Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Count Francis de Pontcallec's office was a neat and tidy place that smelled of pine resin. The curtains were wide open as were the windows, the beautiful vision of the port city visible in all of its glory from such a vantage point. The man himself stood up and luxuriously showed us to the appetizers before dinner. Dinner wasn't a place for affairs, but the before and the after were. Mulling thoughts over dinner was the preferred way of nobility to decide whether to accept or refuse an offer, and sometimes gifts could be used to speed things along.
"Your highness," Francis spoke as he bowed primly towards Isabella and I, "I thought you would like it if I offered you one of Albion's finest whites while we begin discussing what I feel is but a simple problem of miscommunication," he smiled warmly. "I am sure the trifling troubles of commoners can easily be solved by the end of our first glass."
"I am sure," I answered with a nod as we took our seats, Isabella sitting down by my side as we claimed a sofa and the Count instead sat down on an armchair. "Now, Lord Pontcallec," I spoke with a gentle tone, a smile on my lips. "From what I garnered, you have a problem with pirates."
"Problem is a strong word," Francis replied, "More like, some people have a tendency to misplace certain crates when they come down from Albion-or from nearby regions. With how the situation is going, many of Albion's once loyal military ships have turned over to the unfortunate art of piracy, but we have not suffered any pirate attack. If anything, they would be foolish to try for how well St Marlon's port is defended. They are mostly a nuisance, your highness."
"A nuisance you should have, but didn't, report," I said calmly. "I am sure you thought not to worry me about such a trifling manner, and I am sure you took all of the necessary steps to have such a nuisance removed," I hummed lightly as I swallowed the whole glass of white wine in one go before dropping it firmly on the nearby table. "So then explain why my Gendarmes had to intervene and arrest men that your guards were more than willing to let go? Explain why supplies needed by men of the Crown have been held back at the gates of your city which is, again, a gift of the Crown of Gallia to your house and family? Explain that, Lord Pontcallec." I clenched my hands together, my eyes narrowing on his tightening face. "But know this-I am not a merciful person, and I could care less about St Marlon or its wealth as much as I do about its loyalties." I bared my teeth. "We live in a time where loyalty counts more than wealth, Count. So...pray I do not find your lack of loyalty disturbing."
"That is-your highness! I am the most loyal servant of King Joseph-"
"The fact you eagerly followed his younger brother is definitely not meaningful then?" I shot right back at him, making him cringe slightly.
"That sort of thing-" he began, but I interrupted him.
"The fact you have ample opportunity of contact with Albion's representative, or the fact that you haven't realized yet that most of your merchants that still commerce with Albion do so under a ruse in order to sell weaponry and transport mercenaries-" I sighed and shook my head, "Understand my position, Count-everything I have been told points to you being quite the horrible traitor, but I am sure they are merely rumors, yes?" I hummed, my eyes on him, "You would never make contact with members of Reconquista, if not to aid the Crown of Gallia. You would never sell them much needed utilities, if not for the sake of informing the Crown of their movements. You would never do that, would you?"
"I-I..." the count swallowed. "Whoever said things like that, I swear I am loyal, your highness! No matter who said it, no matter who claims he saw it-I am not that type of noble! I am loyal, your highness! Loyal to the Crown, long live King Joseph!"
"Then you'll have no trouble proving it," I replied with a knowing nod. "My men will perform sweeps through your city. If your guards were to aid them in uncovering the principal problems, then we might put the bad blood between our commoners behind them." I smiled. "Loyalty has its own rewards, after all we would not wish to stifle the commerce of your city with a nuisance such as piracy, would we?"
"I-Indeed," the count said, at a loss of words. "That is-most definitely, the best solution," Francis took a long gulp of his glass of wine. "That-I am sure dinner will be ready soon, so-"
I stood up, calmly extending my arm to a shell-shocked Isabella who had never seen a sledgehammer do diplomacy before and was, obviously wondering where she had gone wrong. Of course the answer she could think about -in my opinion- was the simple fact that she allowed me to talk.
"Also," I said offhandedly, "things like forbidden spells are a big no in my book, Count," I turned to glance at him, his whole body stiffening considerably. "We will see you at dinner, then."
And with those final parting words, we stepped out of the Count's office. Needless to say each step Isabella took was one step on my foot brought down with crushing alacrity. Thankfully I had worn metal tipped shoes just for the occasion, and so she mostly did nothing but walk funnily every uneven step.
"You," Isabella hissed, "You-" she clenched my arm with hers in what amounted to her vice-like grip. "Henry-never again. Next time you ask this sort of thing-the answer is no, understood? It will always be no."
"You can now proceed to ingratiate him," I acquiesced calmly. "Between myself and you, he'll find you much more pleasant to deal with. This should make him more pliable to your suggestions. I personally call it Good Lord and Bad Lord." I nodded most wisely. "Also-if he actually ever does something against the construction of the Multi Purpose fleet, then I'll simply have my men take over the docks and the construction process. The workers at the docks are building those ships for the money, most certainly not out of loyalty."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you may catch more bees with honey than with vinegar?" Isabella hazarded, her smile strained and her voice a hiss.
"Offer him a cut on the tariffs for imported goods from Albion. When commerce will start anew, he and his chosen merchants will have the monopoly on the goods imported and exported, that should be enough to offset any potential troubles, and with their increasing wealth, we will get our cut out of taxation alone," I hummed nicely, smiling gently at Isabella.
"Then-why didn't you propose that sort of deal in the first place!?" she hissed through gritted teeth.
"Because I don't want him to think I care about his opinion," I acquiesced plainly. "I am not a man of politics, and have no intentions of entering them. However, I draw lines. My lines are simple: don't bother my men, and I won't bother you. Bother them, and I will destroy everything you cherish if you do not come to milder tones."
"That's-that's not doing things diplomatically! That's-" I smiled as Isabella tried to find words, and yet failed all the same. "That's being a sledgehammer," she said in the end plainly. "I am responsible for this, am I not? I shouldn't have let you do this."
"It's all right dear," I said with a nod. "We all make mistakes."
She stomped my foot harder than before, but the holy metal tip saved my digits from being flattened.
"You sleep in another guest room tonight," she said in the end with a huff.
I hummed and nodded, even as Raven's eyes peered through the dark of the night to look at the hurried messengers that were being dispatched from the office of Lord Pontcallec to various parts of the city. Like a carrier carrying precious cargo, tiny crows flew off the back, each with the purpose of following a single messenger.
Crows couldn't only communicate between themselves to exchange information. No, crows could also remember faces very, very well.
And Raven? To the eyes of the other smaller crows, he was their king.
His Feathered Majesty, King Raven De Crows The First the Fluffy and Huggalicious.
