The Shipping Investment Guild owned a lovely villa within Rackvidd, if one had the pleasure to enter inside it. The outside was like a hermit crab’s shell, hard and thorned, spiky and stolen from a previous purpose. The building had once been some Giordanan lords’ palace; it might have even ruled over Rackvidd at one time, in effect if not in official capacity. The walls were thick and blunt, with crenelations of ancient concrete atop the outer wall. The entire city could fall to siege and those within would weather it easily. They had their own granary, their own cistern, and somewhere in their walls they had their own escape route. Like rats, they could scurry out to ships in the night and make off with at least part of their fortunes.
I say part because the villa itself was most of their fortune. Rebuking the sandstone, the concrete, the exposed timber and plaster of the city, their villa decked its insides with polished marble and gold leaf. The servants were all well tailored and quiet. They moved about the halls in soft slippers such that even their approach was hushed. The effect, amplified by tapestries and draperies and the regular placement of aromatic herbs, was to muffle the din of the city completely, like the villa were removed entirely from civilization and yet prospered from it. The only noises permitted were the grumbling, the arguing, and the swearing of the men with ledgers.
To argue was in their blood. It was used like a whetstone for their minds, to keep them sharp and irritable while nothing lucrative could be done. Without new ship arrivals to speak of developments afield, they soon ran out of work to do. When I tried my hand at their work, I soon found it to be boring. It was more something to make off-the-cuff decisions for as I busied myself with more fruitful–and more laborious–matters. But, the men of the SIG had no ambitions beyond gold. Their minds could appreciate art, but not create it. They hardly even considered women as something more than an irritation from their youth and a source of thieving heirs.
This is a natural sort of moral decay in regards to wealth. If they were drawn to such mundane joys they wouldn’t have the focus to accumulate more of their wealth.
As such, it is often best to let them be shut up with their money while everyone else finds how to profit from their profit.
Selling them overpriced, faux-luxury foods was a favorite tactic and one they were willfully blind to. And so, I hope I have sufficiently set the stage to explain why some of the wealthiest men in the city were dining upon oversized sea bugs known as lobsters. There was a great disconnect in the perceived value of those bottom dwelling invertebrates, because the poorest dock workers ate them as well. The difference essentially came down to whether one could afford sufficient butter, which was in high demand upon that coast.
This explanation had not yet reached Aisha’s ears, and when Thornby set her down, she couldn’t hide her queasy expression. Nearly a dozen black eyes stared at her, only some of which were human. The lobsters laid upon their plates as if upon the sea floor, indifferent to the ripping and tearing of their roasted insides.
The most outspoken of the men was an old crook by the name of Faezel. He listened to Thornby’s introduction with tight gaze and dabbed his mouth clean. “You’re telling me that the Solhart boy really did take you with him North?”
The question took her aback, the temporal leap nearly half a year in time. “You were at Raymi’s feast, weren't you?” she countered.
“Of course I was. I have investments in the city… as you can see. After such a sudden revolt–thanks to your brother, Aisha–and its sudden suppression, there were inquiries I had to make about the nature of our peace. You see, when you look at the world like we do, the individual people simultaneously don’t matter, and they can make all the difference. It’s really the quality of the people that makes the difference. This Solhart fellow. He’s young, impulsive, but by Sapphira he’s like a one man maelstrom!”
Much of the table muttered agreement, and Aisha sympathetically blushed and nodded. One of the other investors took that as cue to say, “The thing with maelstroms is they stir things up but they don’t hurt everybody. A wise merchant can profit handily from a catastrophe, and your man is such a catastrophe but with a mind of his own.”
“I assure you,” Aisha said, swirling a wine goblet, “That he only has the splendor of Vassermark as his aim.”
Faezel laughed. “That must go over well with Raymi, but you’ll need a different tact here, my lady. Are you his lady? Or his mistress? I should like to know with what authority you speak.”
She pursed her lips and hung her head for a moment. Sera stiffened, her honorable instincts waiting for the signal to denounce the man, but Aisha said, “I’m his mistress. Lucius is a nobleman. You know his kind don’t marry for love.”
Faezel nodded. “And I should think that soon enough his mother will be tying him down. I hope for your sake that she doesn’t choose a jealous woman.”
Aisha blinked. The conversation catapulted her through the realms of concern and into a completely different paradigm. It stunned her and left her gaping like a fool as the investors continued to speculate. The other one said, around a cheekful of lobster, “I suppose it will depend on how well he does managing the Misty Isles. Whether he is on the ascent or on the wane.”
Faezel nodded, tearing up a heel of bread. “Yes, I should think so. If he’s ousted or recalled, his best hope would be to marry a lady from the central kingdoms. Which of them will survive the war though, hard to say.”
“If he conquers the islands though.”
“And with his opposition to the prince’s faction?”
“A war hero no less. The stories are all the rage. Lot’s of public support.”
Faezel said, “The war vagrants will flock to him, if they don’t flock to the prince.”
“Wherever he goes is likely to prosper.”
“And if he produces another miracle?”
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“I don’t think the king can let him do that. He’s too low!”
“The king sent him to the Misty Isles to kill him. Everyone knows that. What’s to stop him from trying something else?”
The other investor recoiled from the table, shaking his head. “Bah! You’re speculating on two tricks!”
Faezel’s grin was growing rattish. “I’m speculating on it because he put up a damn good show already and if the Isles consume him then it’s none of our concern.”
“You can’t just call it a hypothetical, Faezel. This girl here is asking us to stick our thumbs on the scale. She’s here asking us to make him succeed!”
“And if we do make him succeed? Where does that leave us?”
“With the favor of a boy and nothing more. If we use our weight then what will he have accomplished?”
Faezel swung his fork around like a conductor’s baton. “What will it matter if he was the one to accomplish it? It will look like he was and besides, the offer for farmland is a good offer. You can’t ever go wrong investing in land. It’s what makes a noble family rich!”
“That fact right there should show you that he’s a fool. What kind of self-respecting noble gives their own land away?”
“One–” He held up his fork to the sky, buttery lobster dripping down to his fingers. “Who knows he won’t be keeping the Isles. If he does make the islands turn a profit, the prince’s faction will immediately strip him of it and give it to someone else. The position is only temporary, a governor! By selling the land now, he gets the use of it and then denies his enemies the profit. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing, how the games are played, and he might be more steps ahead of us than we can guess.”
“Faezel, you’re conjuring thoughts into the boy’s head that simply aren’t there. Not everyone is a Trireme master.”
Aisha cleared her throat, arresting their thoughts from the conversation. She smiled, having plucked her opportunity after suppressing thoughts of future jealousy. “Lucius is an excellent Trireme player. It’s cards that empties his purse. Let him make a plan and he’s unbeatable.”
Faezel looked at her, chewing his food until he finished his thought. Seemingly ignoring Aisha, he turned back to his fellows and asked, “What girls are even available to be propositioned? Would they have to break a marriage proposal?”
“Some of the northern girls. They’re always hard to pin down.”
“What about the Montisferro girl?”
“No one would be able to pry her from her mother’s skirts. The Raymi girl perhaps?”
“That would be reaching too low, I think. Securing an alliance that already seems firm. Foolish. Maybe one of the Feugards?”
“Wasn’t she slated for the prince?”
“I thought that was just a rumor.”
And so their conversation went, ideas and names flying from mouths and hardly being listened to. Aisha set her face in growing consternation as she tried to remember everything that was said, but half their statements were conjecture and the other half contradictory. Eventually she began to fail. She sank down on the table, resting an elbow and hanging her head. Sera put a hand on her shoulder and laughed softly.
She was just about to resign herself to drinking and waiting when Faezel said, “What about the Ashe family? And don’t say that’s reaching too high. The princess would be too high. The Ashe girls are merely near the top and their father has taken on the role of the antagonist, hasn’t he? I think, that if Lucius succeeded in his punishment, and if the prince flounders in the east, then it would be a terribly powerful statement for the Ashe family to take him in.”
“No,” Aisha said. All the stories of those girls swelled up through her mind. Their attitude and abuse of the helpless boy they knew as Jarnpojke. She held Lucius’ pain like it was her own, but then she caught herself. Lucius von Solhart had no reason to spurn the Ashe family, a strong potential ally no less. Lucius von Solhart had never been to Podrest. There was no history there at all.
Sera covered for her quickly. “Gentlemen, I think you’ve finally touched upon a nerve. You are having this discussion in front of his woman, don’t you realize?”
Faezel wiped his mouth clean and when his napkin went away, a devilish grin was upon his face. “How silly of me. My deepest apologies, Miss Canta. I’m so used to having only men around me that I didn’t think. You see, in Vassermark, it can be very troublesome for a man. Family titles move from mother to daughter and the relations between sisters can make or break a family’s fortune. Of course, when a family has only borne one daughter to their name, it is not uncommon for the husband to dote on a mistress. I can understand that you wouldn’t want your Lucius snatched away by so many sisters at once. The Ashe family was very… fecund this generation.”
She smiled and nodded. “That was unbecoming of me. I apologize.”
“Nothing to apologize for, not to an old codger like me. You’ve got youth in you still. You should be taken by your impulses.”
“Still, do you really think he might be wed to the Ashe family?”
Faezel turned back to his fellows. Their conference was held through glances and nods. “I think he just might, but not without being tested again. They’ll want to wring him for all he’s worth before settling him down. Maybe give him a position in the war campaign…”
“And if he fails he might yet,” one of the other men said, smirking. “They’re still looking for someone to marry Miss Ruby, aren’t they?” The table erupted in groans and laughs. “I jest of course. Lord Danyl wouldn’t let a brother-in-law come into the fray at this point. Too bad for her though.”
Faezel sneered. “She shouldn’t have fallen for a sophist. Lord Danyl can only hope that his little sister didn’t pass on the stupidity to his daughters.”
Aisha tilted her head. “Are women allowed to take paramores?”
Faezel shrugged. “Some do, but I don’t think your Solhart will be in fear of that. The Ashe girls are extraordinarily uptight. They don’t even dance with other men at balls, except for the prince and they’d cause a scandal if they turned down the prince.”
Sera said, “Maybe they like women.”
Faezel smirked. “I think you’ll find that’s less common outside the knightly orders, Miss Lynnfield. And if they do, that’s good news for Miss Canta, isn’t it? She wouldn’t be competing with them for the man’s affection.”
Aisha rose from her seat, her burning cheeks having at last gotten the better of her. Thornby stood up from the far end of the table, having listened to the entire conversation with his mouth shut. “Gentlemen,” he said, and gestured at the window where stars then shined across a blanket of lavender. “I think we have drawn things out quite enough for our new guest. I can tell, but I don’t think she can, that you all have made your decision.”
Aisha blinked at him. “What?”
“Yes, I think we have,” Faezel said.
“Then you should tell her upfront,” Thronby said, his eyes set on the merchant.
He grimaced and stood up. Setting his napkin aside he cleared his throat. “Miss Canta, I would invite you back tomorrow, when a scribe can assist with a degree of paperwork. We of the Shipping Investments Guild would like to invest in the Misty Isles. We know you need men and ships first and foremost, and we are prepared to offer up to fifty privateers for a period of up to two months.”
Sera had to subtly grab Aisha’s arm as the shock took her balance away. “That would be wonderful,” Aisha said.
Thornby bowed to the merchants and took it upon himself to escort the women away.