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3rd Heist {Clues and Conjecture}

                It was the following morning, and Laura was sitting on an ornate couch in her father’s study, waiting as the serving Gremlins replaced the bandages around her neck with a fresh set. Both of her parent sat impatiently, her father the King behind his desk, hands tented in contemplation, and her mother the Queen anxiously tapping her finger as she sat on the other side. An air of frustration and barely restrained rage permeated the room as they waited for their daughter’s wounds to be seen to.

“That should do it,” Reginald stated, wrapping a fur stole around her neck as he finished up, he then collected his tools and hopped down from the stool he was using to reach her neck.

“Thank you Reginald,” Laura managed to rasp, “You may go now.”

“Of course ma’am,” he walked around the couch and reached for the cup to ground up fruit and yogurt that was waiting on the coffee table.

“Leave Reginald,” the Queen commanded.

                He paused and let his hand drop.

“Of course your highness,” he bowed respectfully before leaving.

                They waited for the door to close before the Queen stomped across the room and practically threw the cup into Laura’s face.

“You’re certain it was the same voice,” she demanded of her husband.

“The man died more than two decades ago,” the King responded.

“Your dearest friend,” she added mockingly, “Your most trusted adviser!”

“He is the right size,” the King snapped, “The right build, and the cadence of his words is exact…but yes he does sound different.”

“So it is not…”

“As I also sound different!” he stroked his well manicured white beard, “Twenty years ago…I was a young man…” he sighed, “And I am not some magical creature who travels through the land of shadows.”

“You…” she scoffed at him, “You still believe in all of that smoke and mirrors…”

“He vanished mother,” Laura broke into the argument, sipping at what would pass for her breakfast, “He stood before me, leapt straight into thin air and vanished, how do you explain that?”

                The Queen ground her teeth in frustration, but did not respond, continuing to anxiously pace the room.

“May I speak, honored parents?” Laura asked, setting her cup aside.

“No!” the Queen snapped, “Save your voice, you’ll heal more quickly…”

“He targeted me mother,” Laura interrupted her, “I was the intended subject of his tirade, and I am now Queen-Regent,” she sucked in a gasp of air and massaged her injured neck, “May I speak?”

                The King and Queen glanced at each other, and the King spoke.

“You may.”

“It doesn’t matter if his powers are mystical or mundane, in either case there will be limitations, we need merely study the subject to uncover them.”

                As she spoke, there came a knock at the door and Laura gave her parents a superior smirk.

“Speak of the Devil,” standing up from the couch, she strolled across the room and allowed a tall balding man, holding a derby hat under one arm and a manila envelope in his hand, “Mother, Father, if I may introduce you to Constable Barnes.”

“My-um…my Lord and Lady,” he bowed before them, even dropping to a knee as he lowered his head.

                In a huff, the Queen crossed the room and hissed into her daughter’s ear.

“What the Hell is he doing here?”

“Last night, after the …ordeal,” Laura whispered back, “I summoned him to my bed chamber.”

“Oh for Heaven’s Sake!”

“No Mother,” she rolled her eyes, sneering down at the constable, “I do at least pretend to have standards…for your sake if nothing else,” she then raised her voice, “While confiding my own confusion into the man, I made the request that he would assist us with our little problem.”

“You do not believe our own guards are enough to protect us?” the King wondered.

“Actually no I don’t,” Laura admitted, strolling over to the couch and collecting her cup, taking a deep swig from it before continuing, “If he had wanted to, he could have slipped into our rooms as we slumbered and cut our throats, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“…a fair point,” he mused, “I would have contacted a contingent from our military however.”

“And I still suggest you do,” Laura agreed, “We SHOULD be consolidating security around the castle, but, in the meantime, our opponent has given us a week in which to prevent his meddling, I intend to use it.”

“Suddenly, you’re an expert?” the Queen demanded snidely.

“No,” Laura admitted, plopping herself down on the couch, then pointing at the Constable, “But that’s why I called him.”

“May I rise your highness?” Constable Barnes finally spoke.

“Of course,” Laura chuckled, “Though I don’t remember anyone asking you to prostrate yourself.”

“I was…unaware of the protocol and…um, I wished to play it safe,” he coughed nervously, “May I present my findings?”

                Laura glanced at her father who only sighed.

“You may,” the King offered and gestured for the man to approach his desk.

                The Constable held out his envelope and opened it, placing the pages before the King. Each of them were a smaller picture depicting the same individual with several notes scrawled around the image.

“The history of the Silk Merchant does indeed go back to the origin of our kingdom.”

“I already know this,” the King interjected, “An ally, a friend of our founder Kamui the Just.”

“Not necessarily sir,” Constable Barnes amended, “Though he has acted in conjunction with your family and our military as a spy and information gatherer, he was never identified conclusively, except by you of course sir.”

“Hmm,” the King picked up a few of the pages and started scanning through them, stopping at one in particular, “Wait,” he double checked it, “You’re insinuating that he was allied with the Rajet?”

“And the Khaunum of Xin, The Czar of Caspian, there were even rumors that he has been active in Vaphmora, and, every time he is, purported, seen allied, not with the nation itself, but with the ‘cause of peace’.”

“You expect us to believe that, not only has my husband’s dead friend been resurrected from the grave!” the Queen glared at the Constable, “But also that he is some kind of chosen guardian who travels the world dispensing justice?”

“Of course not ma’am,” the Constable bowed again, at the waist this time, though he missed the look of shock on his Queen’s face, “My current assertion is that it is some kind of organization, a group which seeks to mold the world to their personal liking.”

“And the Silk Merchant?” Laura asked curiously, “He’s just a representative?”

“An agent actually, I believe that the name is itself a title, passed from father to son or master to student.”

“And what are you basing this on?” the Queen demanded.

“Um…” he glanced over at the King and reached out for the papers, “If I may,” taking hold of the stack, careful not to lose the King’s place, he rifled through them and pulled out a specific page, “Not to be lewd in…mixed company, but, if you’ll take a look at this…etching, you might notice some…telling features, narrow shoulders…um, wider…rounder hips…”

                The King reached out, grabbing the page and studying the image before letting out an amused scoff.

“Dear God, look at those Tits!”

                The Queen immediately snatched the page away and looked it over.

“You’re saying it’s a woman?!”

“Unless you’re trying to argue that it is somehow an immortal hermaphrodite who changes its sex with each generation to avoid detection.”

“Be silent and drink your damn breakfast,” the Queen grumbled, “You’ll injure your throat.”

                Laura rolled her eyes, but did as she was told, while Constable Barnes shifted nervously and wiped the sweat from his bald spot.

“There are…um, other telltale signs, almost none of the descriptions can agree on a… specific height for the individual, in other cultures he…They, have been known to use a strikingly different methodology, but always wearing the same costume.”

“A ‘legacy legend’,” the Queen tried out the phrase, dropping the page on the coffee table.

“That does make sense,” the King mused, “No one knew where Teran had come from where he had received his training…” he sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow, “Was I truly taken in by such an imposter?”

“Yes,” the Queen responded bluntly.

                While they mulled the information over, Laura picked up the page from the coffee table and gave the image an approving whistle before setting it back down nonchalantly.

“You know his wife came to visit us the other day,” she mentioned between sips from her cup, “At the coronation.”

“That Bitch?!” the King snapped.

“See a pair of tits and that’s who you think of?” the Queen sneered coldly.

“Oh yeah,” Laura admitted, licking her lips, “But, actually, I had a thought…”

“What if the spouse is the one carrying on the legacy?” Constable Barnes supplied and Laura gave him an approving nod.

“No, we’re all in agreement, the current Merchant is a man,” the Queen insisted.

“She has a serving boy, one who was quite well acquainted with our Reginald,” Laura spoke, thinking out loud, “Where was he during all of the festivities?”

“I…I do remember him leaving the hall,” Constable Barnes admitted.

“Traitorous little…” the King fumed.

“Father, please,” Laura sighed, massaging her throat as she set aside her cup and clasped her hands together, seriously contemplating the situation, “It’s hardly proof, he may been having a tryst.”

“I did see a few of those carriages rocking back and forth,” the Constable smirked.

“Or pissing over the side of the island as the guards do when they think we’re not looking,” Laura continued on, “We could capture them, hold them until the deadline, just to be safe.”

“Heh, my daughter,” the King declared proudly.

“But…if we’re wrong, there could be consequences,” she admitted, nervously clenching her hands, then glaring at the Constable and choosing her words carefully, “We are entering into a very…tenuous moment in our history father, we cannot afford to lose the support of the landowners.”

“That whore is hardly a landowner,” the King scoffed, “She owns a few shops, boutiques, a few plots of land she’s allowed to go fallow.”

“But…” Laura told him cautiously, “If it could happen to her, it could happen to any of them, and, right now… we can ill afford to be branded as tyrants.”

“I suppose you have a solution?” the Queen demanded, folding her arms judgmentally.

“The beginnings of one,” she muttered, then turned to her parents, rising from the couch, “Allow me this indulgence, as I was the target of this…Imposter, allow me to oversee the investigation.”

“Well,” the King mused, looking at his wife, “We do have more than enough on our plates as is.”

“Fine,” the Queen responded dismissively, then turned to her daughter, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her dead in the eye, “But, understand that this is no game, we expect results and most importantly, resolution,” she grabbed the sides of her daughter’s face, making certain that she got the message across, “This CANNOT be allowed to continue, not when we are so close.”

                The Constable opened his mouth to ask what the Hell they were talking about, but thought better of it and waited patiently instead.

                Laura pulled herself away from the Queen and bowed respectfully to her mother.

“Of course, my Lady, I swear it upon my name, and my blood,” pulling away, she instantly turned about and engaged the Constable, “Mr. Barnes, did you have any other plans for today?”

“A, uh, a quick nap,” he admitted, rubbing one of his eyes, “Been up all night doing research…”

“Skip it, anything else?”

“I…can rest when I’m dead I suppose…” he muttered, “But I was going to interview the castle guards, get their perspective on events.”

“Good, get started on that immediately, and be done by lunch,” Laura insisted, already making to leave the room, “I wish to discuss the finer details of my plan with you.”

“As…you wish, your highness,” he paid the King and Queen a respectful bow before leaving.

                The King returned to his paperwork, brushing the pages lent him by the Constable aside, while the Queen impatiently tapped her foot.

“Something troubles you my dear?” he asked, while perusing a contract on his desk.

                With a sudden huff, she stormed across the room, collecting all of the pages and stomping out.

“I believe I’ll do some research of my own,” she muttered, slamming the door behind her.

“Be done by tea time dear,” he responded absently to the empty room, “We’re to receive the Connifers and discuss the price of warships.”

                A long distance away, beyond the city limits, at the MondeArane mansion, Clyde wore a blindfold.

                Given his clear issue with working in the dark, as Mademoiselle Charlotte had noted, she had invented a new form of training. While wearing a blindfold, he was to open several locked cabinets and clean the china within, she had laughed in his face when he asked for a stepladder. Left alone to improvise, he had used a chair to get himself to the higher shelves, a meat thermometer to pick the locks, and he had even set his cufflinks loose to chirp and bark at him so that he had a better sense of where the countertops were. That is how he had spent his morning, carefully plucking plates and glassware from rickety old wooden cabinets and gently wiping them down with a cloth before putting them back.

                This had gone on for hours until he found himself crouching on the countertops, trying to reach the topmost shelves and then attempted to climb back down. He found no purchase, no support below his feet and overbalanced, landing hard on his back. He groaned for a bit, trying to recover while clutching the plate close to his chest, and a few seconds later he felt a sudden sharp poke in his stomach. Finally managing to move, he lifted the cloth from his eyes and saw his mistress Charlotte standing over him, jabbing a broom handle into his gut.

                Both were dressed in rather plain clothes, long sleeve shirts and slacks.

“Dead,” she smirked, taking the broom handle and flicking the plate out of his hands, throwing it into the air and deftly catching it with her other hand.

                He heard the cufflinks chirping at him with concern and tore the blindfold away.

“Why did you move the chair?” he demanded.

“All is training Mon Bebe,” she mentioned, stepping over him and securing the plate in a cabinet, “Learn from your failings, learn to adapt.”

                He looked past her to the cufflinks and glared at them.

“You could’ve told me she was there,” he grumbled.

“Don’t blame them,” she insisted, as they shrank back in embarrassment and she turned back around holding two bowls of food, rice porridge and bread rolls, “I’ve been in here for a while.”

“I thought you’d left,” he muttered back.

                He took his bowl and she sat a glass of water beside him, both sat on the floor eating their simple meals. Above them, on the countertop, the cufflinks were passing their threads back and forth, using them to create an elaborate mandala shape. Silence filled the room, punctuated only by the tinkling of metal spoons against porcelain. When they were half finished, Charlotte chose to break the silence.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

“As much as I can be,” he responded softly.

“You know it’s not something I would ask for, but…”

“I understand,” he whispered simply, eyes firmly locked on his porridge, there was a question dancing on the tip of his tongue that he tried to bite back on and found he couldn’t any longer, “Why not just kill her?”

                Charlotte paused in her eating and gave him an intense look.

“I know…why you wouldn’t want to, but…”

“How long have you been waiting to ask that?” she demanded while taking another bite.

“I…I…” he pulled away nervously, “If I over stepped, I’m sorry.”

“Non,” she snapped, pointing her spoon at him, “Non, non, you do not fear me, you do not cower before me…It’s a good question, you should’ve asked it before now.”

                Finishing her meal, she set the bowl aside and leaned closer to him.

“The simplest answer, is that it would not resolve the situation,” Charlotte sighed, “This is her parent’s doing, she’s as much a victim as anyone.”

“She’s complicit,” he insisted, “Her parents might start the war but she’s the one who will continue it.”

“It’s THEM!” Charlotte insisted, “It’s not her, it’s the environment she was brought up in, she…” letting out a deep sigh, Charlotte regained control over herself, “If we did kill her, it would accomplish nothing, only galvanize her parents to accelerate their plans and leave…This as some ill-conceived legacy in place of their own child.”

“And, if we killed the parents?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Charlotte grumbled, “She’d likely focus on us at first, then continue with the plan out of spite, Kill all three? Non, it just leads to a whole host of new problems, battles of succession, civil war, economic unrest…”

“Isn’t that just the worst case scenario?” Clyde asked and withered when her stern gaze fell on him again.

“And what have we done to prevent it?” she demanded, “What can we do?”

“…what…what we’ve been planning,” he admitted sheepishly, “Oppose the coming war…make the…the actions of the King and Queen economically non-viable, and hope that your Laura learns her lesson…”

                Reaching out, Charlotte tucked a finger under his chin and forced his head up so that he would look at her.

“You are a Silk Merchant now,” she told him in a soothing voice, a look of almost tearful concern on her face, “Plan with caution, act with finesse, strive for excellence in all things, the world bleeds Mon Bebe.”

“Unless…” he nodded, remembering their credo, “Unless we stitch the wound.”

“All is training,” she repeated as she let him go, “And it was a good question.”

                As her hand dropped away, Charlotte quickly dabbed her finger into his porridge and stole a bit for herself.

“Don’t!” Clyde reacted to stop her just as she tucked the finger into her mouth and let out a frustrated grunt, “Ugh! Don’t do that.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” she wondered, examining his face as he responded, “Of Laura I mean.”

“Of course not…” he responded unconvincingly.

“You know you shouldn’t lie to me.”

“Then I won’t,” Clyde insisted bluntly

                She reached out, trying to dab into his porridge a second time, but he saw the move coming and was fast enough to block her. A warm smile spread across her lips, Charlotte reached out and gave Clyde a hug.

“You’ve grown up so quickly,” she whispered in his ear, “But never forget, how proud you make me.”

                She pulled back and smiled into his face before finally standing up and collecting her dishes.

“Finish your lunch,” she told him in a more business-like tone, “And then go clean the Eastern wing of the house.”

“Should I cover my eyes for that too?” he wondered.

“Hmmm…” she considered before leaving the room, “Yes.”

                He returned to his meal, briefly wondering if she had been planning that or if he had given her the idea, when he heard the cufflinks chirping and barking to get his attention. Between them they had suspended a small banner with an intricate mandala traced across its surface. Clyde nodded approvingly, legitimately appreciating the craftsmanship, until he fully realized that they had simply knitted him a new blindfold.

Description

3rd Heist {Clues and Conjecture}

                It was the following morning, and Laura was sitting on an ornate couch in her father’s study, waiting as the serving Gremlins replaced the bandages around her neck with a fresh set. Both of her parent sat impatiently, her father the King behind his desk, hands tented in contemplation, and her mother the Queen anxiously tapping her finger as she sat on the other side. An air of frustration and barely restrained rage permeated the room as they waited for their daughter’s wounds to be seen to.

“That should do it,” Reginald stated, wrapping a fur stole around her neck as he finished up, he then collected his tools and hopped down from the stool he was using to reach her neck.

“Thank you Reginald,” Laura managed to rasp, “You may go now.”

“Of course ma’am,” he walked around the couch and reached for the cup to ground up fruit and yogurt that was waiting on the coffee table.

“Leave Reginald,” the Queen commanded.

                He paused and let his hand drop.

“Of course your highness,” he bowed respectfully before leaving.

                They waited for the door to close before the Queen stomped across the room and practically threw the cup into Laura’s face.

“You’re certain it was the same voice,” she demanded of her husband.

“The man died more than two decades ago,” the King responded.

“Your dearest friend,” she added mockingly, “Your most trusted adviser!”

“He is the right size,” the King snapped, “The right build, and the cadence of his words is exact…but yes he does sound different.”

“So it is not…”

“As I also sound different!” he stroked his well manicured white beard, “Twenty years ago…I was a young man…” he sighed, “And I am not some magical creature who travels through the land of shadows.”

“You…” she scoffed at him, “You still believe in all of that smoke and mirrors…”

“He vanished mother,” Laura broke into the argument, sipping at what would pass for her breakfast, “He stood before me, leapt straight into thin air and vanished, how do you explain that?”

                The Queen ground her teeth in frustration, but did not respond, continuing to anxiously pace the room.

“May I speak, honored parents?” Laura asked, setting her cup aside.

“No!” the Queen snapped, “Save your voice, you’ll heal more quickly…”

“He targeted me mother,” Laura interrupted her, “I was the intended subject of his tirade, and I am now Queen-Regent,” she sucked in a gasp of air and massaged her injured neck, “May I speak?”

                The King and Queen glanced at each other, and the King spoke.

“You may.”

“It doesn’t matter if his powers are mystical or mundane, in either case there will be limitations, we need merely study the subject to uncover them.”

                As she spoke, there came a knock at the door and Laura gave her parents a superior smirk.

“Speak of the Devil,” standing up from the couch, she strolled across the room and allowed a tall balding man, holding a derby hat under one arm and a manila envelope in his hand, “Mother, Father, if I may introduce you to Constable Barnes.”

“My-um…my Lord and Lady,” he bowed before them, even dropping to a knee as he lowered his head.

                In a huff, the Queen crossed the room and hissed into her daughter’s ear.

“What the Hell is he doing here?”

“Last night, after the …ordeal,” Laura whispered back, “I summoned him to my bed chamber.”

“Oh for Heaven’s Sake!”

“No Mother,” she rolled her eyes, sneering down at the constable, “I do at least pretend to have standards…for your sake if nothing else,” she then raised her voice, “While confiding my own confusion into the man, I made the request that he would assist us with our little problem.”

“You do not believe our own guards are enough to protect us?” the King wondered.

“Actually no I don’t,” Laura admitted, strolling over to the couch and collecting her cup, taking a deep swig from it before continuing, “If he had wanted to, he could have slipped into our rooms as we slumbered and cut our throats, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“…a fair point,” he mused, “I would have contacted a contingent from our military however.”

“And I still suggest you do,” Laura agreed, “We SHOULD be consolidating security around the castle, but, in the meantime, our opponent has given us a week in which to prevent his meddling, I intend to use it.”

“Suddenly, you’re an expert?” the Queen demanded snidely.

“No,” Laura admitted, plopping herself down on the couch, then pointing at the Constable, “But that’s why I called him.”

“May I rise your highness?” Constable Barnes finally spoke.

“Of course,” Laura chuckled, “Though I don’t remember anyone asking you to prostrate yourself.”

“I was…unaware of the protocol and…um, I wished to play it safe,” he coughed nervously, “May I present my findings?”

                Laura glanced at her father who only sighed.

“You may,” the King offered and gestured for the man to approach his desk.

                The Constable held out his envelope and opened it, placing the pages before the King. Each of them were a smaller picture depicting the same individual with several notes scrawled around the image.

“The history of the Silk Merchant does indeed go back to the origin of our kingdom.”

“I already know this,” the King interjected, “An ally, a friend of our founder Kamui the Just.”

“Not necessarily sir,” Constable Barnes amended, “Though he has acted in conjunction with your family and our military as a spy and information gatherer, he was never identified conclusively, except by you of course sir.”

“Hmm,” the King picked up a few of the pages and started scanning through them, stopping at one in particular, “Wait,” he double checked it, “You’re insinuating that he was allied with the Rajet?”

“And the Khaunum of Xin, The Czar of Caspian, there were even rumors that he has been active in Vaphmora, and, every time he is, purported, seen allied, not with the nation itself, but with the ‘cause of peace’.”

“You expect us to believe that, not only has my husband’s dead friend been resurrected from the grave!” the Queen glared at the Constable, “But also that he is some kind of chosen guardian who travels the world dispensing justice?”

“Of course not ma’am,” the Constable bowed again, at the waist this time, though he missed the look of shock on his Queen’s face, “My current assertion is that it is some kind of organization, a group which seeks to mold the world to their personal liking.”

“And the Silk Merchant?” Laura asked curiously, “He’s just a representative?”

“An agent actually, I believe that the name is itself a title, passed from father to son or master to student.”

“And what are you basing this on?” the Queen demanded.

“Um…” he glanced over at the King and reached out for the papers, “If I may,” taking hold of the stack, careful not to lose the King’s place, he rifled through them and pulled out a specific page, “Not to be lewd in…mixed company, but, if you’ll take a look at this…etching, you might notice some…telling features, narrow shoulders…um, wider…rounder hips…”

                The King reached out, grabbing the page and studying the image before letting out an amused scoff.

“Dear God, look at those Tits!”

                The Queen immediately snatched the page away and looked it over.

“You’re saying it’s a woman?!”

“Unless you’re trying to argue that it is somehow an immortal hermaphrodite who changes its sex with each generation to avoid detection.”

“Be silent and drink your damn breakfast,” the Queen grumbled, “You’ll injure your throat.”

                Laura rolled her eyes, but did as she was told, while Constable Barnes shifted nervously and wiped the sweat from his bald spot.

“There are…um, other telltale signs, almost none of the descriptions can agree on a… specific height for the individual, in other cultures he…They, have been known to use a strikingly different methodology, but always wearing the same costume.”

“A ‘legacy legend’,” the Queen tried out the phrase, dropping the page on the coffee table.

“That does make sense,” the King mused, “No one knew where Teran had come from where he had received his training…” he sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow, “Was I truly taken in by such an imposter?”

“Yes,” the Queen responded bluntly.

                While they mulled the information over, Laura picked up the page from the coffee table and gave the image an approving whistle before setting it back down nonchalantly.

“You know his wife came to visit us the other day,” she mentioned between sips from her cup, “At the coronation.”

“That Bitch?!” the King snapped.

“See a pair of tits and that’s who you think of?” the Queen sneered coldly.

“Oh yeah,” Laura admitted, licking her lips, “But, actually, I had a thought…”

“What if the spouse is the one carrying on the legacy?” Constable Barnes supplied and Laura gave him an approving nod.

“No, we’re all in agreement, the current Merchant is a man,” the Queen insisted.

“She has a serving boy, one who was quite well acquainted with our Reginald,” Laura spoke, thinking out loud, “Where was he during all of the festivities?”

“I…I do remember him leaving the hall,” Constable Barnes admitted.

“Traitorous little…” the King fumed.

“Father, please,” Laura sighed, massaging her throat as she set aside her cup and clasped her hands together, seriously contemplating the situation, “It’s hardly proof, he may been having a tryst.”

“I did see a few of those carriages rocking back and forth,” the Constable smirked.

“Or pissing over the side of the island as the guards do when they think we’re not looking,” Laura continued on, “We could capture them, hold them until the deadline, just to be safe.”

“Heh, my daughter,” the King declared proudly.

“But…if we’re wrong, there could be consequences,” she admitted, nervously clenching her hands, then glaring at the Constable and choosing her words carefully, “We are entering into a very…tenuous moment in our history father, we cannot afford to lose the support of the landowners.”

“That whore is hardly a landowner,” the King scoffed, “She owns a few shops, boutiques, a few plots of land she’s allowed to go fallow.”

“But…” Laura told him cautiously, “If it could happen to her, it could happen to any of them, and, right now… we can ill afford to be branded as tyrants.”

“I suppose you have a solution?” the Queen demanded, folding her arms judgmentally.

“The beginnings of one,” she muttered, then turned to her parents, rising from the couch, “Allow me this indulgence, as I was the target of this…Imposter, allow me to oversee the investigation.”

“Well,” the King mused, looking at his wife, “We do have more than enough on our plates as is.”

“Fine,” the Queen responded dismissively, then turned to her daughter, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her dead in the eye, “But, understand that this is no game, we expect results and most importantly, resolution,” she grabbed the sides of her daughter’s face, making certain that she got the message across, “This CANNOT be allowed to continue, not when we are so close.”

                The Constable opened his mouth to ask what the Hell they were talking about, but thought better of it and waited patiently instead.

                Laura pulled herself away from the Queen and bowed respectfully to her mother.

“Of course, my Lady, I swear it upon my name, and my blood,” pulling away, she instantly turned about and engaged the Constable, “Mr. Barnes, did you have any other plans for today?”

“A, uh, a quick nap,” he admitted, rubbing one of his eyes, “Been up all night doing research…”

“Skip it, anything else?”

“I…can rest when I’m dead I suppose…” he muttered, “But I was going to interview the castle guards, get their perspective on events.”

“Good, get started on that immediately, and be done by lunch,” Laura insisted, already making to leave the room, “I wish to discuss the finer details of my plan with you.”

“As…you wish, your highness,” he paid the King and Queen a respectful bow before leaving.

                The King returned to his paperwork, brushing the pages lent him by the Constable aside, while the Queen impatiently tapped her foot.

“Something troubles you my dear?” he asked, while perusing a contract on his desk.

                With a sudden huff, she stormed across the room, collecting all of the pages and stomping out.

“I believe I’ll do some research of my own,” she muttered, slamming the door behind her.

“Be done by tea time dear,” he responded absently to the empty room, “We’re to receive the Connifers and discuss the price of warships.”

                A long distance away, beyond the city limits, at the MondeArane mansion, Clyde wore a blindfold.

                Given his clear issue with working in the dark, as Mademoiselle Charlotte had noted, she had invented a new form of training. While wearing a blindfold, he was to open several locked cabinets and clean the china within, she had laughed in his face when he asked for a stepladder. Left alone to improvise, he had used a chair to get himself to the higher shelves, a meat thermometer to pick the locks, and he had even set his cufflinks loose to chirp and bark at him so that he had a better sense of where the countertops were. That is how he had spent his morning, carefully plucking plates and glassware from rickety old wooden cabinets and gently wiping them down with a cloth before putting them back.

                This had gone on for hours until he found himself crouching on the countertops, trying to reach the topmost shelves and then attempted to climb back down. He found no purchase, no support below his feet and overbalanced, landing hard on his back. He groaned for a bit, trying to recover while clutching the plate close to his chest, and a few seconds later he felt a sudden sharp poke in his stomach. Finally managing to move, he lifted the cloth from his eyes and saw his mistress Charlotte standing over him, jabbing a broom handle into his gut.

                Both were dressed in rather plain clothes, long sleeve shirts and slacks.

“Dead,” she smirked, taking the broom handle and flicking the plate out of his hands, throwing it into the air and deftly catching it with her other hand.

                He heard the cufflinks chirping at him with concern and tore the blindfold away.

“Why did you move the chair?” he demanded.

“All is training Mon Bebe,” she mentioned, stepping over him and securing the plate in a cabinet, “Learn from your failings, learn to adapt.”

                He looked past her to the cufflinks and glared at them.

“You could’ve told me she was there,” he grumbled.

“Don’t blame them,” she insisted, as they shrank back in embarrassment and she turned back around holding two bowls of food, rice porridge and bread rolls, “I’ve been in here for a while.”

“I thought you’d left,” he muttered back.

                He took his bowl and she sat a glass of water beside him, both sat on the floor eating their simple meals. Above them, on the countertop, the cufflinks were passing their threads back and forth, using them to create an elaborate mandala shape. Silence filled the room, punctuated only by the tinkling of metal spoons against porcelain. When they were half finished, Charlotte chose to break the silence.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

“As much as I can be,” he responded softly.

“You know it’s not something I would ask for, but…”

“I understand,” he whispered simply, eyes firmly locked on his porridge, there was a question dancing on the tip of his tongue that he tried to bite back on and found he couldn’t any longer, “Why not just kill her?”

                Charlotte paused in her eating and gave him an intense look.

“I know…why you wouldn’t want to, but…”

“How long have you been waiting to ask that?” she demanded while taking another bite.

“I…I…” he pulled away nervously, “If I over stepped, I’m sorry.”

“Non,” she snapped, pointing her spoon at him, “Non, non, you do not fear me, you do not cower before me…It’s a good question, you should’ve asked it before now.”

                Finishing her meal, she set the bowl aside and leaned closer to him.

“The simplest answer, is that it would not resolve the situation,” Charlotte sighed, “This is her parent’s doing, she’s as much a victim as anyone.”

“She’s complicit,” he insisted, “Her parents might start the war but she’s the one who will continue it.”

“It’s THEM!” Charlotte insisted, “It’s not her, it’s the environment she was brought up in, she…” letting out a deep sigh, Charlotte regained control over herself, “If we did kill her, it would accomplish nothing, only galvanize her parents to accelerate their plans and leave…This as some ill-conceived legacy in place of their own child.”

“And, if we killed the parents?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Charlotte grumbled, “She’d likely focus on us at first, then continue with the plan out of spite, Kill all three? Non, it just leads to a whole host of new problems, battles of succession, civil war, economic unrest…”

“Isn’t that just the worst case scenario?” Clyde asked and withered when her stern gaze fell on him again.

“And what have we done to prevent it?” she demanded, “What can we do?”

“…what…what we’ve been planning,” he admitted sheepishly, “Oppose the coming war…make the…the actions of the King and Queen economically non-viable, and hope that your Laura learns her lesson…”

                Reaching out, Charlotte tucked a finger under his chin and forced his head up so that he would look at her.

“You are a Silk Merchant now,” she told him in a soothing voice, a look of almost tearful concern on her face, “Plan with caution, act with finesse, strive for excellence in all things, the world bleeds Mon Bebe.”

“Unless…” he nodded, remembering their credo, “Unless we stitch the wound.”

“All is training,” she repeated as she let him go, “And it was a good question.”

                As her hand dropped away, Charlotte quickly dabbed her finger into his porridge and stole a bit for herself.

“Don’t!” Clyde reacted to stop her just as she tucked the finger into her mouth and let out a frustrated grunt, “Ugh! Don’t do that.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” she wondered, examining his face as he responded, “Of Laura I mean.”

“Of course not…” he responded unconvincingly.

“You know you shouldn’t lie to me.”

“Then I won’t,” Clyde insisted bluntly

                She reached out, trying to dab into his porridge a second time, but he saw the move coming and was fast enough to block her. A warm smile spread across her lips, Charlotte reached out and gave Clyde a hug.

“You’ve grown up so quickly,” she whispered in his ear, “But never forget, how proud you make me.”

                She pulled back and smiled into his face before finally standing up and collecting her dishes.

“Finish your lunch,” she told him in a more business-like tone, “And then go clean the Eastern wing of the house.”

“Should I cover my eyes for that too?” he wondered.

“Hmmm…” she considered before leaving the room, “Yes.”

                He returned to his meal, briefly wondering if she had been planning that or if he had given her the idea, when he heard the cufflinks chirping and barking to get his attention. Between them they had suspended a small banner with an intricate mandala traced across its surface. Clyde nodded approvingly, legitimately appreciating the craftsmanship, until he fully realized that they had simply knitted him a new blindfold.