Willem examined the fancy workshop that Anne Claire had recommended to him. He could hear the sounds of industry echoing out of its fenced perimeter. The place looked unassuming, but that was largely because it was sectioned off from the rest of the city so well. Up close, one could tell that this place was quite the formidable operation.


    “Willem van Brugh?” asked the person behind the gate. “The master will see you now.”


    With a large spark, the gate faded away like an illusion. Willem studied the magic in some surprise, then followed right after the escort into the workshop itself. He passed by countless experts, hard at work in their craft: sewing fabric by hand, beating metal with a hammer, working the bellows of a forge. Seeing it only reminded Willem of how many inefficiencies this world had—inefficiencies he hoped to whittle away with the chisel of capitalism.


    He saw displays of magic on his path. Two women heated one particular forge with red flames that erupted out of their hands. He could feel its waves of heat more intensely than the mundane forges. Elsewhere, two other women infused a bit of metal with glowing crystals. He had been curious about magic, but Dirk’s explanations informed him only that it was too complex to understand without significant study. Some things were simply too hard for the payoff, and thus he’d ignored the field since then. Let someone else pioneer magic—he’d just think about how to make money off it.


    Willem’s escort stopped before a well-dressed man, getting his attention with a clear of his throat. The new man turned to look at Willem, waving the escort away. Willem assumed him to be the master of the workshop. He was thin, wiry, with a sharp face and sparse facial hair.


    “Are you the cunt?” the man asked gruffly.


    Willem snorted at the rudeness. “One of many. Which one were you expecting?”


    The man seemed amused by Willem’s response but said, “The one that expects me to ruin my entire business on a lark, crafting badges for wealthy merchants. Do I have that right?”


    “I hadn’t settled on badges, but that’s the short and narrow of it.” Willem gave a nod. “Can we talk business, then?”


    “I agreed to see you because Anne Claire asked it of me. I won’t denigrate the van der Heiden heritage by taking on odd jobs to turn a quick profit, so I’ll save us some time—I can make something for you alone. You bear the van Brugh name, which is a worthy house of worthy warriors. But for this… society… the countess mentioned?” The wiry man crossed his arms defiantly. “Not a chance.”


    “What’s your name?” Willem asked curiously. “You never gave it.”


    “Karel van der Heiden.” A steely glint shone in his gray eyes. “A scion of the van Brughs should know that name. My weapons grace the hands of many an aura user.”


    Willem had been given a firm ‘no,’ but in business, hearing the word ‘no’ meant there was room for negotiation. Karel wouldn’t have even taken the time to see him if he didn’t intend on making a deal. He’d done his research before coming to this place—it was never wise to come unprepared.


    The van der Heidens ran a luxury goods company. They used different words to describe themselves, but at their core, they made high-quality yet disgustingly overpriced goods that insecure people purchased to flaunt wealth and status. He’d asked some people, and their family did have a huge reputation… but more and more noble families had personal smiths, and their influence was waning. The van Brughs, for instance, had all of their weapons made by the Cabinet by decree of the king. Each of the four grand duchies in the kingdom had personal smiths.


    Willem didn’t like investing in luxury brands, generally. They had extremely high profit margins, but lacked scalability and predictable revenue growth. On the other hand, the oxymoronic ‘accessible luxury?’ Willem saw potential, even in this underdeveloped world. His society members would be the ideal demographic for that business.


    Still, that was the distant future. For now, he only needed a foot in the door. He knew precisely the wedge to employ. Luxury makers suffered from the same vanity as their customers.


    “You’re making banners, I noticed.” Willem looked around. “And tabards, too. Tablecloths… handkerchiefs…” he rattled off all the things he saw.


    “Is that what you need?” Karel raised a brow.


    “What differentiates between Heiden banners and another weaver?” Willem questioned, genuinely curious.


    “We use the highest-quality fabric,” answered Karel at once.


    “It’s only the fabric?” Willem jabbed. “If another weaver had the same supplier, they could make banners of the same quality?”


    Karel lifted his head up. “Our weavers all have over twenty years of experience.”


    “So if I gave my dearly departed grandmother the same fabric, she could recreate Heiden workmanship?”


    Karel scoffed in disbelief. “Are you deliberately trying to denigrate our family, or is your head as vacant as your words?”


    “Just pointing out that that you already have denigrated your family.” He shook his head. “Do you think the founder of the van der Heiden family only ever sold his goods to nobility? I imagine he had to work his way up. It’s not about who you make it for—it’s about what you make.”


    “Sophistry.” Karel waved away Willem dismissively. “I don’t need to hear any more from you. Your father is the only reason I even entertained your visit.”Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    “At the end of the day, the only reason I can picture someone as proud as you resorted to making banners is because you had to. It was the only way to keep you and yours fed,” Willem continued. “Why cling to traditions when you can see them failing? Why not pioneer your own path, instead of retreading well-trodden roads?”


    Karel laughed. “Don’t advise me, boy. I assume you’re eager to follow your own advice, deviate from the family path?”


    Willem held his arms out. “I’ve already voluntarily disinherited myself doing just that. I saw a brighter future elsewhere. Everything I hear, though, suggests the Heidens aren’t as in-demand as you once were.”


    Karel sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I know that things aren’t as good as they used to be. I’m not blind. But my time for youth’s pursuits has long passed. You were right on one point:  I do what keeps my wife and children fed.”


    “Even if that candle’s burning out? Even if what I’m suggesting is inevitable?” After a long pause to give the man some time to process that, Willem walked a little closer. “What could give you justification to take on my request? There has to be some compromise they’ll overlook.”


    “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Karel shook his head. “I won’t jeopardize my future considering it.”


    “What if I could get House van Brugh to use the Heidens for their smithing needs, henceforth?” Willem proposed.


    “You just said you were disinherited.” Karel squinted at him suspiciously.


    “Let me worry about the details. All I need to know is if that would work.” Willem put his hands behind his back, waiting for the answer.


    Karel did look enticed, but he wiped his face down with his hands to hide that expression. “Maybe. I’d have to speak to my father.”


    “I’ll send a letter to Baron Tielman, you send a letter to your father.” Willem smiled, intuiting he’d managed to stop the door from closing completely. “In the meantime… maybe we could draft out plans for what the society will get?”


    “I fail to see why I should rush into something that isn’t even sure to happen.” Karel shook his head. “I think you should head out, get—"


    “Three hundred gold once the project is done,” Willem promised. “Repeat business if I’m satisfied.”


    “Step into my drafting chamber so we can discuss the details.” Karel graciously beckoned toward a room in the corner of the workshop.


    ***


    Willem walked out of the workshop hefting a wooden sign. After some discussion with Karel, the man latched onto the name of the manor that Dowager Countess Anne Claire owned—Diamant, or in the current tongue, diamond. After an hour of discussion, they settled upon the idea of creating brooches that employed crystal glass and brass—cheap yet pretty materials. Light would pass through the crystal glass in a certain way, concealing a mark that revealed itself only when light fell upon it from a particular direction. It would eliminate fraudulent brooches. Karel deemed it a ‘fitting challenge for an ill-fitting task.’


    He’d also created a logo, having etched a diamond out into a wooden plank of wood. Beneath it, Willem had him write, ‘Society of Assured Prosperity.’ It’d serve as a suitable adornment to the front of the building, Willem felt. Karel certainly knew his craft. Willem intended to make good on his promise to contact Baron Tielman. He had some doubts about whether or not he could genuinely get the baron to consent, but the potential of a relationship with such a craftsman was worth the effort.


    With the sign in hand, Willem came to his next stop—the city church. Religions certainly didn’t skimp on architecture. The church to the nameless goddess of life had an outer perimeter of covered walkways made of wood. They thrived with vines and were adorned with other such plants. Deeper inside was the sheer white building he’d entered for his last visit. It was made of flawless marble, and unlike the somewhat Moorish architecture of the rest of Gent, had an almost Greek or Roman air to it.


    Willem passed under the covered walkways, entering the main building. He’d been expecting to have to ask a priestess where he could find Matriarch Petronella, but instead he spotted her immediately. She spoke to several of her fellow priestesses. He walked into her view, then sat on a provided bench and looked around.


    The altar in the back of the room wasn’t a statue, but a pristinely-maintained white tree grown into the shape of a woman, complete with a great mane of green leaves. Several priestesses tended to it, watering its roots, trimming the leaves on its head, directing pulses of magic into its trunk… it seemed a burdensome thing to maintain.


    “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. The people aren’t so devout in the north,” Petronella said as greeting, and Willem jumped slightly. “Perhaps you came to see me?”


    “I did, actually.” He looked up at her as he sat, and her eyes widened with a smile at his words. “How busy are you, generally?”


    “How busy am I? Hmm… well, on festivals and the day of rest, I have no time—they’re days of worship, and much is asked of me. All other days, I tend to have to go out of my way to busy myself. Meaning… I’m entirely free.” She walked to the bench he was on and sat beside him. “Why? Do you intend to ask me somewhere?”


    “The society I’m starting—the first meeting is likely to be pivotal,” Willem explained. “I’m looking for a variety of ways to make it perfect. Now, I was thinking I needed a certain church’s matriarch present to make the night shine all the brighter.”


    She leaned in close enough he caught the floral scent lingering about her hair. “You want me to make your night shine?”


    “Yeah.” Willem nodded, rubbing his nose so the scent didn’t make him sneeze. “People know you, respect you.”


    “And you?” She stared at his face.


    “I don’t know you, therefore can’t respect you,” he said. “Maybe both could change if you show up.”


    Petronella laughed quietly. “When? Where?”


    “Twenty-two days from now,” Willem said confidently. “I’ll send a more official invitation once Anne Claire works out the venue and whatnot.”


    “If only it were sooner.” She shook her head. “I’ll be there.”


    Willem narrowed his eyes. “Just like that? I don’t have to slip you an extra tithe?”


    “I imagine you couched your mutual aid society charter in charitable language so you didn’t have to slip me any tithe at all,” she said with a faint smirk. “But… that’s fine. This church is wealthy enough as is. Perhaps I believe in your idea. Perhaps I simply wish to enjoy your company. Regardless, one evening isn’t so much to ask.”


    Willem had been prepared to make some concessions for her presence, but was pleased she asked for nothing. Having a prominent church leader come to the meeting would indicate a great deal about the legitimacy of the operation, and perhaps put pressure on some who needed good relations with the church. Every little bit helped.


    “Thanks. I’ll send someone with the official invitation when it’s ready.” Willem rose.


    He didn’t want to risk her asking any favors, so he walked out the way he came as fast as his long strides could carry him.