Conquest of Avalon

Camille V: The Narratrice

“Alright, I admit it, this wine is better than anything in Avalon.” Mary Perimont took another sip, only barely managing to avoid spilling the glass on herself with a last-moment correction.

Our bilgewater is better wine than any in Avalon. Scant wonder they felt the need to conquer everything in sight, with their own victuals so thoroughly lacking in quality.

“I’m pleased you think so,” Camille said, swirling the Rhanoir red inside her own glass. “I won’t be able to get any more for a while, but this vintage from the Norforche Valley is what I have the most of.”

“Oh, that’s excellent news! This whole supply issue has really been rather annoying, hasn’t it? The fine courtiers of the capital have no idea what trends I’m pioneering. They’re so terribly lost without me, you know?”

“I’m sure,” she lied easily, filling Mary’s cup just slightly enough more than the appropriate amount to still maintain an air of good taste. “Mary, we are friends, are we not?”

“Of course! Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one with the courage to give me praise without hesitation. Other people are prone to being intimidated.”

“Raised to be admired, I’m sure.” If taken far past the point of logic. “I was hoping I could ask you about a sensitive matter. It… Well, it concerns your late father.”

“Oh.” Mary blinked, setting her wine down on the table. “I’m not sure if I should - “

“Of course.” Camille waved her hand to dismiss the thought. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s sensitive but you don’t strictly need to know, and I would hate to burden you with forbidden knowledge just to help me out. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Wide eyes flicked back and forth across the girl’s lavish chambers, ensuring that they were alone. “It’s a secret?”

“In need of the utmost discretion,” Camille agreed. “All the more reason not to burden you with it, really. The last thing you need weighing on you now is - “

“Tell me.”

Holding back a smile, Camille slouched back in her chair, balancing her wineglass on the armrest. “Did you read that article in the journal about Luce and me?” The offensive, slanderous, garbage in it was unfortunately less dangerous than the actual journalism to Luce’s rule here, given the myriad efforts that needed to be covered up. But there were ways to leverage the rest.

Leaning forward, Mary pressed her hands together tightly. “Are you two really having an affair? I knew it! Because I introduced you two, you know.” No, you didn’t. “Well, you’re welcome. And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul! Hah! I knew you weren’t perfect.”

“If only it were so simple,” Camille said, affecting a grave tone of voice. “Mary, have you ever had a suspicion that your father’s death was not an accident?”

Mary choked into her wine, slamming the glass onto the table hard enough to almost break it. “You’re working with Gary’s mom, aren’t you? To find out what really happened.”

And there it is.

Shit.

At least Camille knew, now. Steps could be taken to mitigate the damage. Or…

Or there might be an even better way to go. She took another sip of her wine, considering the appropriate response. If Anya Stuart had set her sights on the prince, that as good as confirmed that Lillian Perimont had allowed that story through, perhaps even planted it there. But how deep did this go? “I’m trying to find the truth, too. As is Captain Whitbey, I believe.”

“No.” Mary shook her head. “He’s working with Captain Stuart directly. Gary saw them meeting just yesterday. You should probably just meet up with them. Work together, you know? I’d be helping too if I weren’t so busy with everything I’m handling for the city.”

“I see.” And there it is. Whitbey had helped cover up the accident directly, under Luce’s orders. If he was willing to talk, the whole structure of lies about the Governor’s death could crumble in the face of the truth. At least, absent a more appealing narrative.

“You know…” This was a risk, absolutely. But it was just a matter of time as it was. This way, the losses could be mitigated, the course of the enemy’s actions limited. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Captain Stuart. I’m not sure if I want to collaborate with her yet. But… That woman who was with me at those parties, before darkness fell?”

“Celine, sure. A bit too skinny, but her hair looked good.” Khali’s curse.

“Right, well, she was never really my bodyguard. She was a vicious pirate, whose real name was Florette…”

≋

“Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie.” Camille waggled her finger, staring down at the Territorial Guardian pinned down in the dead-end alley. “Your name wasn’t even on the list, you know? But your friends gave you up. They didn’t even need any convincing. If they were going down for stealing supplies, why not you as well?”

“I didn’t steal any supplies.” Ronald of no particular family chuckled nervously. “But if you have a problem, you’re welcome to take it up with my superior, or Captain Whitbey. They’ll be happy to assure you - “

“Oh, I’m sure they would be.” She advanced down the alley, forcing the thief to scramble further and further back. “Fortunately, my work is not subject to their jurisdiction. Do you know who I am?”

Ronald gulped, pinning his body in the corner at the back. “You’re the witch. The Prince of Darkness’s sorceress.”

She chuckled in response, pressing her fingertips together. “I am Lady Camille Leclaire of Onès, High Priestess of Levian, the Revenant Survivor, Liaison to the Spirits, Defender of Malin, and, today, the bane of your miserable existence.”

The thief swore quietly, shivering with fear. “Wait! I didn’t want to, ok? It was just… Bertie and Reggie were skimming, and I saw them, and they saw me see them. And after that… I mean, people have to know you have each other’s backs, otherwise the Guardians fall apart. If you don’t partake then they might get the wrong idea, think you could be a rat. And the only thing worse than rats is what happens to them once they get what they deserve.” He spat. “I bet it was Reggie, wasn’t it? That pompous ass, he’d do anything to save his skin, even screwing me over like that.”

It was the other one. But there was no real point in mentioning it. Charlotte’s five names had been apprehended, and soon, so would the additional six names they’d given up under questioning. Of course, now this crop could use a round of questioning of their own. It wasn’t as if Camille could afford to spend all her time on this, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to begin with a strong opening effort. This had to look perfect, after all.

“Look, they’re the real culprits here! You’ve got to understand! I was just… getting by.”

Camille laughed in disbelief. There always has to be some reason to duck the blame. “I don’t care. You’ll be accompanying me to the Governor’s Mansion while you await your trial.” She grabbed his wrist without resistance. Disappointing. Three of the others had stood their ground and fought, which had been far more interesting. Before that, she hadn’t had a real fight since…

Well, perhaps having it this easy wasn’t the end of the world either.

“A trial?” Ronald asked softly. “You’re not going to burn me alive to feed your spirit?”

“I would never do that! Levian prefers his offerings to be drowned.” Camille chuckled, readying a dagger of ice behind him in case he escaped. “Don’t worry, it’s usually pretty quick. Usually.”

“B-but-but you said - “

“A trial, yes.” She shrugged. “You’ll just have to hope it goes well.”

≋

Unbelievably, the journal was named The Daily Quotidien, a staggering demonstration of redundancy to anyone familiar with either language. But then, their target audience probably wasn’t that educated.

Camille passed under the hand-painted sign and through the door with a conscious confidence to her step. Control the narrative. Presentation was, as ever, a vital part of that.

She’d covered the blue in her hair with a green scarf, not an uncommon sight in these times, with a warm but trim black coat to match. One of Avalon’s colors, and one of mine. It was a helpful framing for herself, let alone the impression it would make.

“Excuse me, do you have an appointment?” The boy behind the desk began thumbing through a large book in front of him, likely to organize his dates. “Oh, were you Mr. Eserly’s masseuse? He keeps a side door in his office for that, but since you’ve already come in anyway…” He trailed off as Camille walked right past him, not deigning to answer.

The entire bureau was arranged strangely, grey walls that didn’t quite reach the ceiling dividing the main room into cells, one for each worker. Past the sea of grey, a few offices occupied the far wall, their view looking out over the water.

It’s brilliant, Camille realized, hiding her horror. Keep all the underlings divided and they can’t organize to oppose you. Each would have to bring only their scant individual leverage to bear against the weight of the entire journal, should a conflict arise. A few flimsy dividers wouldn’t do that alone, but it would certainly help set the tone. Especially given the murky lighting. Despite the roaring hearth at the back, each cell needed its own candle just to get enough dim light to write.

“Hey, where are you going?” the boy called out as she left his view.

Jane, Horace, Jaya, Hari, Ellwood, Sheila… If the Quotidien employed anyone native to Malin, they clearly kept them far out of sight.

Of course, the impudent fabulist was an exception.

“Scott Écrivain, just the man I was looking for.” The writer so creative he chose the word ‘writer’ for his surname.

“It’s Ecrivan,” he grunted, not looking up from his desk. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“I just wished to congratulate you on your most recent story. I’m given to understand that it shattered sales records. In fact, I’m here to express the sentiments of several of the Quotidien’s partners.” Avalon’s word for owner, according to Simon. Honestly the vagaries of their absurd economic system weren’t the important point here anyway. One didn’t need such knowledge to establish control of a system.

“Oh! Well, I appreciate you coming out all this… way.” His eyes widened as he turned his head, recognizing her. “Well, if it isn’t the woman in blue.”

“You will address me as Lady Leclaire.” She tapped the notebook he was writing in, covered in scarcely legible pen strokes. “See? You already know it. It’s right there.”

Scott swallowed. “You can’t kill me here. It’s a whole room full of people. They’ll hunt you down, they’ll… Listen, be smart about this.”

“Why would I kill you?” She leaned back against the dull grey wall. “As I said, I’m here to convey the sentiments of the partners.”

“You…what?”

“Specifically Lord Arion of Fortescue, who is currently unable to personally exercise his rights given the difficulties of travel, and has thus ceded them to his nephew, Prince Lucifer Grimoire. I believe you know him, too. Though of course, Simon and Mary Perimont are also good friends of mine, so you could say that I speak in the interest of their family as well.” It would be a lie, but you could say it.

“I don’t think that gives you the right to - “

“That’s her, Mr. Eserly. She just walked in with no explanation or anything.” The boy from the desk was pulling on the arm of a middle-aged man in a horrifically dull brown waistcoat.

“Ah, good, I was hoping to speak with you.” Camille exited the cell with a quick glance back at the writer. “We shall have to continue this later.”

“Young lady, all I need to do is ring a bell, and the Guardians will be here in the space of five minutes. Please exit the premises.” He pointed to the door, only to gasp in bewilderment when Camille took it as an excuse to grab his hand and shake it in the Avaline fashion.

“Mr. Eustace Eserly, I presume? Lady Camille Leclaire. Honestly, I can’t believe we haven’t met yet. I’m glad to remedy that now.”

He blinked. “Leclaire…? What could you possibly - ?”

“In your office, please. This is a conversation better held in private.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked back towards the desk boy.

“Nothing for another half hour. Although you wanted me to remind you about Junior’s anniversary. I took the liberty of preparing a catalog of potential gifts, but I thought you would want the final say.”

“Later.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Let’s get this over with.”

So he has children… That’s useful.

Camille followed him into his office, isolating him from his underlings as she closed the glass door behind her. Glass, even better than I could have hoped. For once Avalon’s habit of pouring an extravagant amount of money into the dully mundane was actually doing some good.

“Please, Mr. Eserly, have a seat.”

Eustace Eserly, chief editor of The Daily Quotidien, merely scoffed. “You’re here to complain about the article. Fine. It got a little mud on you and the Prince. My apologies. But nothing we printed was unsourced, it’s all in accordance with Avalon’s right to speech. I know the Erstwhile Empire is a bit behind the times on that front, but people’s rights matter under a civilized government.”

“You misunderstand me, Mr. Eserly. I come to you not as an aggrieved member of the public, but a representative of the partners. As I said, I think it would be better if you were sitting down for this.”

He simply continued to glare at her, his aggressively brown sleeves wrinkling as he folded his arms.

“Very well, suit yourself.” Camille shrugged. “Before we begin, I have a question for you, and I do hope you’ll do me the courtesy of answering honestly: Do you enjoy being a pawn? Does it bring you happiness?”

“Alright, now - “

“I ask only because, in the manner of all pawns, your time has come to be callously sacrificed by those who consider you their lesser. A decision has been reached that you will resign your position here, effective immediately.”

Eserly laughed. “By who, you?”

Correct. Far easier to ask forgiveness than permission. “By the partners. Namely Lord Arion and Lady Perimont, who collectively own almost nine parts in ten of this journal.” Somehow. This system makes no sense at all.

“The fuck they did. I specifically cleared this with Lady Lillian before it got anywhere near the presses. She told me to hold nothing back.” He scoffed. “That issue sold as well as we used to before darkness fell. It’s sending more money her way than anything else we could print. She would never allow this.”

“You want to cry to Perimont? Cry to Perimont. Myself, I don’t much care. What I can tell you is that Lord Arion was none too pleased with your unkind libel about his nephew, nor Simon and Mary Perimont on behalf of their friend here before you. Lady Perimont was put in an impossible position, you must understand. The needs of a parent against the needs of profit.” Camille stared past the large wooden desk, free of papers or clutter, and dared the editor to challenge her.

“No, I don’t think so.” Eserly shook his head at her. “If that were a concern, she would have stopped me from printing it.”

“Because the powerful never change their mind when it suits their needs, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces.” Camille sat down in the chair across from Eserly’s, putting her feet up on his desk. “Have you heard the tale of the Farmer and the Forager? I’m given to understand it reaches far. I’m afraid you’re today’s farmer.” The one from Florette’s version, where he starves to death.

“She’d tell me herself, if she wanted me to go.” His tone was wavering. Getting close.

Camille scoffed. “She doesn’t even know who you are, other than the reason her children won’t talk to her. And why should she? Eserly is no great name that commands respect.” And this is where the research pays off. “I can see your whole life before my eyes, Eustace Eserly. Born to gentry, able to support your family only through labor. You saw opportunities in the Territories, and set out for opportunity, but you found only a miserable backwater. Years on, and you remain a plaything of higher powers, to be used and discarded. You have no titles, no great fortune, no land. No legacy, with a son who’s half a stranger.” A guess, but an easy one to make. “Whatever dreams you held when you got on that boat are long dead, only the pitiful impulse to grasp ever upward for every stray copper remains.

“Meanwhile, the Prince knows you as the greedy hack who peddled lies for a few precious coppers. The Perimonts know you as a convenient sacrifice, easily removed to rid them of their family strife. No one fought for you. Easier to simply change the leadership, clean out the bad and set things back to the way they were.”

“I knew I was playing with fire.” Eustace Eserly slumped down in his chair, and she knew she’d won. “Back in Avalon, there’s no way to get out of the shadow of The Cambrian, it’s all encompassing. How could you compete with the journal created by the man who invented the printing press? I’d hoped it would be different here.”

“Look, this is a good thing. No one will be pushing you around anymore. There’s no risk of you being caught in the middle.” Camille removed her feet, then leaned forward over the desk. “Really, this is a good time to be getting out of this business. Take some time with your family, and move on. I can tell you that the next thing will be better, because it always is.”

“Junior could use more attention. He’s been falling in with a bad crowd.” He nodded, slowly breathing in and out. “Maybe it’s a good time to be getting out of this business. Scott’s piece still only brought us back to what we were bringing in before darkness fell. No one has enough money, and they’re only spending it on the essentials.”

“There you go!” She held out her hand again to shake. “Look, I happen to have some connections in the candle trade. Perhaps I could put in a word? You’re an organizer, a manager, a lord of the business. That’s a skill that’s useful anywhere. I’d certainly think that’s better than wasting your talents here. And the owner is a worker as well, no lands to his name. No need to be pushed around by the petty whims of nobility.”

Eserly took her hand and shook it. “I appreciate you being reasonable about this. I had to do something with sales falling so flat, but… Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll tell the others.”

“Of course.” Camille gave him what hopefully looked like a sympathetic nod, then opened the door. “You’ve handled this like a gentleman, with quiet dignity and grace.” She closed the door, then walked across the room towards the front desk.

The boy looked confused, but he wasn’t challenging her, probably because he’d read the body language through the door. Another benefit of perfect presentation. “Could you gather the workers here, please? There’s going to be a speech from the chief editor.”

“Oh. Um, yes, of course. Just a moment.” He ducked off to round them up, abandoning his post in the process.

A quick flip through the datebook on the boy’s desk revealed little, but enough. No meetings with Stuart or Whitbey, and the only instance of Lillian Perimont was recorded weeks before the offensive article had been published. She didn’t allow this, she instigated it. In a way, that was good. It made things more predictable.

She put it away before the first people started to stream in from elsewhere in the dull office. Fortunately, they seemed to be an attentive bunch, since it wasn’t long before all of them were assembled. Perhaps they want to get it over with, that they might get back to work. Something to be investigated later, since such an attitude would prioritize speed over quality, but nothing that needed to be dealt with now.

Now, it is time to manage the social hierarchy.

“Members of the Quotidien, some of you know me, while others I’m meeting for the first time, but we all have something in common. We believe in the power of journalism, of spreading the truth to the world no matter the cost.” So long as it’s the right truth, anyway. “It is with a heavy heart that I announce the departure of Mr. Eustace Eserly from our fair journal. After years of leal service, Mr. Eserly has decided to take some time to spend with his family, and will no longer be able to continue in his position here.”

Camille wasn’t sure what she expected, perhaps performative sadness or at least a polite pretense of sorrow. Instead, she saw many of the assembled workers simply shrug. A few were even sporting smiles! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the Avaline system fails to engender loyalty.

“While Eustace oversaw much of this paper’s rise, he also was left with the unfortunate task of leading you through our darkest days. How can anyone bail out a sinking ship with a single cup? It is beyond anyone, and thus we do not blame them as it sinks. And yet! Our ship still rides the waves. We are not yet beyond hope.

“Bold, radical action is needed to navigate these dark waters, and I will be counting on each and every one of you to contribute not just your best, but the best. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you were capable of it.”

They mostly looked bored rather than confused, but Camille supposed that was something. Scott Ecrivan at least had the decency to look terrified.

“I will be meeting with each of the writers individually over the next few days to discuss our strategy moving forward, but for now, I leave you with one word: truth. Too long have we needed to scrabble for wide appeal, capturing people’s money with the shocking and the grotesque without providing any service to them, or to the public interest. Right now our city faces a crisis, and we must do more than survive! We must lead the people through it! Keep them informed and aware, rather than anxious and depressed.

“I have no doubt that each and every one of you is talented and true of heart, but you have for too long been serf to the overmighty beast of profit, endless growth to line the pockets of this journal’s owners. No more, I say to you. I’ve been appointed personally to ensure that the Quotidien protects the public, instead of shaking them down. And guaranteed all funding necessary to make it so. I understand that this will be an adjustment for many of you, but I hope a commensurate adjustment of pay will help to ease the transition.”

It’s Avalon’s money anyway, why not spend it? It wasn’t as if Camille needed Eserly’s enormous salary for anything else. “Your erstwhile editor will be emerging in a few minutes to reiterate the news himself. In the meantime, I’d like to get started right away.” She smiled, removing the scarf to reveal the blue in her hair. “Scott, let’s start with you. My office is still occupied for the moment, so we can meet by your desk.”

And cement yourself at the top.

Camille felt an energetic chill flow through her as she led the irritating writer away from his colleagues.

Lady Perimont and her followers would have to respond to this. There was no way they could let something so bold stand, no matter what technical share was held by Luce’s uncle. Camille would have to spend all of her next few days here during working hours, just to make sure she’d be around when they arrived. Whitbey, I’m guessing, though perhaps the Stuart woman.

But whoever it was, they would come to strike back.

And when they do, they’ll fall right into my trap.