Buying businesses for cheap was a delicate art, because it was a zero-sum game. If someone was buying, then someone was selling. If the deal was obviously imbalanced, the seller wouldn’t sell. One had to tread a razor-thin line of showing interest, but not too much interest. There were always exceptions to the rule, of course—reasons why sellers might sell for cheap. External troubles and stupidity were the primary factors Willem had relied on throughout his life to make a living.

  For dealing with individual proprietors…

  “Gustav assured me that he’s going to start paying a fair share, regularize shipments…” said the owner of the lumberyard, leaning on a heavy woodsman’s axe. “That was really my primary concern, and he’s addressing it.”

  “It’s rather convenient that he promises this right as things start to shift out of his grip,” Willem pointed out.

  “Yeah, well…” the man hefted his axe, then grabbed a log. He put it on a stump. “Sometimes things are stressful, sometimes things aren’t. That’s just the way it is.”

  The owner slammed his axe down, splitting the log in half. As it clattered around, Willem said, “You do realize that’s not always how things have to go, yeah? Life doesn’t have to be stress, unease, ups and down. You don’t have to rely on the whims of the bastards in the big cities.”

  “So, I should rely on your whims, instead? Meaning no offense,” he said, gesturing with his axe.

  “On the contrary,” Willem said. “I don’t want to be hovering overhead, dictating all that you do. That doesn’t interest me. I might make some suggestions, work out some deals on your behalf… but I wouldn’t push you out of the roost. I want a fifty-fifty partnership. When the bad times come, you won’t have to worry about not being to put food on the table—I’ll provide. And when the good times come, we’ll both prosper. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  The woodsman picked up his axe, sharpening it. “Well… how much gold would you offer?”

  Willem smiled. By the time people brought up the money, the deal was as good as made. Individual proprietors were the easiest to eat up, after all. But if he was dealing with a high-handed guy, someone who didn’t need to worry as much about their business? Well, it was a different story.

  For dealing with sizable businesses, it was a little more complicated… but not necessarily more difficult.

  ***

  “Why in the world would I sell my ranch when it’s just about to turn back to profitability?” said the old lord as he and Willem sat in his estate. “My herders assured me this was an anomaly. Gustav apparently imported tallow from abroad because they raised their prices too high on account of a bad season. Now the herd has replenished, demand for tallow has elevated once more, and business will resume as normal.”

  This lord—a vassal of the Count Ventura—dealt in farmland, ranches, and real-estate. He’d be much more capable of feeling the squeeze without sweating than a sole proprietor. Proposing a partnership or something of the sort would just be insulting. This was a man that worked on a much larger scale, and didn’t have need of partnerships to absorb the stress.

  But recent events might make him more amenable to a change.

  “I’m not offering to buy the ranch, sir,” Willem said, picking up the offered tea. “I’m offering to buy the herd itself. You’d keep the ranch, all the land. I just want the sheep and the cows. I’m sure, by now, you see that farmland is a much more predictable and cost-efficient endeavor than ranching.”

  “Keep the land?” the lord raised a bushy brow. “I fail to see why this would interest you. A herd with no land? That’s simply ridiculous.”

  “Gustav imported tallow, right?” Willem sipped his tea. “Because of this, I have it on good authority a few ranches southward are experiencing a boom. They’re offering premiums for more cows, more sheep, to expand and meet demand. I intend on working with a livestock merchant named German for a tidy profit.”

  The shrewd lord narrowed one eye. “If that were true… I could simply do it myself.”

  “Sure, you could,” Willem agreed. “But do you want the hassle? Do you know German, trust him? I’ve got the logistics all figured out. So… it’s either take the risk yourself, or take a decent price for an underperforming herd all at once in a lump sum. You could employ that coin toward repurposing the land. When the time is better, and the price of meat and other goods are high, you could even bring back the ranch, buy back the livestock much cheaper.”

  “Hmm.” The old lord stroked his moustache. “I’ll admit, arranging it myself does sound like a hassle. What’s the offer? If it’s good enough, I’ll consider.”

  Willem stopped himself from smiling. Gustav had taken on debt to import tallow from abroad at a slightly higher price in order to drive down prices locally—a clever little gambit, but if someone caught on, they could exploit the arbitrage he’d created. Willem had done just that.

  ***

  Willem walked out of his meeting with the old lord grinning ear-to-ear, and Dirk—who’d been sitting on the chest of gold Willem had been hauling along—joined him.

  “Success?” Dirk asked. “Are we ranchers, now?”

  “Nope. German’s taking care of that part,” Willem said, opening the chest up. “Just correcting a little market manipulation.”

  “So… next, the herbalist, then the olive oil,” Dirk said. “Is it going about as you expected?”

  “Oh, indeed,” Willem said with a smile. “Hand me one of the bags. Going to count out the gold.”

  Dirk did so, then watched Willem as he got to work. “What’s all of this in service of?”

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  “This was a simple thing—arbitrage,” Willem explained. “You buy it here for one gold, you sell it there for two. German gets a take, so he’s happy. The lumberyard, meanwhile, allows me to have a hand in the supply of lumber for the local region—I have bigger plans for that. Plus, it was just plain cheap for what it is.” He stopped counting, squeezing the bag closed and shutting the chest in a fluid motion. “Both of these things help me corner Gustav. By the time we finish with our next two stops… he’ll be surrounded.”

  Dirk nodded slowly, taking it all in. “But what’s the end?”

  “The end?” Willem hefted the bag of gold over his shoulder. “Money. That’s all.”

  “For the Soapers’ Guild, I mean,” Dirk clarified. “What do you plan for them?”

  “That’s up to Gustav,” Willem said. “He levered himself, and his soapers, to manipulate the markets. That put him at risk. How it ends… well, it depends on how he reacts. He might’ve made off like a bandit under ordinary circumstances. Honestly, he did it pretty smart.” He shrugged. “He just got unlucky enough to have me come along.”

  ***

  “Dorothea,” Arend said.

  Dorothea, who’d been lying in her bed, turned her head at her brother’s voice as he returned into the room that they’d rented. It was a humble establishment, and they’d been using it to plan things against Willem. She’d done most of the planning by now, as a matter of fact, after talking with Petronella’s people. The monster slave had indeed built up an incredibly robust spy network in Gent.

  If Dorothea did things well enough, perhaps she could have a slave like Petronella all to her own. She certainly had a vested interest in doing this task properly. Willem… he’d been so arrogant, so selfish, those years ago. Worse yet, he’d outplayed her at her own game. He’d very nearly succeeded in cutting her off from Avaria entirely, eliminating her path to greater power.

  She wouldn’t let it stand.

  “I’ve got some great news,” Arend said excitedly. “The duel. I’ve found the perfect place to stage it.”

  Dorothea groaned inwardly, wondering if he’d actually done something on his own for once. Her brother was only useful on the battlefield… and he wasn’t even all that good at that.

  “Willem has been holding monthly meetings with his Society of Assured Prosperity,” Arend said, sitting on her bedside. “The guest list… it’s quite something. The count and countess are confirmed to be attending alongside the dowager countess. Matriarch Petronella came last time, but she’s not confirmed for this one. Every single notable merchant in the city is part of the society, too.” He tapped his chest quickly. “This is exactly what we were looking for.”

  “Brother…” she said delicately, grasping his sleeve. She was surprised he came to the right conclusion. “Will… will Willem attend?”

  “He’s guaranteed,” Arend insisted. “He’s the treasurer. It’s the place that he thinks he’s in the height of his power, where his clout extends deepest… and I’ll duel him there, right in the heart of it.”

  Dorothea was pleased she didn’t need to do too much prodding. All she had to do was make his oafish monkey brain contemplate things deeper. “But… how will we enter? I wouldn’t want you to damage your reputation, bursting open the doors.”

  “Hmm.” Arend thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m a royal knight of His Majesty. So long as I claim to be here as part of a royal investigation, I’m certain we’ll be able to enter unabated.”

  “You should earn entry with the one hosting the party beforehand,” Dorothea said tactfully. “So that there’s no trouble… and so that Willem can’t be warned ahead of time. But… once you’re inside… how can you be sure that Willem won’t manage to retain control of the situation? What if they gang up on you?”

  This was about public image—she needed to remind the oaf so he had a plan prepared long in advance. Soldiers needed to drill so they just did, instead of thinking.

  “We’ll have a list of grievances prepared ahead of time,” Arend promised. “Foremost among them, what he did to you.”

  “You can’t,” Dorothea said, faking fright. “They won’t believe me. They never did before, brother… why would now be different?” She looked away, as if haunted by memories of past events. As she did, she sprinkled logic, adding, “This needs to be divorced of me entirely. It can’t be seen as a vendetta. It needs to be your righteous justice.”

  Arend looked out of the window, grinding his teeth. “If it brings you comfort… very well. I won’t bring up your indignities.”

  “My reputation is secondary,” Dorothea said, leaning forward to rest her hand on his own. “But Willem… he should not be allowed to hurt another soul, dearest brother.”

  Why would she care about her reputation in this dismal kingdom? Godfried believed her, and that lovesick fool was all the reputation she needed to influence the Brugh family to wither from within once Willem and Tielman both died. All of her bad reputation would go away when Avaria came. Wiping the slate clean, welcoming a new order… what sweeter treat could there be?

  “You’re much more noble-minded than me,” Arend said. “Still… very well. It shall be so.”

  Dorothea studied him. “Are you certain…” she paused, then softened her voice. “Willem is a fearsome fighter. Are you certain you should do this?”

  Arend nodded. “If I’m honest… I’m excited.” He looked at her. “I fought many of the royal knights. I’ve fought those that earned half a dozen nicknames on the field of battle. I’ve even exchanged blows with the commander of the royal guard. None can compare to what I remember Willem being like.” He closed his eyes, recalling the past. “He was a demon. When I think of a wall… he’s the only one that comes to mind. I’m convinced that I’ll never truly be able to reach my full potential until I duel him again. I’ve been thinking about this every day for the past eight years.” He opened his eyes, the gaze in them resolute. “I’m certain. Not only must I do this… I must win.”

  ***

  “Honey… are you even listening?” She tapped the plate with her knife. “Your cut of beef is growing cold.”

  Gustav looked at his wife, inhaling deeply and sighing. “I’m sorry, dear. Business is… stressful, right now.”

  “Would you like me to draw a bubble bath for you?” she asked sweetly.

  “No… but thank you. I’d only see my own failures reflected in those bubbles,” Gustav said dourly. “I promise, though, that things will end soon. One way or another… they’ll end.”

  His wife looked concerned. “What does that mean? Ought I be concerned?”

  “We’ll be fine. We might have to downsize a little, that’s all. But we might not.” He set aside his cutlery. “I’m meeting with the person responsible for the complications. It’s going to be held at a friend’s mansion, during some event. He owes me a favor, and he’s going to arrange an invitation for me. Depending on how things shake out with Willem…” he sighed.

  “You’ll do great, honey. I know you will,” she said, then resumed eating. “Whatever happens, Mr. Clean and I will always support you.”

  After hearing his name, Mr. Clean barked, almost as if affirming his wife’s words. Gustav reached over and pet the fluffy white dog. After being reminded what he was fighting for, he nodded with determination.

  “I’ll give it my all,” he promised. “But enough about that. Let’s scrub that topic of conversation.”

  His wife shook her head, a faint smile about her face.