owe him money. More than I can afford to repay.”
My interest piqued. “And how did you come to owe him this money?”
Roderick—whose name I recalled from our previous interactions—shifted uncomfortably. “It’s... it’s because of a bad habit I picked up when I got here. Some of the students, they introduced me to something... something that helps with the stress of classes. At first, it was just a little, but then... well, you know how it goes.”
I nodded, my expression sympathetic but neutral. “And now you’re in debt to Carson because of it?”
“Yes,” Roderick admitted, shame coloring his voice. “I’ve tried to keep up with the payments, but it’s too much. If I don’t pay soon, I’m afraid of what they’ll do.”
I leaned back slightly, considering his words. This was not an uncommon situation among students of lower noble standing. The pressure to keep up appearances, to fit in with those of higher status, often led them into traps they couldn’t escape. Drugs, gambling, even favors—they all became chains that bound them tighter with every passing day.
“Roderick,” I said gently, “I can help you with this, but I need to understand everything first. How much do you owe, and when is the payment due?”
He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he answered. “I owe him fifty crowns, and he expects it by the end of the week. If I don’t pay...”
I nodded, already forming a plan. “Leave it to me. I’ll arrange a meeting with Carson and see what can be done. In the meantime, stay out of their way and focus on your studies.”
Roderick looked up at me with a mix of hope and gratitude. “Thank you, Edwin. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
I offered him a reassuring smile. “We all have our struggles. I’m just glad I can help.”
As Roderick left, I began to formulate my approach. The first step was to gather information on Carson—his habits, his routines, and most importantly, his weaknesses. This was where my training in espionage truly came into play.
The Sovereign College was a place where information was power, and learning to gather that information was a skill I had honed through observation and subtle inquiry. I spent the next few hours discreetly observing Carson from a distance, watching how he interacted with his peers, noting his preferences and his vulnerabilities.
I began by watching his movements around the college, noting the places he frequented and the people he associated with. He was often seen in the company of Vellan’s entourage, but he also had a habit of slipping away to less crowded areas, where he could conduct his business away from prying eyes. I also made a point to casually ask a few trusted sources about Carson’s reputation, framing my questions in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. From these inquiries, I learned that Carson was known for his cunning, but also for his arrogance—a trait that could easily be exploited.
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By the time I was ready to arrange the meeting, I had a clear picture of who Carson was—a bully, yes, but also someone who preferred to keep his hands clean. He relied on his association with Vellan to maintain his power, but his true strength lay in his ability to manipulate and intimidate others without ever getting his own hands dirty. He was, in many ways, the perfect target for my particular brand of negotiation.
I decided to set the meeting at one of the tea rooms on campus, a place that was both public enough to discourage any overt threats but private enough to allow for serious discussion. The tea room I chose was known for its refined atmosphere, a small, intimate space where the soft clink of china and the murmur of low conversation created an air of quiet sophistication. The room was furnished with dark wood tables, each adorned with a pristine white tablecloth, and chairs upholstered in deep burgundy velvet. A collection of fine porcelain teapots, each painted with delicate floral patterns, was displayed on a sideboard near the entrance, a testament to the tea room’s commitment to quality.
I sent a polite note to Carson, requesting his presence for a discussion over tea. The choice of location was deliberate—a setting that implied civility and decorum, forcing him to engage with me on my terms.
The following afternoon, I arrived early at the tea room, selecting a table in a quiet corner where we wouldn’t be easily overheard. I wore a suit of deep navy wool, tailored to perfection by my father, with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie of muted grey. My shoes were polished to a mirror shine, and I carried with me a cane of dark mahogany, its silver handle discreetly detailed. Every aspect of my appearance was calculated to convey both refinement and authority, a stark contrast to the more ostentatious yet less refined attire I expected Carson to wear.
When he arrived, my expectations were confirmed. Carson entered the tea room with a swagger that spoke of arrogance rather than true confidence. He wore a suit that, while expensive, was ill-fitted, with lapels that were too wide and trousers that were slightly too long. His tie was a garish shade of red, clashing with the rest of his ensemble, and his shoes, though made of fine leather, were scuffed and dull. He was trying to project power, but all I saw were the cracks in his facade.
He sat across from me without a word, his posture aggressive and dismissive. “Thatcher,” he said curtly, “what’s this about?”
I smiled, pouring tea into his cup before serving myself. The teapot I had selected was a fine piece of craftsmanship, its porcelain body adorned with delicate blue and gold filigree. I took care to pour the tea with a steady hand, the liquid flowing smoothly into the matching cups. The act of pouring tea was not just a formality—it was a way of asserting control over the situation, of setting the tone for our interaction.
“Thank you for coming, Carson,” I said smoothly, placing the teapot back on its stand. “I thought it would be best to discuss the matter of Roderick’s debt in a setting where we can both speak freely.”
Carson sneered, taking a sip of the tea without acknowledging the gesture. “What’s there to discuss? He owes me fifty crowns, and I expect to be paid.”
“Of course,” I replied, leaning back in my chair as I took a measured sip of my own tea. The tea was a fine blend, its flavor complex and rich, a reminder of the sophistication that Carson lacked. “However, I believe we can reach a solution that benefits all parties involved. You see, Roderick is unlikely to come up with the full amount by the deadline. Pressing him too hard may lead to... unfortunate consequences, ones that could reflect poorly on you.”
Carson narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to gauge where I was going with this. “And what do you suggest?”
I placed my cup gently on the saucer, letting the soft clink of porcelain emphasize my next words. “I propose a more... flexible arrangement. An extended repayment period, with interest, naturally. This would ensure you receive your money without the need for any unpleasantness. Additionally, there may be other ways Roderick could repay you—ways that would demonstrate your acumen and rise in status, without tarnishing your reputation.”
Carson’s interest was piqued, though he tried to hide it behind a mask of indifference. “What kind of ways?”
I leaned forward slightly, keeping my tone even and reasonable. “Roderick could perform tasks for you—tasks that require discretion and loyalty. By keeping him indebted to you, you maintain control over the situation. It would also demonstrate to others that you are not just someone who collects debts, but someone who understands the intricacies of power and influence. This could elevate your standing, not just within Vellan’s circle, but within the college as a whole.”
Carson considered this, his eyes narrowing as he weighed the pros and cons. I could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to determine if there was a catch. “And what’s in it for you, Thatcher?”
I allowed myself a small, polite smile. “My interest is in maintaining harmony within the college. Conflicts such as these can disrupt the delicate balance we all rely on. By helping to resolve this matter, I ensure that our studies—and our reputations—remain untarnished.”
He seemed to accept my reasoning, though I knew he was still wary. “Fine. I’ll consider it. But if Roderick crosses me again, there will be consequences.”
“Understood,” I replied, my tone respectful but firm. “I’ll see to it that he understands the new terms and complies with them fully.”
Carson nodded, satisfied for the moment. “Make sure the contract is delivered to me by tomorrow. And Thatcher... I’m watching you.”
“Of course,” I replied, standing as well and offering a polite bow. “Thank you for your time, Carson. I’ll ensure the contract is delivered to you by tomorrow.”
As Carson left, I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. The meeting had gone as planned, and I had successfully maneuvered Carson into a position where he believed he had the upper hand. In reality, I had gained exactly what I wanted—an opportunity to establish myself as a mediator, someone who could resolve conflicts and manage the delicate balance of power within the college.
I made my way back to my quarters, the sense of satisfaction settling over me. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, and I was slowly but surely building the foundation of my future. But there was still one more matter to attend to.
I found Roderick waiting anxiously outside my door, his eyes wide with fear and hope. He stood as I approached, his hands twisting nervously in front of him.
“How did it go?” he asked, his voice trembling.
I gave him a reassuring smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It went well. Carson has agreed to more flexible terms, but you must understand—this is not a reprieve. You will still be expected to repay the debt, with interest. However, I’ve arranged for an extended period and some alternative methods of payment.”
Roderick nodded quickly, relief flooding his features. “Thank you, Edwin. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” I said, my tone gentle but firm. “For now, I need you to tell me one more thing—who introduced you to the drugs in the first place?”
Roderick’s face paled, and he hesitated, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. But there was none, and he knew it.
Finally, he whispered the name, his voice barely audible. “Vellan... it was Vellan.”