by A. C. Cobble
It wasn’t good business, asking a man for a favor while bedding both of his daughters.
“I must have missed the notification of ownership change,” muttered the finance director. “Was a transmission sent to my office?”
Director Raffles coughed and nodded. “It was sent on the wire some weeks ago, Alexander.”
“Pardon me,” said Oliver, frowning at Pettigrew. “As finance director, I would imagine you would review every transfer of ownership. Is this something you’ve assigned to a deputy, or perhaps you’re behind on your work due to your travels? Is it wise, Director, for you to be in Westundon with your responsibilities unattended back at the capital?”
Alexander Pettigrew flushed. “Boy, I take my—”
Director Raffles smacked a hand down on the table. “Frozen hell, Pettigrew. Oliver’s right. You ought to be personally reviewing any transfer of shares! You ought to have sewed up the issue with the New Enhover Company months ago, and when you came to ask the son of the king to supply his own airship and another contingent of his father’s marines, you damn well should have been prepared to offer a larger stake in the expedition!”
Red-faced, the finance director glared at Raffles.
“What is really happening in the capital, Alexander?” questioned Raffles.
The three men were silent for a long moment. Oliver studied the visiting finance director, wondering what it was the man was hiding. Randolph Raffles had known Pettigrew for years, and if Raffles thought something was amiss, then something was.
Finally, Pettigrew admitted, “There’s been some tension from the situation with Governor Dalyrimple.”
“Tension?” pressed Raffles, piercing his old friend with a steady, blue-eyed gaze.
“Pierre de Bussy, Finavia’s governor in the tropics, he heard about the unpleasantness,” mumbled Pettigrew, his eyes fixed on the carved wooden table in between the men. “He’s been writing to Edward and William, questioning the Company’s governance in the region. Worse, he tracked down Cardinal Langdon, and now the cardinal is sending envoys to Edward. You both know the king and how well he takes to that type of interference.”
“And?” asked Raffles.
“And the king has demanded the Company provide adequate security in the tropics. With the corsairs taking prizes, our governor turning out to be a…”
“Sorcerer,” interjected Oliver.
Pettigrew swallowed and continued, “Edward wasn’t happy you were at risk, m’lord. He felt the Company should have been monitoring our agent more closely. He’s threatened to take an active role of governance of the colonies if we do not… I won’t describe it as the king did, but he was rather blunt.”
“I’m sure he was.” Oliver laughed.
“It’s not a laughing matter, m’lord,” complained Pettigrew. “The Company’s board of directors is nervous, nervous for the first time since I’ve had a seat at the table. This is about more than a simple share allocation in the Westlands. There are political and commercial complexities like nothing I’ve seen in my career. We cannot simply wave our hands and adjust our calculations. We must consider all factors.”
“Oh, I understand how you are nervous about these developments,” remarked Oliver, standing and placing his fists on the table so he loomed over the finance director. “If my father decides to intervene, the impact to the Company’s books would be bleak. I quite expect you’d be the first man sacked if that were to happen. My father taking an interest in Company business is rather less of a concern for me, though, you understand? Whichever way it went, I stand to benefit as a member of the Wellesley family or as a shareholder of the Company.”
Pettigrew swallowed, his loose jowls wobbling as little tremors rocked him. “Crown involvement in Archtan Atoll would mean—”
“I have no shares in Archtan Atoll,” reminded Oliver. “As a Company man, I suppose I could speak to my father, convince him the board has all in order, and the incident I was so deeply involved in was overblown. I think I may be a bit more persuasive with my father than either Governor de Bussy or Cardinal Langdon. That’s asking a rather lot of me, though, don’t you think? Particularly given you’ve already made a request for my assistance with no consideration, and particularly since having my father involved could open far more opportunities for me personally. King Edward has rarely become interested in commercial affairs. I daresay he’d be glad to appoint me as a steward for whatever involvement he deems necessary. Isn’t that an interesting thought?”
“We just don’t have the airships available,” mumbled Pettigrew. “What resources we have, we’re devoting to reinforcing our presence around the atoll. If we’re to proceed, it must with the Cloud Serpent.”
Oliver snorted.
“Give him a thirty-percent share, Pettigrew,” instructed Raffles. “This is foolish.”
The finance director did not respond.
Raffles frowned. “What?”
“With the threat of intervention, there’s been some concern that already the Wellesleys are too deeply involved in our affairs,” croaked Pettigrew. “Some on the board feel that what we need is fewer Crown entanglements, not more.”
Oliver stood straight and laughed out loud. Pettigrew stared down at his hands. Raffles shook his head in consternation.
“Director, you have a decision to make,” declared Oliver. “One way or the other, the Company’s affairs will be deeply entwined with that of the Crown. There’s no way around it. You want Crown protection, you want the royal marines, you get the royal line as well. Your choice, Director, is which royal do you want to be entangled with? You and the board of directors can do business with me or with my father.”
Squirming in his seat, Pettigrew refused to meet Oliver’s look.
“You’ll get thirty percent, Oliver,” declared Raffles. “I’ll accompany Alexander back to Southundon and make sure of it.”
“That’s unnecessary,” whispered the finance director.
“You will handle it?” questioned Raffles. “Alexander, the duke is right. The Company and the Crown have long enjoyed a symbiotic partnership. Perhaps the Company’s directors wish otherwise, but it’s the man on the throne who gets to decide when that relationship is over. For the sake of my own bank ledger, I do hope the board can be convinced to make the right decision.”
“They will be,” agreed Pettigrew, his head bowed.
“Then I think it’s best you leave now and go do it,” instructed Raffles.
“If-If the share is allocated…” stammered the finance director.
“When I have the signed papers that my stake is increased to thirty percent, with consideration for the Child twins, then the Cloud Serpent will be ready to sail. I will ensure my father stays out of it, and I promise you, Pettigrew, he will listen to me before de Bussy or Langdon.”
The finance director stood and half-bowed, catching himself and offering a trembling hand which neither Raffles nor Oliver deigned to shake. When Pettigrew finally scurried out of the office, presumably out of Company House and to the rail station, Raffles shook his head and turned to Oliver.
“A drink at the Oak & Ivy?” he asked. “I do think he’ll get the directors sorted, and I’ve no doubt you can talk your father down, but I’m worried about Cardinal Langdon. I didn’t know the extent of his involvement, and I don’t like it. The Crown may not be the only entity he’s trying to manipulate.”
Oliver ran a hand back over his hair, staring at the doorway Pettigrew had exited. “The cardinal hasn’t been involved in Crown or Company business in years, right?”
“That’s what concerns me,” replied Raffles.
“Let’s go get that drink, Director.”
“My apologies about Pettigrew,” said Director Randolph Raffles, sinking into the plush, overstuffed leather chair. “The man is getting daft in his later years. His son handles most of his responsibilities, I’ve heard.”
“I thought Pettigrew was your friend,” remarked Oliver, sitting opposit
e the director.
“He was before I earned a seat at the director’s table,” guffawed Raffles.
He gestured to an attendant and ordered a Finavian sparkling wine while Oliver ordered a red varietal from Ivalla. The attendant also dropped off a small pouch at the elbow of the director.
He pulled out his carved ivory pipe and a sack of shredded tobacco leaf. “The smoke won’t bother you, will it?”
“If it does, we’re in the wrong room,” observed Oliver.
The director winked.
While Raffles packed his pipe, Oliver studied the smoking room of the Oak & Ivy. So early in the afternoon, there were few others inside. This time of day, the crowd was in the tea room.
“Have you ever considered joining?” wondered Raffles, evidently noting Oliver’s look.
Oliver shrugged. “Members must have at least forty winters under their belts, no?”
The director smirked. “Not in your case.”
The attendant returned and Oliver picked up the wine glass the liveried man left. He sipped it, tasting the rich bouquet, dark stone fruit and pepper. He looked to Raffles. “Tell me about Pettigrew.”
It was Raffles turn to shrug. He inhaled and then blew out a steady stream of pipe smoke. “The man was quite sharp a few decades ago, but I believe the numbers have gotten beyond him. He was appointed before we discovered the levitating islands of Archtan Atoll, Imbon, the Westlands, all of it. The Company was a straightforward trading concern, then. As long as we paid our taxes on time, we rarely had any interaction with the Crown. We certainly never had to deal with the headaches that come with colonial occupation. We petitioned the Crown from time to time, of course, but it was never turned back on us. I’m afraid the role of finance director in this new environment is beyond Alexander Pettigrew’s capabilities, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the director most concerned with Crown involvement is actually him.”
“What’s to be done about it, then?” wondered Oliver.
“We need another man nominated to fill the position, after the directors vote Pettigrew out, that is,” mused Raffles. “He’ll retain his shares but only as a passive owner and not a managing partner. Plenty for him to support his estate and dowry off his daughters, but not the sums he’s become accustomed to.”
“I’ve never paid much attention to Company politics,” admitted Oliver.
“You’re a son of the king,” replied Raffles. “You’ve never needed to pay attention to it.”
“Interceding with my father, supplying my own assets on expedition… Perhaps it is time I gave it more of my attention,” mused Oliver.
“Perhaps,” agreed Raffles. “If you mean to have an active role, you should know which strings you’re pulling, which boats you’re rocking. These last few weeks, though, I wondered if the Company was still what held your interest.”
Oliver frowned.
“Once a man gets a taste for a certain kind of adventure, it’s difficult to turn from it, I’ve always thought.”
“Are you talking about Isisandra Dalyrimple or sorcery?” questioned Oliver.
Raffles raised an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”
Oliver shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”
“What is it, then?” questioned Raffles. “Do you mean to pursue these investigations, or do you intend to return to Company business and lead the expedition to the Westlands?”
“There’s nothing left to investigate,” remarked Oliver, toying with his wine glass, thinking of Sam’s admonishment to live normally and keep their investigation secret. “Everyone died underneath the Dalyrimple estate. We destroyed it, you know, to ensure no hint of what was inside escaped. There’s nothing left of that place but blackened earth and shattered stone.”
Raffles nodded. “I heard.”
“Much is unknown to me still, but I believe Isisandra Dalyrimple learned those dark arts from her parents,” claimed Oliver. “Now, all of them are dead, and everything they owned has been put to torch. That’s it, as best I can deduce.”
Pulling on his pipe, Director Raffles studied Oliver.
“What?” asked Oliver.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to let it lie,” admitted Raffles. “Once you’ve got the scent of something, you don’t let go. You’re like your father in that regard.”
Oliver snorted. “Well, what’s occupying my mind now is the Westlands. I’ve been eager to go there for years, and we’re finally on the cusp. If your friend—”
Raffles held up a hand in protest. “He’ll allocate you the shares, Oliver, do not worry. It’s the only logical thing to do.”
“I appreciate your help in the matter,” said Oliver.
“Friends help friends.” Raffles puffed contentedly on his pipe.
Eyeing him, Oliver leaned forward. “I know you well enough, old man. What is it you want help with?”
Smiling back, Raffles tried, and failed, to look innocent.
“Director of Finance, is it?” guessed Oliver.
“We both agree Pettigrew isn’t right for the position,” mentioned Raffles. “I hope you believe I could do a better job.”
“I do,” admitted Oliver, sitting back, “and a fair share of the Westlands expedition is just compensation for my support, but it’s not only me you need, is it? You need to be politicking with the other directors. It’s become rare for you to travel to Southundon.”
“The theatre is better in Westundon this season,” claimed Raffles.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “My cousin says the same.”
“I wasn’t lying earlier when I said the Company and Crown have always been entwined,” said Raffles. “Had we any chance of independence, it vanished when the Company acquired territory and requested the Crown’s aid in protecting it. We brought the Wellesleys in, and once opened, that door cannot be shut. It’s as you said — we have a choice. Which royal do we want to entangle ourselves with? I suspect the board will value highly any man with a connection to the royal line. Your father and brothers are busy tending to the needs of the empire. You, my boy, are sitting in my club having a drink with me. I could go grovel at the feet of the senior directors in Southundon, but I’d rather have them come to me.”
Oliver raised his glass. “I see.”
Raffles set down his pipe and mimicked the gesture. “There could be many mutually beneficial opportunities in the next several years, Oliver, if we’re both intent on pursuing them.”
“You’re worried I’ll chase off on some new interest?” questioned Oliver. “That I’ll be distracted with conquests of a sort?”
“Your conquests of one sort have never been a problem,” remarked Raffles. “Whether it was the Dalyrimple girl or the Child twins, you have my support and envy. You’re a born adventurer, Oliver, and men like you seek the next horizon. Adventures in the bedchamber, adventures exploring this world, those things do not worry me.”
“Sorcery,” said Oliver, studying the man across from him. “That’s what worries you? No, Randolph, I am done with that darkness, and it’d please me if I never saw anything like it again. The Dalyrimples are gone, and that’s enough. Let the Church sort it out if it comes up again. We certainly stuff their coffers full enough.”
“Good to hear, Oliver, good to hear,” said Raffles. “The Church ought to deal with these things, of course. It is not the organization it used to be, though, is it?”
“What are you getting at?” questioned Oliver. “You’re thick as thieves with Bishop Yates. Can he not alleviate any anxiety you have?”
“Cardinal Langdon,” answered Raffles. “The man is a true friend of Governor de Bussy, you know? The cardinal has family in Finavia, and de Bussy married the cardinal’s favorite cousin. In summers, the easiest place to find the old priest is on de Bussy’s country estate in the south of Finavia. It’s certainly nowhere near Enhover. The only reason that deviant hasn’t been replaced as cardinal is the protection he gained from an association with the governor. Pierre de Bussy is a s
hort step below King of Finavia, if they had one. Not to mention, your father prefers a cardinal who’s never here. The Church won’t cross the most powerful men in government on that continent and this one. I worry all of this has given Langdon false confidence that he has the power to manipulate the political situation.”
Oliver frowned. “I did not realize how close Langdon was with the governor.”
Raffles nodded and picked his pipe back up. “It’s no matter, usually, but now that de Bussy has Langdon bothering your father, I don’t doubt the Church will support another inquiry into sorcery both in Enhover and in the colonies. You understand, the board of directors have some legitimate concerns with any interference into our operations.”
“Any inquiry won’t be supported by me,” remarked Oliver.
Raffles nodded. “I mean to stay on your good side, Oliver, but you know I’m a Company man. Wouldn’t do, you leading our Westlands expedition and trying to investigate our activities in the tropics.”
“Like I said, I’m done,” responded Oliver. “The Church should handle it, if there’s anything left to handle. If Langdon and his ilk think they can pressure my father, though, they’re going to be surprised. There’s nothing that ornery old man loves more than refusing to do what’s requested of him. He thinks in terms of the Wellesleys, the Crown, and Enhover, in that order, and the list stops there. But if it sets your soul at ease, I will discuss Langdon with the old man when I bring up Crown involvement in Company business.”
“I thank you for that, Oliver.”
The duke finished his wine and waited for an attendant to scurry over. He requested a refill, and when the man left, he let his gaze slide across the room. Act normal, watch and listen, that was his part of the hunt now. As he looked around the Oak & Ivy’s smoking room, he couldn’t help but think the most powerful men in Westundon were gathered within the silk and polished wood-covered walls of the club. If a sorcerer was lurking in high society, it was no great leap to imagine him sitting in that very room, puffing on a pipe, calling the attendant for another round, and relaxing after a long night of deviant ritual and blood sacrifice.
