Conquest of Avalon

“Enfin, Is there no end of raging waves? Must we endure forevermore this tiresome lull?” The Captain winked at her, then swung his body around the mast of the Seaward Folly, somehow not filling his hand with splinters in the process. “Oh, that I might hear the song of battle once again, or dupe once more a most deserving mark.”

“It’s not my fault you’re bored, Captain Verrou.” Eloise rolled her eyes. “It’s only been a few weeks since the Crescent Isle job. That wasn’t enough excitement for you?”

He shrugged. “For a time. Laying low is never the fun part.”

“Well, unless you like the feel of a noose around your neck, it’s just as important.”

Verrou opened his hands, conceding the point. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“Have some fun, Captain. Relax. This is practically a vacation.”

“How do you not realize that those two things are diametrically opposed?” He scoffed. “It’s not even shore leave until we get to Guerron. Nothing to do but wait.”

Eloise leaned back against the door to the cabin, folding her arms. “Fantasize about all the florins Duke Fouchand is going to give us for those airship plans; drink; play cards with the crew; I don’t know! I’ve been talking to Blaise about what kinds of repairs we can afford once the deal goes through. Even conservatively, replacing the cabins should be trivial, and there’s been talk of upgrades besides.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s your idea of fun? Tch, no wonder Jacques liked you.”

Eloise stiffened at the mention of her erstwhile patron, trying to keep her face measured. She felt a thump from the wall behind her, but ignored it.

“You know, he used to try to fob me off the same way, when I wanted us to have a bit of fun. Always more inventory to do, more wheels to grease in local government. And you know what? When I managed to drag him out anyway to this or that tavern, he always ended up having a great time. Often he wasn’t back at the shop until morning came. You could stand to learn from that.”

“You could stand to learn that there’s no fun to be had if you get caught. I’m honestly amazed you escaped the hangman for so long, especially before you had me.” She smirked. “Besides, I do fine.”

“Not what I meant, but sure, that’s another way to have some fun. What happened to that last girl of yours, anyway? Rosette?”

“Rosalyn,” Eloise corrected. “She got really boring really fast. Turns out that self-serious, affected cynicism was fake and shallow rather than insightful. One thing to complain about the Harpies and monarchism, I get where her head’s at, but it was just always the same thing, no variation. I doubt she would have come along even if I’d offered, and I sure wasn’t going to offer after that snooze-fest.”

“Makes sense. I figured it was mostly because she dressed all in black anyway.”

Eloise shrugged, not contradicting him. It certainly hadn’t hurt, and her personality had ended up being the issue anyway. “It might be time for someone with a bit more sincerity; I don’t know. At least those poor saps are willing to do things instead of just whining.”

“Well, we’ll be in port soon. Easy problem to fix.”

“Exactly. No cure for a rupture like the hot new thing.” She smiled, feeling another thump from behind her, and kicked her leg back against the door in exchange, still leaning against it.

“I think someone’s trying to get through the door, Eloise.”

“Are they?” she asked innocently as she could manage, which probably didn’t amount to much. “I didn’t notice.”

The Captain frowned. “So are you going to move out of the way?”

“Who, me? Move out of the way? Oh, of the door! I see what you mean! Yes, I should probably stop leaning on it like this. People might not be able to get through otherwise. I understand now. Thank you for illuminating the problem; otherwise I might not have been able to notice. And I suppose now I actually should—”

“Eloise.”

She exhaled with a smile, stepping away from the door.

Elizabeth emerged from below, a vicious glare on her face. “Not funny, Eloise.”

“Maybe not for you. I enjoyed myself fine.”

“Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. “I just wanted to see how close we are.”

“We’re very close, Elizabeth. You don’t need to worry about our friendship.” Eloise patted her on the back smugly.

“To shore.”

“Well, does it really matter how close the ship is to Guerron if you’re stuck belowdecks?”

“You were blocking—”

“Ah-ah-ah! No excuses, Elizabeth. You have to own your actions, even if they’re as nonsensical as camping out down there when there’s a beautiful ocean breeze to lift your spirits.”

The other pirate let out an inarticulate gurgle of rage, fists clenched tight. Perfect.

The Captain frowned. “You’re watching the ship when we dock, Eloise. Can’t leave it unattended.”

That’s such an overreaction! There was a rotation for a reason, and Eloise wasn’t due for another three landings. Acting like it affected her would just give them satisfaction, though. “Fine, I have inventory to catch up on anyway.”

≋

“Premièr Renardeau, neat,” Eloise ordered, slumping down at the bar.

“Out of that, sorry.” The bartender actually did look sorry, which was unusual. Probably the owner or something; an employee wouldn’t care.

“Any Lyrion single-malt at all?”

He shook his head. “Might be a wagon in a few days, but it’s hard to book shipments these days. I’m lucky I even have enough beer and vodka to cover the basics. Ships are crashing left and right and harbor repairs from the bombing have slowed to a crawl, everything needs more lanterns and padding, and the rail line’s down too, with that cave-in that killed Perimont.”

Oops. “Still, the rail line was for Avalon’s uses. Military, mostly. I doubt they’d be letting you use it to ship drinks down either way.”

“Maybe not, but it’d free up roads and ships and wagons for the rest of us.” He shrugged. “I’ve still got whiskey.”

“Ugh, fine.” She took the glass once offered and drank deep, nearly finishing it in a single gulp. “I’m going to that table over there.” She pointed to a dark space in the corner, far from any listening ears. “Be sure to send the next one there, and soon.”

Eloise was halfway through her third when a severe woman sat down beside her, slapping a large folder down on the table in front of her. She looked to be in her thirties, or maybe a very well maintained forty, with blonde hair tied back tightly behind her. “Rough day?”

Eloise shook her head. “It’s nothing that can’t be solved by moving on to the next thing.” She held out her hand, since she couldn’t remember if they’d properly met before. “Eloise. Thank you for coming out to meet with me.”

“Mr. Clochaîne says you’re full of good ideas, and it’s certainly an interesting proposal.” She grasped the hand firmly and shook it twice. “Cynette Fields, as you’re no doubt aware.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Eloise withdrew her hand, leaning back in her chair. “What’s with the folder? There aren’t any documents on this yet. In fact, that would be a really bad idea, given that it’s just in concept stages.”

“Nothing to do with us. Don’t worry.” She flipped it open, turning it around so Eloise could see. “I was just going over the transcript of Lady Annette’s trial, over in Guerron. One of the Crown’s spies managed to get a copy, and Mr. Clochaîne had access.”

“Hmm.” Eloise shrugged. Not my problem, then.

“It still amazes me sometimes how backwards other legal systems are. There’s no discovery, no verification of evidentiary robustness, seemingly not even the concept of recusing oneself due to personal bias. And it’s all based on personal relations; they never cited a law or code even once. As hard as it is to get a solicitor’s license in Avalon, you don’t literally have to be born in the right caste to do it.”

Eloise stifled a yawn; it wouldn’t do to piss her off, not when she needed the help. “Shall we get to the topic at hand?”

“Right, of course.” The solicitor shook her head briefly, then met Eloise’s gaze. “Mr. Clochaîne gave me a rough overview of what you have in mind, but I think this will work better if you start by laying out your plan.”

Eloise finished her drink. Then, because that wasn’t enough to get started with this, she took a long sip from the next glass that the bartender had provided, letting the warmth emanate out from her throat through her body. It’s no single-malt, that’s for sure, but it’ll do in a pinch.

If this worked, it would mean real independence. Not taking sentimental handouts from Jacques, or sliding back into the lieutenant role she’d barely had the strength to dodge last time. Not poring over accounts with an abacus and a pen for hours like she was still fifteen.

It meant moving forward, and leaving all the rest behind.

“To begin with, this shouldn’t be anything strictly illegal. I’m hoping you can help keep us on the right side of that in the planning stages, to avoid any issues later.”

Fields nodded, pulling a pipe out from her pocket. “I hope you won’t underestimate my utility in either case, though I do think it’s a wise course. Certainly, as a solicitor more familiar with Mr. Clochaîne’s operations, I’m well-versed in customs law. And, of course, it ultimately comes down to what they can prove, which is a considerably lower barrier of legality.”

“Exactly.” Eloise took a sip, smaller this time. “What I’m proposing, in essence, is nothing more than a market. Goods often have trouble finding appropriate buyers, and this would merely be a facilitation of that.”

“Contraband?” the solicitor asked, tipping a pouch of what smelled like tobacco into her pipe. “Customs might be otherwise occupied for the moment, but that’s not entirely the same as—”

“None from us.” Eloise shook her head. “What I’m proposing is something closer to a large-scale fence operation. Clean goods, acquired less-than-cleanly. Maybe some contraband here and there, but not much, and strictly unaffiliated with the market. Jacques’ got those sales figured out already, anyway. We host the space, facilitate the arrangement, and take our cut, but ultimately it’s the buyers and sellers on the hook if they’re caught with anything they shouldn’t have.”

“Hmm.” She inhaled through her pipe, pink lips pursed around it. “In theory, you could possibly avoid liability, in the event that thefts or contraband were to be discovered. At least, so long as the vendors and services staff were independent contractors, rather than official employees of the enterprise. They’ll need to be reliable, though. Otherwise you risk ruination with a stool pigeon in your midst. And it will happen eventually.”

Fuck. “Which makes it easy for them to cheat me out of my cut. I see the issue. Either I need an extremely trustworthy yet still morally flexible agent to oversee the black books, or I put myself at risk by doing the same.” She sighed. “Fucking rats have to ruin everything.”

“Indeed.” She took another hit from her pipe. “You might organize things more in the mold of Mr. Clochaîne and associated sales. Keep it under cover of darkness, so to speak, changing locations frequently, going out into neighborhoods rather than coalescing business into a central hub.”

“No, that won’t do.” Then I’m just another one of Jacques’ lieutenants. It’s barely a new idea at all, at that point. “I suppose I could oversee it myself. I’d certainly feel more comfortable knowing what’s going on, and it’s well within my area of expertise.” Except you’re in town with Margot now, idiot. What do you think happens to her if you get caught? “Then again, if a reliable underling could be found, that would be greatly preferable.”

Ms. Fields waved her hand away. “That’s just details. Of course, if you involved yourself directly, Mr. Clochaîne would not want you working on the books for Clochaîne Candles anymore. Compartmentalization, you know.”

“Of course.”

“In any case, you would have to make inroads with the Territorial government. You’ll need permits to operate in public, and to be sure the operation is officially sanctioned. Otherwise it would all go up in smoke in a single raid; they’d certainly deny you permission to set anything up again. Whoever your clean name is at the top would need to convincingly claim ignorance to even have a chance, and in practice, that means friends in high places.”

Great, brown-nosing moronic aristos, just what I was hoping for. “Jacques, of course, would not deign to draw on his contacts for such a thing. That would mean involving himself.”

The solicitor nodded. “Sending me to this meeting is the maximum extent to which he intends to do so.”

No surprise there. Honestly, even getting a meeting with the solicitor was an unexpected coup. Maybe he’s sentimental, now that I’m back. Even as she thought it, though, the idea felt wrong. “Alright so I need to decide how to insulate the leadership structure while maintaining control over it all, and find one of Luce’s cronies to skip arm-in-arm with in case anything goes wrong. That about right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Luce? You’re on a first-name basis with Prince Grimoire?”

Oh, fuck, right. Eloise shook her head calmly, giving nothing away. “Nah, only met him once, after that awful speech of his at the opera house. When I shook his hand, he said ‘call me Luce’, that’s all. Must not be one for formalities.”

“His nature could potentially prove to our advantage, then. If indeed that’s the reason.” She tilted her head, as if insinuating that there might be another cause.

Well, whatever, it’s all a lie anyway.

“I think Mr. Clochaîne could help arrange a meeting between the two of you. Why not start at the top?”

Once this is done, it’ll be like we’ve never met, she remembered. A clean slate, in lieu of a ransom payment. He wouldn’t go after her, perhaps, but there was a difference between that and—No, not Luce. “He’s certainly not a reliable contact. If we want to make inroads in the Territorial government, we’ll need another avenue.”

Fields nodded, inhaling deep through her pipe. After a moment, she exhaled a cloud of black smoke, courteously directing away from the table. “Are you familiar with Lady Camille Leclaire?”

“Sure, we’ve met. Rough-and-tumble lady, with a real sunny disposition. Very gracious, too, totally not the type to nearly drown me within a few minutes of us meeting.” Eloise shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “Isn’t she a little busy being dead?”

“One might think so.” The solicitor smirked, pipe held between her lips. “She’s in Malin, actually. Prince Grimoire appointed her to the position of Spiritual Liaison, in order that she might lend her expertise in these trying times. And she owes me a favor. Will your prior engagements be an issue?”

“I barely remember it, and I had a lot going on that day to mark its significance. I doubt she’ll care.”

“Good, then. I’ll have my people set it up. You’ll receive a communiqué once the arrangements have been made.”

Good, Eloise thought as she left the tavern. Getting legal help to ensure that the concept was viable was the most important step, frankly. If it were just going to be another store expansion or another territory to sell contraband for Jacques, the independence of the whole enterprise would be so limited as to be useless. Might as well just keep doing his books, at that point, and spare herself the effort.

She had decided to stay, and that meant taking full advantage of it. Anything less wouldn’t be fair to… To myself.

The next step was seeing Margot, since it had been a while. Not since picking her up from school, come to think of it. If only they’d been able to keep classes going, this would have been so much simpler.

Khali only knew what she was getting up to these days, with so much free time essentially unsupervised, but with any luck she’d been chastened by their little conversation. Ultimately, that was temporary, though. It was already getting to be too cold to go out unless it was absolutely necessary, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d be stuck inside by the fire, with no way to make mischief.

Of course, that would mean the crisis hasn’t gotten any better. But there wasn’t much use thinking about that. Either someone would solve it, in which case it was nothing but a perfect opportunity, or they’d all die. Either way, it wouldn’t have anything to do with her; it wasn’t even possible to imagine a scenario, no matter how contrived, where she had any effect at all.

So really, then, what was the harm in taking advantage of it however she could? It wasn’t like anyone was really getting hurt.

No, better to focus on the present, and act as if the world had a future. Otherwise it was all pointless anyway. In fact—

“Fuck!” she yelled at the sound of a deafening bang. Her ears kept ringing afterward, throbbing with pain as a burning smell filled the air.

Looking down, the thick padding of her winter jacket had been ripped through, a massive gash across her chest.

Eloise ducked down, scanning the streets, but only caught the slightest glimpse of a black-robed figure sprinting away.

Fucker tried to kill me. The sound couldn’t mean anything but a pistol. Sometimes she felt like she could still hear the one Florette had fired on a quiet night, and this was no different.

Eloise ripped her jacket off, trying to assess the damage, and felt the rapid breathing in her chest as she saw that her shirt didn’t have a scratch on it.

Three inches over, and I would be dead right now.

She stood, still breathing heavily, and surveyed the streets once more. It’s not like I haven’t come close before… Any battle was ultimately a risk, no matter how much it was slanted in their favor, and there’d certainly been plenty of them aboard the Seaward Folly. She’d come close in Refuge

But this had ended before it even started. Not the slightest chance to defend myself, practically dumb luck… An instant, and she could have been gone.

But they missed, idiot! There was nothing stopping you from running after them.

She clenched her fist as she took in the mistake, but as dumb as it had been to lie there stunned while the attacker fled, there was nothing for it now but to try to find them another way.

A few of Whitbey’s elite had pistols, presumably. But they could have just pulled her into a cell and ‘stopped an escape attempt’. No need to be so public about it.

No, this had to be the work of someone on the other side of the law.

Which means they used one of the ones we stole. Eloise pounded her fist against her head, trying to control her rage. Someone took one, and gave it to someone trying to kill me.

There was a rat in her midst.

And when I find out who tried to pull this, they’re going to wish they could die so easily.