Willem opened up his chest of gold, peering within.

  “I can’t stop you from taking it all,” Anne Claire said. “I’ve kept it safe for you, but it is yours. But are you utterly certain that you need to take all of it? I ask only for your well-being, Willem.”

  “I am,” Willem said decisively. “Anne Claire, my lovely lady, there’s a villain out there in the streets of Gent. A man by the name of Gustav.”

  Anne Claire furrowed her brows as she covered her mouth with a fan. “The name is vaguely familiar.”

  Willem ran his hands through the gold coins in the chest. “This villain has coerced and cajoled local suppliers, worsening their business so that he might buy things from them cheaper. He’s manipulated the ranchers for cheaper tallow. He’s cut out others out of the olive oil business. He’s intimidated the local lumberyards. He’s made herbalists tremble in fear beneath the yoke of his immaculately-clean iron fist. He nearly put a chandlery out of business, all for the sake of his own expansion.” Willem shut the chest forcefully. “Someone has to stop him. This heroic task, I’m afraid, falls upon me.”

  “You’re talking rather strangely… is he doing something illegal?” Anne Claire questioned. “If so, don’t hesitate to—"

  “No, madam.” Willem held out his hand. “This fight is mine. As are the profits, respectfully. In this benighted age, virtue is still appreciably golden. Now, I must…” he paused. “I don’t have a way to bring this up naturally. Do you want to come to the second monthly meeting for the Society? It’s hosted in one of the member’s homes, but I’m told it’s going to be a nice time.”

  Anne Claire smiled widely enough her fan veritably couldn’t conceal it entirely. “I suppose I can come, if you wish for me to.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Willem said. “I want to make some suggestions for the shipwright industry. I’m told that needs approval from local governance, so I’d like your oversight.”

  “The shipwrights?” Anne Claire raised a brow.

  “We can discuss it later,” Willem said. “For now… got some big plans. Lot of things to buy. It’s a lot easier to buy if you have the cash on-hand. Hence… see you later, Anne Claire,” he finished, picking the chest and leaving. “And thanks.”

  “Good luck,” Anne Claire called out. “Come for dinner with Catharina, sometime.”

  When Willem exited, Dirk was waiting outside, leaning by the door. He kicked off the wall as Willem walked out, joining him in stride.

  “So… what’s the plan for the gold?” Dirk asked.

  “Let’s see…” Willem gathered his thoughts. “Gustav is smart. He almost beat me in a one-off pun-off, and I don’t ever lose those. I’m sure he knows what I’m going to try to do, but I have an advantage that he doesn’t—liquidity, and large balls with which to employ that liquidity in an all-in bet.” Willem looked over. “Before you ask—no, you can’t have proof.”

  Dirk didn’t even bother responding to Willem’s joke, and instead asked, “Is Gustav the one trying to assassinate you?”

  “No, that’s someone else,” Willem dismissed. Before Dirk could press the point, he continued, “I’ve got my eyes on purchasing a lumberyard, a ranch, an herbalist’s shop, and exclusivity rights for the importation of olive oil. Lumberyard supplies the soapers with lye in the form of potash. Ranch provides tallow, which is still his dominant material for soap—it’d kill him to import tallow from further away long-term. The herbalist provides fragrances, which Gustav’s using to expand his business. Olive oil is used to make higher-quality, but more expensive soaps. The rights for olive oil could be burdensome if my plan doesn’t fall through right away, but olive oil has some resale value locally. I had my eye on pottery… but they’re also a guild, as it turns out. I can’t do as much there.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. How many of these are you planning on buying?” Dirk stopped Willem. “I mean, how much of the gold are you going to use? Because… you pay me with that, don’t you?” He tapped the chest. “You buy your food, everything, with that… right?”

  “I already told you,” Willem said. “It’s an all-in bet. If I can, I’ll spend every single gold, Dirk.”

  “But… that’s all your money, Willem. Everything.” Dirk scrunched his face in uneasiness. “I hate to say this, but the Society’s money might be…”

  “You smell that, Dirk? That sweet, somewhat spicy smell?” Willem looked around. “It’s called ‘conviction.’ Not many people exude that scent. It comes from a gland within my tremendous testicles. Metaphorical testicles, I hasten to add—despite your present minuscule form, you, too, can one day possess the same level of conviction I do. Just watch and learn.” He set off walking again, then called out, “Besides, I will be using the society’s money a little. I just want the bulk of the profits.”

  Dirk narrowed his eyes. “You’re especially unhinged today.”

  “I am,” Willem agreed. “I’m having a blast, that’s why. I love working with small businesses, inefficient markets. It’s almost more fun than my heart can handle.”

  Dirk didn’t know what else to do but follow along as Willem resumed walking, humming a peculiar tune. He couldn’t help but wonder if the good times were finally coming to an end, and reality would come crashing back down. Or… perhaps this fantasy would continue forevermore, spurred by the magic of money.

  ***

  Viviene walked to the door as repeated, sharp knocks echoed through the Society of Assured Prosperity. Each knock felt a little like a tack being jammed a little deeper into her skull—after her little ‘spar’ with Willem, she’d had a little too much wine last night to process things. Or rather, to avoid processing things. She was as hungover as she’d ever been.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  She brandished her rapier, ready to frighten away whoever was annoying her as she peeked through the window. There, she saw that red-haired woman that Willem had brought as his date to the event that he threw. In the end, her intrigue won out over her irritation, and she opened the door.

  “What?” Viviene asked.

  “Lady Viviene,” Matriarch Petronella greeted politely. “Is Willem in?”

  “It wouldn’t say ‘closed’ if he was,” Viviene said snidely. “He left some time ago.”

  Petronella looked utterly exasperated. “I told him we’d… ugh.” Eventually, she looked back at Viviene. “May I come inside to talk about something regarding your son?”

  Viviene threw the door open and set her rapier leaning against the wall as she sat on the table. “Shut the door and sit down.”

  Matriarch Petronella walked in prim and proper, the very picture of a faithful priestess. Viviene couldn’t place it, but she didn’t trust the woman. Perhaps it was rote envy—the woman was both more beautiful and bustier than her, two things she’d always been bothered by. Still, envy or not… her intuition had saved her life countless times before.

  “I’m afraid that I have to mention something that might be distressing,” Petronella said gingerly as she looked around the room.

  “Just get to the point,” Viviene said, ensuring her rapier was within an arm’s reach.

  “Willem said something that made me worry about him greatly.” Petronella sat in the chair opposite hers, pushing aside some documents that Willem had left out. After a long pregnant pause, she continued gravely, “He claimed that he had no interest in defending himself. Of fighting for himself.”

  “He told you about our talk? Hmm.” Viviene scoffed. “I didn’t think he’d trust so easily. I suppose he is a man, and you’re… well, look at you.”

  Petronella leaned in. “This runs deeper than that, I’m afraid. Are you familiar with Dorothea and Arend Rook?”

  Viviene raised a brow. “I wasn’t there when that happened, but I know what you’re talking about.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone this. I learned this in a Divulgence, meaning I could be excommunicated if anyone finds out I spoke of it, but…” Petronella leaned in even closer to speak very quietly. “Arend is in the city. He wishes to avenge his loss in the first duel. I’ve told Willem, but he’s expressed no desire to defend either his honor, or his life. He claims he’ll find ‘another way.’”

  “What are you talking about?” Viviene demanded harshly.

  Petronella ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve been worried sick about him, Lady Viviene. I’m not sure how much you know about your son… but he’s a very exceptional individual. I’ll try to help him in my own way, but it would settle my mind if you could also look after him. I’m not certain that he cares overmuch about how… this… ends.”

  “How what ends?” Viviene pressed.

  “About how… or when… his life ends,” Petronella said in a soft whisper.

  Viviene was shocked and a little rattled. What was this woman saying? Her son was suicidal? That was absurd—he ran around every day like a man possessed, smiling and joking and doing things. One couldn’t fake that sort of happiness. She’d done enough to make sure it wasn’t an act—poking and prodding it, trying to make him crack. But he was happy.

  Wasn’t he?

  “Perhaps it would be good for him,” Viviene said, not wanting to believe it. “To lose a duel, I mean. He would get a taste of what it is that I told him—that someone needs to know how to defend themselves in this world.”

  Petronella placed her hands before her politely. “Please be understanding. I don’t know the details… but I do know Willem has lost two people that were very dear to him. He told me of their gravestones on the beach, but I don’t have more details than that.” She shook her head serenely. “Whatever the case, he’s vulnerable, fragile. He needs your love and care now more than ever, or I’m not certain he’ll survive the month.”

  “Who are you to come in here and instruct me on how to treat my son?” Viviene said crassly.

  Petronella stood. “I’m only someone who wishes for Willem to stay alive. I hope that you feel the same way.”

  “Willem is tough,” Viviene disagreed. “Nothing can break him. He’s strong—stronger than a stranger would know. He’s my son.”

  “Will you take that chance?” Petronella asked pointedly. “He reached out to me in his desperation… but you are still his mother, as you’ve pointed out. You can love him in ways that I cannot.” She walked to the door and dipped her head politely. “Thank you for your time, Lady Viviene. I hope you will take my words to heart, so that you might mend his. I’m going to look for him. Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?”

  “No. I was asleep,” Viviene answered hastily, distracted and distraught. “He’d be… I don’t know.”

  The woman left quietly without saying goodbyes. Once the door shut, Viviene quickly stood and slid the bolt back shut. She stood by the door, perplexed.

  Willem, her boy. Hurt. Suicidal? She just couldn’t see it. But as she turned, her gaze fell upon the rapier. The memory of her thrusting it right past his face and him not flinching in the slightest replayed in her head, again and again. Willem was tough, ever since he was a little boy. He’d always been the one that hurt, not the one that got hurt. She didn’t think he could hurt. It was like he lacked the emotion.

  But if it was true… what had she nearly done?

  Even worse… what had she already done?

  The myriad mean and unpleasant things she’d said in the past weeks ran through her head, each one stoking the flame of unease that’d been set alight in her head. Her little boy… broken? It couldn’t be.

  ***

  Petronella walked outside, cracking her neck in irritation. Playing the sweet, concerned lover was always annoying. Hopefully, that woman would watch Willem’s back—even defend him, if necessary. There was nothing fiercer than a mother bear protecting her cubs, and Viviene was certainly a motherly bear. She was cold, yes, but Petronella presumed from observation it was only because Viviene felt she had to be.

  What kind of lunatic brazenly walks about town the morning after they’ve been told there’s a target on their back? Petronella asked herself.

  She already had her answer—Willem was the kind of lunatic. She was still reeling after their conversation last night. She almost wasn’t ready to accept it as the truth, but she couldn’t quite explain how it couldn’t be. There had been no error in her spell. She’d tested as much on other people.

  There was only one conclusion—there was no other lunatic like Willem in the world, either because of his situation or his unique delusions. How would he change, she wondered, now that he had seen her for what she really was? Had he been making a pass toward her? She found it difficult to believe.