Conquest of Avalon

The light of the lantern glinted off of the steel as it swung downwards, gasps ringing out through the air.

The knife found its target, embedding deep, but that alone was nothing. Twice, thrice, and six times again Florette stabbed, each movement faster than the last. She felt the blood fill her ears as she continued, reaching a fever pitch before embedding her knife one last time into her target.

All around her, people stared in stunned silence. Leclaire was biting her lip as if she wanted to do some stabbing of her own, but she held her tongue.

“And that’s how you play Diced Digits!” That seemed to break the tension, a chorus of cheers erupting as Florette pulled her knife out of the wood between her fingers, tucking it into her belt.

Cheers gave way to chatter as Florette took a small bow and stepped back towards Leclaire and the others, too fast and muddled in the foreign tongue for her to make out anything much.

The smile on her face was real as she bent slightly to put her arm around Leclaire’s shoulders. “And you said I couldn’t do it, Lady Carrine.”

“I said you shouldn’t, because it’s idiotically risky for no possible benefit. How do you even know how to do that?”

“It’s a secret.” Florette’s smile grew wider. “I’m just full of them.”

“Certainly, it’s quite impressive,” Simon Perimont said, passing her the nearly depleted bottle of expensive gin. “But I must concur with the lovely lady Carrine that it seems an awful lot of risk for precious little benefit, not to mention how much practice it must have taken to get that proficient.”

Not that much else to do on a ship full of pirates. At least, not until she and Eloise had found a far better way to pass the time together. Florette took a long sip in her honor, finishing the bottle, then set it down on the ground beside them. Done with that.

“The benefit is that it’s totally badass!” Sir Gerald Stewart shouted to be heard over the din of the party, still abuzz from Florette’s demonstration. Though it was a low bar to clear, it was easily the most intelligent thing he’d said all night. It hadn’t taken long for the sandy-haired Fortan knight to prove himself a complete imbecile, just as Camille had said he would be. “Can you teach me?”

“Perhaps.” She folded her arms, noncommittal.

“Not for free, she won’t,” Simon cut in before Florette could respond. “That’s the way these things are done.”

That was excellent cover for refusing, actually. “You heard him.”

Sir Gerald cursed, impotently shaking his fists.

“What could you possibly need it for?” That came from Charlotte, the girl accompanying the knight. The way her clothes clung to her, it was clear that she kept herself in good shape. With the warm summer air, she was wearing short sleeves that showed off her muscles even more, glistening slightly with sweat. “Even if you managed to avoid cutting your fingers off, which I find extremely unlikely.”

“She managed.” Sir Gerald derisively glanced over to Florette. “And it’s super useful for going undercover, investigating seedy underbellies, showing off my strength and fortitude to anyone who might question it. Really, it’s sad that you’re so unimaginative. I can think of a dozen ways it might help an investigator to know their way around… What did you call it? Diced Onions?”

“Yes,” Florette said quickly, before anyone could correct him. “And I’m afraid my price is rather too steep for you. I recommend walking into the grimiest tavern you can find and asking for someone to help. Draw your knife and show them, if there’s any confusion.”

That finally got Leclaire to crack the slightest smile, and half the people in the group along with her.

Captain Whitbey, tonight’s main target, wasn’t among them. He’d wandered off alone almost as soon as he’d arrived, staring out at the sea from amidst the ruins. The knife tricks had gathered almost everyone at the party to watch, but Whitbey had barely glanced up from the water.

She would have to find another way to coax him out, but for now there was other information to be had.

“You said you were an investigator?” Florette asked once the moment had passed.

“For Prince Harold himself.” The knight nodded proudly. “He personally assigned me to find the culprit of the harbor bombing and bring him to justice.”

Harbor bombing?

Simon must have seen the puzzled look on her face, for he jumped in with an explanation. “I suppose it wasn’t such significant news in Guerron, but explosives went off in the harbor a few months ago. Over two dozen people died, with threescore more injured. It completely destroyed King Harold’s ship, as well.” He scratched his chin. “Which, now that I think of it, might have something to do with his extended leave from Cambria at the moment.”

“He’s still here?” Florette clenched her fist in anticipation. Why stop at robbery when I can get to the root of the problem?

“Ah, no. He left by land shortly thereafter. I think to Lyrion, to find another ship suitable to carry his royal personage? The details are not entirely clear to me, especially with secrecy so crucial for a man of his stature.” Simon shrugged. “If he’d simply waited until the railroad was ready, he’d already be on his way home right now.”

“Kings are not always known for their patience.” Camille was biting her lip again. “Does that mean the rails are ready, then?”

“Not for the masses, but the lines are operational as of a few days ago. If not for that robbery, everything would have been ready even sooner.”

Despite the strong urge to grin at the thought, Florette refrained.

Sir Gerald was doing enough grinning for the both of them, anyway. “Don’t worry, I’ve nearly caught the one who did it. They’re cornered now, nowhere to run.”

What? Her blood ran cold.

If she drew her blade now, she could push through before they had time to act, but what then? All their plans would be dashed, cover lost, and Camille would be left holding the bag for everything.

“That’s overstating things a bit, don’t you think?” Charlotte rolled her eyes, not aware that Florette was hanging on every word. “And not fit for this company, either.”

“Ah right, operational security. Probably shouldn’t mention the grille on the roof that was unscrewed either?”

Charlotte let out a quiet sigh. “No, you probably should not.”

“The roof?” Florette chose her words more carefully than she ever had. “Isn’t the railroad outside?”

“The tracks are, but there’s a compound for the administrative buildings up where Governor Perimont cleared out the ruined slums.” Sir Gerald smiled again. “We found a grille unscrewed atop the roof, so it seems pretty clear that our burglar entered through there while the Acolyte outside was distracting the Director’s assistant.”

Fuck me. They’d figured all of that out from a few screws missing?

That was a sobering lesson: one could never be too careful in an operation like this. Something to keep in mind for next time, if there would even be one. “That’s quite insightful, but it’s not really the same as having the culprit cornered, no?”

“You’re correct.” Charlotte shot Sir Gerald a glare, but then shrugged. “That’s actually what we were hoping to talk to Lady Carrine about. Based on the arrest report, we know that the Acolyte outside was named Claude. He’s not the mastermind, but he can put us in touch with the one who actually planned everything. We were hoping you could help us find him.”

And they know about Claude too. Fuck.

Florette had to warn him as soon as possible. With this hanging over his head, he needed to make himself scarce, and fast.

She’d only seen him once since the railyard heist, giving him his share of Jacques’ advance payment. He hadn’t seemed particularly grateful, but that was easy enough to forgive under the circumstances. Claude had suffered more for the job than anyone, not just with the beating and imprisonment, but his standing with the Acolytes as well.

And now he’d have to leave town before Charlotte and her pet idiot dragged him into even worse.

I should have been more careful. I can give him the rest of the money, at least. Hopefully Yse would agree to do the same, and they could at least send him off better prepared. Still, what a waste…

Camille’s eyes widened. “Claude, you say? I don’t think I’ve ever met the man.”

“Damn.” Charlotte seemed to deflate, her eager inquisitiveness practically seeping out of her body as it slouched down dejectedly. “We’re on a really tight schedule right now. Do you think you could give us an introduction to Mr. Cadoudal, at least? We really need to find him.”

Camille tilted her head back, clearly thinking of an appropriate lie. “I’m not sure he would be particularly amenable. Acolytes here take care of their own. Cadoudal is no traitor; he wouldn’t stand in the way of justice, but I don’t know that he’d be eager to help you, either. Not if he could avoid it.”

“Even if you asked him to help?” Charlotte asked desperately. “The Guardians and I would owe you, should we find him in time.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe so.” Camille glanced at Florette without lingering, but the message was clear: help.

“Are you sure he was even an Acolyte?” The thought came to Florette practically as it was leaving her mouth. “All you have is a first name and an arrest report.”

“We did lose a jar of dye recently,” Camille added seamlessly. “It’s shocking to imagine someone being so brazen as to impersonate an Acolyte, but it seems more likely than one of us helping a criminal.”

“You did?” Charlotte pounded her fist against her face. “Of course you did.” Her face screwed up tight for a moment, until inspiration seemed to strike. “The solicitor, though! Cynette Fields is the one who got him out of jail, much like she did for you. Gary, don’t you see what this means?”

“Clochaîne did it, obviously. He’s neck deep in all of this. If the day’s fair, he’ll be answering for his crimes within the week.” The knight was muttering, his attention elsewhere. “Please excuse me, but I see Lady Mary sitting all alone, in desperate need of company.”

Simon snorted, but waved him away.

“Is that really decisive though?” Florette prodded, attempting to guide her off-track. “Surely any one solicitor has numerous clients, and a criminal could certainly afford to pay her.”

“Not Cynette Fields.” Charlotte shook her head. “She serves the Acolytes and Clochaîne, exclusively. If she got Claude out of prison, then he’s one of theirs. One of yours, Lady Carrine, as sorry as I am to say it.”

She did not, in fact, look particularly sorry to say it.

Camille was biting her lip hard enough that it looked ready to bleed, but the circumstances were too dire for Florette to take any pleasure in it. “I’m loathe to bring this up, but since you seem to remember that I’m the same person you arrested on the beach, I suppose there’s no harm in it.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte stared back, hope illuminating her eyes. “Did you see Claude there?”

“I wonder if I might have.”

Is she trying to sell Claude out? Florette shot her a furious glare, but Leclaire shook her head slightly in return. “The last day I was imprisoned, there was another Acolyte who entered my cell. Or at least, he had the blue streak of hair. He didn’t seem to know much about Levian or the Temple’s functions though, and I never got a name out of him either. But the solicitor told me she was getting him out too, so that Mr. Cadoudal could ‘see him punished properly for his insult to the Acolytes’. It sounded like Pierre could do it in a more permanent way than the courts would have allowed.”

“What?” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you mention that before! I’m sure it’s him!”

“He never gave me his name; I certainly didn’t know him as Claude. It didn’t occur to me until you brought up the solicitor.” She even managed to look apologetic saying it.

The muscular girl’s eye twitched, but she seemed to manage to contain her anger.

“He can’t just do that, though,” Simon said, speaking up for the time in a little while. “Even if an impersonator is insulting his order, Cadoudal doesn’t have the right to kill him. That duty belongs to the courts, the Guardians, Father…”

“You’re right,” Camille said. “However understandable his motives, if Charlotte’s theory is right, Pierre committed a murder. It’s too horrifying to even imagine.”

“We don’t really know anything yet for sure.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “But it’s looking alarmingly possible. Either way, it’s clear that Gary and I need to have a talk with Pierre Cadoudal, and as soon as possible.”

Camille nodded. “I can take you to the Temple this time next week. Just meet me back here.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “But Lord Perimont is depending on us to talk to Claude by the end of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then. First thing.” Camille smiled. “Will that work?”

Surely she isn’t really going to take her? If they found Claude before Florette could warn him, only horrible things would ensue.

“Yes, thank you.” Charlotte nodded, obviously relieved. “I just hope it’s enough.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Simon assured her. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I did come here for the party, and we’ve been out of liquor for several minutes now.”

“Right.”

“I’ll grab more,” Florette offered. “Carrine, care to join me?” Take the hint.

“Of course, I’d be happy to help.”

They walked slowly enough to look natural until they were far enough from the party to be out of anyone’s earshot, each step agonizingly long in the tense silence.

“We’re not giving up Claude. Non-negotiable.” Florette crossed her arms. “Even if worst comes to worst, we can get him out of town first. Make sure that he’s out of the range of any nosy investigators.”

“Calm down. I don’t want him caught either.” Camille set a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Charlotte is obviously under some kind of time crunch. All I have to do is not show up tomorrow and warn Cadoudal not to let her in without me. If she asks, I can just say he told me not to take her. Plenty of time to get Claude to safety, and it minimizes the risk of us getting caught out either.”

“Good.” Florette breathed a sigh of relief. “I was worried you didn’t care.”

“You’re the criminal! You looked about ready to stab them when they mentioned the railyard robbery.”

“Only if we were really discovered.” Even then, honestly, running right away would probably have been better. “It’s a good thing Charlotte has that idiot shackled to her, or they might have found Claude already.”

“Definitely.” Camille scratched her chin. “It’s more like she’s shackled to that idiot, really. He’s the one with the Prince’s authority, while she’s simply on loan from the Guardians. With the right words to Simon and Captain Whitbey, perhaps we could get her moved to another assignment where she’d do less harm.”

I never thought of that. “Camille, that’s inspired. No idea if Whitbey will bite, he’s been glowering alone all night, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“Exactly.”

“If we need to, we could even create a reassignment for her from the other side. Lay a false trail of crimes to keep her busy, or misdirect things some other way.” She paused. “In a way, we’re really lucky she was here tonight, even if it almost screwed us over. Now we can get Claude to safety, and we know who we’re up against.”

“Along with Perimont, Clochaîne, Prince Harold, Lumière, Cadoudal…”

“Now we know one more thing we’re up against,” Florette corrected. “Always better to know.”

“True enough.” Camille frowned, possibly realizing just how much was stacked against them. “Come on, we’d better get back to the party.”

Florette nodded. “I think there’s still a bit of the good stuff left. I tucked a couple aside.”

“I thought it didn’t make any difference. Wasn’t that the point of your demonstration?” Camille smiled playfully.

“The point is that expectations shape the taste. But I know, and so do you. It’s still worth it for us.”

Luckily, the bottle of Lyrion single malt she’d buried at the back was still there, untouched.

Even more luckily, Captain Whitbey had finally finished his solitude, and was talking to Simon when they returned. Charlotte and Gerald seemed to be off somewhere else, but that could be a benefit if anything.

“...Somewhere less unsightly, at least. Poor Carrine had to move the entire venue tonight on account of the stench. Can’t father cut them down once they’re dead, at least? They hardly need to hang there afterwards.” Simon perked up when he noticed them returning. “Ah good, I was beginning to wonder.”

“Wanted to make sure we had the best.” Florette smiled, holding up the bottle. “Care for some, Captain?”

Captain Whitbey shook his head. Tall and stern, he was still wearing his matte black coat even in this heat. “Best I remain alert. As Lord Perimont is fond of saying, enemies are everywhere.”

“Mhm.” Florette passed the bottle to Simon instead. “Sir Gerald and Charlotte were just telling us about their search for those very enemies. Fascinating thing, though it’s a bit frightening to think about.”

Whitbey frowned. “Charlotte and Gary should learn to keep their mouths shut. First they want a criminal released from her charges, and now revealing secrets… Your father will be most displeased, Simon.”

What a nice fellow.

“Does that mean that there’s a problem with the charges?” Camille asked hesitantly. “I’d like to think I helped them with their investigation as much as I could. Charlotte seemed grateful, at least.”

“No need for concern,” he said, looking concerned. “I understand freeing the minnow to catch the shark, even if Simon’s lackadaisical attitude about it all is untoward. I caught Blackjack Tomas when his lieutenant gave him up, and the Blue Bandit was coaxed into my trap thanks to the right pressure applied to an agent within her ranks.”

“Who are those people? Criminals?”

“Rebels,” he answered blithely. “The Blue Bandit was sheltering those exiled from the city, preying on military convoys with her band of delinquents. Stealing food out of our mouths like the ungrateful bastards they are. One can only cry starvation for so long before the fact that they remain alive betrays the lie inherent to it.”

Fucker.

Camille didn’t betray a trace of emotion, but whether that was because she was hiding it well or simply didn’t care was impossible to be sure of. Florette still remembered her willingness to work with him.

“And Blackjack?” Camille asked.

Whitbey chuckled. “The last sage of Malin, he called himself. He started as a palace gardener, if you could believe that. When his pet monster was slain by our binders, he tried to stir dissent in return. Gathered quite a following around himself, as I recall. The sea ran red for days.”

“I see,” Camille noted, her tone still neutral, hopefully just an act. “That would be Pierrot, if I recall correctly.”

“I just told you his name was Blackjack Tomas.” Whitbey scoffed. “You young people and your short attention spans. I swear, if anyone had acted like that when I was—”

“The spirit was named Pierrot.” Despite her composure, Camille’s eyes still narrowed. That’s a relief, at least. “He was no harm to anyone. All he asked was water and fresh fertilizer to maintain his garden.”

“Until some fool gets it in their head to murder people in their honor.” Whitbey shook his head, making a ‘tsk’ sound as he did. “That sort of soft-mindedness is exactly why Lord Perimont leaves enforcement of the law to professionals. One must have the right stomach for the job.”

“To kill starving exiles?” Florette couldn’t help it. “What other choice did they have?”

Camille put a hand on her arm, a warning to lay off clear within her eyes.

“That wasn’t my problem, nor was it Lord Perimont’s. But criminality is always a choice; they had plenty of alternatives. Of course, children aren’t known for making the best decisions.”

“Children?”

“The Blue Bandit was sixteen. Most of her minions were around the same age. I will grant it impressive that they managed to be that much of a threat, with that in mind.” He shrugged. “They still hang just the same.”

Florette brushed the handle of her sword for reassurance, careful to hide the motion in a stroke of her hair.

Alright, this fucker has to die.