Conquest of Avalon

“So we’ve established the basic facts, as we best understand them: an Acolyte created a distraction outside, luring away the Director’s assistant. He would have locked the door behind him, but the other robber entered through the roof, snatching the plans and escaping the same way. We don’t know how she made it into the compound yet, but presumably she left the same way.”

“He,” Gary corrected helpfully. “This was the work of a master thief at the direction of Jacques Clochaîne to destroy society as we know it. That man is the leader of all of this, corrupt to his core.”

For the first time in months, Governor Gordon Perimont cracked a smile. “You took your time, Sir Gerald, but at least now Clochaîne’s dirty dealings can be exposed and dealt with, and done so under Prince Harold’s authority. And not a moment too soon, given recent word from Avalon. I may have underestimated your utility.”

“Well well well…” Gary folded his arms, a smirk on his face. “Maybe next time, you… won’t do that,” he quipped.

“Mmm.” Perimont curled his lip. “We shall meet Captain Whitbey tomorrow to present your evidence and organize the raids. Until then, not a word of this to anyone.”

Evidence? “My deductions are ironclad. I’m sure they will suffice.”

Perimont’s face sagged. “Of course. What was I thinking, believing you could come through even for a moment?” He muttered something under his breath. “Why our illustrious prince chose you for this investigation, I may never understand.”

“Understanding can be difficult at times,” Gary commiserated. “But that’s why you have crack investigators like me in your corner. Prince Harold values my reliability, and my loyalty. His words.”

“Not your aptitude though.” He put a hand to his face, contemplating the reality that Gary had done more for Avalon in a few months than Perimont had managed with years of governorship. “Do you have any evidence at all to support these accusations?”

“My Lord Governor,” Charlotte began, desperate to be included. “No one reported any strife or struggle, and the door and lock were fully intact, unforced. The grille over the vent at the ceiling of Director Thorley’s office was unscrewed. Your own Forresters concluded that Thorley’s assistant was not responsible for the theft after their interrogations were complete, leaving ingress through the roof as the only possibility.”

Perimont stared down at her, irritated that she was the one speaking, rather than the esteemed knight in charge of the investigation. She should have known better than to talk.

Fortunately, Gary was ready to step in and save her. “We’ve already apprehended the culprit: an Acolyte. We’ll be able to confirm Clochaîne’s involvement.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, stupefied that she had forgotten to mention the most important part first, while Perimont seemed no less surprised.

“That changes things.” Perimont folded his arms. “You have one day. I don’t care what it takes. Once Clochaîne’s name escapes his lips, we can move forward with the full backing of the crown to cut his rot from this city.”

His? “My lord, the Acolyte we captured was actually—”

“Was actually more loyal than that.” Charlotte elbowed him in the stomach, so brimming with energy in anticipation of the raids that she couldn’t even control herself around her superiors. Woman’s temperament. Gary shook his head sadly. “It may be difficult to break him in such a short time.”

There she goes, calling the Acolyte a man again, when it was really a blue haired girl. So forgetful.

“Be that as it may, it must be done. I’ve become privy to news from Baron Williams that will throw everything into disarray. Clochaîne must be out of the way before the masses learn of it.” He snapped his fingers. “You, girl.”

“Charlotte, my Lord Governor.”

Perimont shrugged. “I want you to take the lead in the interrogation.”

“What?” Gary spluttered. “You can’t possibly—”

“As a… training exercise. You must allow the Guardians the chance to show what they have learned from your example, Sir Gerald. Already, you’ve exposed so many problems with the system.”

“But the timing… Charlotte’s dependable, but she’s wildly incompetent, overly emotional, basically just a disaster of a human being. She’ll never get what you need done in time without me taking a firmer hand.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed sharply at the thought that her skills might not be up to the task, showing a startling capacity for self-reflection.

“She has been helpful,” Gary hurriedly clarified, throwing her a bone. “But time is of the essence.”

“Nonetheless, you will have to make do. Once word gets out… Clochaîne is a snake, and he’s done too good a job at making himself seem indispensable.”

Gary stared the governor down, tilting his head up to meet the irritatingly tall man’s eyeline. Why couldn’t you just sit down at your desk like everyone else?

“You are dismissed,” he added.

≋

“Well, it could have gone better, but I think you managed to avoid embarrassing me too badly.”

Charlotte punched him in the shoulder. “You idiot! Why would you tell him we have the Acolyte in hand?”

Gary blinked. “Why hide it? Prince Harold didn’t want me talking to people about the harbor bombing until I had the culprit, but we pretty much stopped bothering to investigate that once all this railyard robbery stuff came up. Priorities, you know. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me telling Perimont that I caught an Acolyte.”

“‘Caught an Acolyte’? The blue haired girl was months ago! She has nothing to do with any of this! Claude is the Acolyte that was probably involved in the robbery, and the Guardians grabbed him without any help from us.”

Khali’s curse. “What’s the difference? They’re both in prison, that’s what’s important. It’s just another avenue to implicate Clochaîne.” He pounded his fist into the palm of his hands menacingly, displaying his strength and resolve. “All we need to do is break them.”

“The solicitor got them out! We have nothing except a name from the arrest report, and you promised Perimont a way to Clochaîne in a day!”

“Calm down. You’re being hysterical.”

She reached out with her thickly muscled arm and pounded her fist against the wall, making it cough up dust. “You may have the Prince’s favor, but I still have to live in this city. Don’t you realize what you’ve done? If we can’t get Lord Perimont what you promised, I’m done. He’s not a man known for mercy.”

“You’re overthinking this. All we need to do is grab that Acolyte and convince them to give up Clochaîne. The blue-haired girl would be ideal, or the other one, but any will do, really.”

Charlotte clenched her fists, furious at herself for missing the obvious solution. “Only the one named Claude was involved in the robbery. We can’t arrest the wrong person.”

“Well, if they confess and finger Clochaîne, they’re not really the wrong person, are they?”

“Yes! If they didn’t do anything wrong, if they’re innocent, we can’t just browbeat them into lying for us!”

Gary blinked. “Criminals walk among us, Charlotte. People who are evil to their core, concerned only with their selfish desires and self-gratification. It’s simply who they are. Crime is how they reveal themselves, an inevitable slip in the façade. That’s true for everyone from the lowest poacher to Clochaîne himself. His minions certainly aren’t exempt.”

She sighed. “Maybe there’s another way. Your friend Simon knows some of the forresters, right? He could get us a meeting?”

“Simon isn’t my friend. He’s a spoiled ass. He just knows where all the good parties are, and his sister is—”

“Sir Gerald, my life is on the line here! Please, can he get us in a room with a forrester? They have to have someone planted within the Acolytes to monitor them. That might be our best chance of finding Claude.”

“Who?”

She grit her teeth, worried that her idiocy around Perimont might cost her standing. “The Acolyte captured outside the railyard on the night of the robbery. He’ll have to return for his trial eventually, but thanks to you we need to find him within the day to have any hope of catching Clochaîne. Unless you plan to search every temple in the city, this is the only way I can think of to find him in time.”

“Making a lot of assumptions there, Charlotte,” he helpfully noted, constructively addressing the flaws in her proposal. “This plan of yours has many points of failure. It assumes the Forresters have a way to find Claude, that Simon is willing and able to help—”

“That I don’t strangle you before we get the chance.”

Gary laughed. “You’ve really got to get that temper under control, Charlotte. I almost thought you were serious, there.”

≋

“That’s an awfully convoluted plan.” Simon leaned back in his chair, so large and fluffily-stuffed that he looked like was floating on a cloud. “Why don’t you just ask my new lady acquaintance, Carrine? She’s an Acolyte too; I bet she knows Claude, or at least could find him.”

Charlotte tilted her head, at last realizing that her plan was completely stupid and unworkable. “This Carrine, is her whole head of hair blue, not just a streak?”

“Ehh…” Simon tilted his hand. “If you’re willing to overlook the roots that are showing, which is a lot to ask. Honestly, she should just re-dye the whole thing; it would look a lot better. But otherwise, yes. Why?”

“Sir Gerald, care to tell him?” Charlotte prompted, gesturing for him to speak. Poor thing already forgot why we’re here.

Gary nodded. “Would you mind if we grabbed her for a few hours, Simon? Just enough to get her to confess to something.”

“What? What does that have to do with—”

Charlotte pounded her fist on the table, trying to cut through Simon’s incoherent sputtering. “We arrested her months ago! And she was released at the same time as Claude, by the same solicitor.”

“Arrested?” Simon wrinkled his eyebrow. “What was she doing?”

“Trying to purchase contraband,” Gary clarified, the memories coming back to him. “We pumped her for all the information she was worth, then tossed her back out once we got what we needed. Of course, there’s still her trial…”

“Contraband. You mean drugs.” Simon pressed the palm of his hand to his face, devastated to learn that one of his companions was a degenerate criminal. “Honestly, let people have a good time if they want to. The market demand is there; allow it to be serviced.”

Great. More bullshit about markets. As if Simon Perimont had ever once gone to a market or purchased food for himself.

“You almost had me worried a second.” Simon scratched his chin. “Actually, that does give me an in with her. I can make those charges go away like nothing, then she’ll have to accept my advances.”

“Her solicitor can doubtless do the same.” Charlotte sighed, lamenting the leeches on society that allowed the guilty to go free. “She didn’t even have any contraband in her possession when we apprehended her.”

“Still, it’ll make me look good to get rid of the problem before it even comes up.” He stood up from his chair. “I’ll go see Whitbey about it now. Thanks!”

“Wait!” Charlotte jumped in front of the door before Simon could make it out. Rather rude of her. “Do you know where we can find Carrine? She’s probably our best bet at getting to Claude before your father’s deadline.”

Simon smirked, probably imagining all of the things Gary would be doing to get Claude to turn on his master. “She’s actually meeting me at the beach tonight, with that skinny friend of hers, Celine. Say what you will about Guerron, but the people there know how to throw down. Did you know an authentic Woods Nymph uses Naca extract? It gets you all—”

Gary held up a finger. “I’m going to stop you there, because most of the words you just used don’t make any sense.”

As strangely irritable as Charlotte had been today, she did seem relieved at that.

“Anyway, I’m sure it’d be no problem for you to tag along—”

“That’s great!”

“—If you do something for me. Talk to Captain Whitbey and get him to drop the charges yourself? It’d go easier, and save me the hassle of leaning on him.”

Of course. “Is everything in life a transaction for you, Simon? Would it kill you to just do a favor for a friend?”

“Mary will be there too.”

“We agree!” Gary calmly responded, satisfied with the equitable negotiations he had deftly maneuvered through.

Simon chuckled slightly. “What did you mean by deadline, though?”

Gary blinked. “I don’t think I ever mentioned a deadline. Charlotte, does that sound familiar to you?”

He turned to look at her, only to find her fists clenched tightly again, rage on her face once more.

Great. I thought we were done with this. “It’s a simple question, Charlotte. I don’t know why you need to get so sensitive about it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself in an effort to deal with her anger issues. “Simon, your father gave us only one day to get the evidence needed to move against Clochaîne. He said that Baron Williams had sent forth news that will, in his words, ‘throw everything into disarray.’ Do you know anything about this?”

“I really shouldn’t…” He pulled his mouth to one side. “Although I suppose word will be getting out soon anyway.”

“Word of what? Just tell us!” Gary calmly requested.

“The navy caught a pirate ship outside of Oxton in the middle of trying to raid a merchant vessel. Only the ship was of Avalon make.”

“Verrou?” Charlotte asked.

Simon shook his head. “Privateers, no doubt, but no one’s saying who they were contracted for. The composition of the crew’s no help either: some from Guerron, some from the Territories, some from the Arboreum, even one girl from Avalon, but no one noteworthy. But the ship was royal-class, and apparently it was the same one Prince Luce was using to tour the Territories.”

“That’s a strange coincidence,” Gary noted. “They must have admired it enough to copy the design.”

Charlotte stared at him, trying to understand his complex theories. “It means the prince’s ship was raided and stolen by pirates, privateers from Guerron if history is anything to go by. I knew something was off when we met him; it might have already happened by then. He could still be captured, or dead.”

And fucking Simon heard it first? “No, it can’t be that. Prince Harold would have told me.”

“He’s probably been a bit too busy to deal with you, Gary.” Simon sat back down in his chair with a thump. “Something like this demands a response.”

“War,” Charlotte breathed softly. “Whenever or however his ship was taken, the King’s son is gone and Guerron is responsible. Is that why the news came from Baron Williams?”

What would that have to do with anything?

“Could be. It’s certainly what the harpies have been angling for ever since the Foxtrap. But the Owls outnumber them in the Great Council, and the King’s own sister leads that faction. Not to mention the Jays. Mercifully a small party, to be sure, but even less likely to support full scale war.”

Most of the representatives from the Fortan Highlands back home belonged to the Harpies, so they were presumably the good guys, but that was about as much as Gary cared to understand. He’d known politics was a waste of time ever since he’d realized how boring the party symbols were. The harpies were the best of the bunch, but even then, they should have chosen a better bird to represent them, like a raven or an eagle. Maybe a hawk.

“That’s why Lord Perimont needs this done so quickly. If war is declared, Clochaîne’s utility to the Territorial government might make him untouchable.” She squinted slightly, probably also having trouble parsing all of the dreadfully boring politics. “Which he would know. It would give him an incentive to ramp up hostilities between Avalon and the nations of this continent.”

“Perhaps, but a weak one. War is bad for business.”

Gary patted the pistol at his side. “Depends on the business. But Clochaîne sells candles. I can’t imagine that mattering much either way.”

Simon laughed. “He does a lot more than that.” He scratched his chin. “Which reminds me: if you do take him down, please make sure to leave my name out of it.”

“What will that matter?”

“I’m a… modest man, and I want to maintain a reputation of being true to my word.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, disgusted by the blatant corruption that Clochaîne was getting away with, even despite Simon’s vigilance.

“Reprisal against who, though? It’s not like those degenerates are flying the banner of a nation.”

“Six months ago, Guerron would be the obvious choice for a retaliatory strike, but it’s practically a Territory already. Lord Luminare seems to be acknowledging the futility of independence. Once that girl’s murder trial is over, he’ll be opening the gates to the Guardians.”

“Lumière,” Charlotte corrected, eager to undermine Simon on even the most trivial details. Nicely done. “There’s no real Empire of the Fox to speak of, let alone war against. It could mean that Prince Harold cracks down on us instead.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Gary shook his head. “I’ve known him a long time. What he wants most is his brother back. That would come before any of the politics, any show of strength.” Without a doubt, it was one of Prince Harold’s greatest character flaws, which was admittedly a faint condemnation given the man in question.

“It may be too late for that.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger in Simon’s employ, depositing a letter with three lines in a wave pattern on his desk as if she had no idea what important business was being conducted.

Simon shrugged, tearing open the letter with a gold implement. “I don’t think there’s any great need to be dramatic about things. The Prince knows enough to play this smart: blame somewhere easy to roll over, like the Condorcet Collective, and use the conquest to expand Avalon’s economic influence deeper south. There’s no need for a full-on war.” His eyes flicked up and down the page, rudely reading in the middle of a conversation.

“That does sound like something he might do,” Gary noted with no small amount of disappointment. “But I’d love a real war. I was too young for the Foxtrap, but so much of the continent is still in the hands of despotic barbarians, sacrificing their own people to evil spirits. It’s disgusting.”

“Indeed.” Simon tapped the letter in his hands. “On an unrelated note, Carrine wants to move the party. Apparently the scent from the corpses on the gallows is polluting the spot intended for the bonfire.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wish Father would consider the consequences of this sort of thing. It’s unsightly.”

Gary shrugged. “Trust me, when it’s Clochaîne and his cronies hanging, the smell will be as sweet as honey.”

“What? That doesn’t—”

“The scent of victory, Simon.” War, conquest, glory. The name Gary Stewart would ring out through history forevermore. “I can taste it in the air.”