Eloise VIII: Clad in Shoes of White

“Let’s begin. Everyone, please take your seats.”

For all that she’d done in the last few days, Eloise would have expected Lady Lillian Perimont to cut a more fearsome figure. Instead she was short, soft eyes twinkling as they reflected back light from the enormous chandelier above. Perimont was well-preserved, to be sure. According to Camille she was over forty, which was hard to believe. But while she could hardly be called plain she nonetheless felt unremarkable, and fairly soft-spoken too. Hardly the commanding presence you’d expect of someone seizing power like this.

Standing at Perimont’s side, refusing the chair in front of her, Captain Anya Stewart fit the bill better, lean and muscular body tightened with discipline and age alike. Her sandy hair was tied back so tightly it looked painful, not a strand of it touching her Coat of Nocturne, unmarred by time yet adorned by rows and rows of medals, each polished enough to glisten in the candlelight.

And, of course, she’s here. After so many close calls aboard the Seaward Folly, the pirate-catcher was bound to have caught a glimpse of Eloise at one point or another as Captain Verrou just slipped her grasp. And thank fuck it could only be a glimpse.

Keeping to the background was definitely paying off right now. Eloise hadn’t been there when Stewart dueled Captain Verrou on King’s Beach at sunset, or when she left him for dead after he jumped from the top of Cascade into the raging torrent below. Not even the time she’d accidentally stumbled into him buying a cask from a wineseller in L’Arrêt and nearly burned down the whole town, though that one was a near-miss since Eloise had been supposed to go with him.

If Eloise hadn’t been too otherwise occupied to go on that supply run, Anya Stewart probably would have gotten a good look at her, and this entire ruse at the Convocation would have been doomed from the start. Thank you, Caroline, and your linguistic talents too.

Rounding out Perimont’s party were the children. Feels like the appropriate thing to call them, even if they barely look any younger. That was probably Stewart’s son with the pirate-catcher, given their resemblance, though he looked more confused than fearsome. He started to take a chair with everyone else, then abruptly stopped when he saw the elder Stewart still standing.

And then Lord Simon Perimont of Carringdon, the ostensible reason she was here. He had circles under his eyes from staying up too late at parties, his face slightly puffy and red. Not much to look at, especially compared to his mother, but it wasn’t as if that mattered. The important thing was that he was amenable to talking, or could be made to be.

Camille Leclaire said he was a better man than his father, which meant about as close to literally nothing as it was possible to get, and that she thought she’d earned his trust, which made him a fool. An inspiring manifest, to be sure.

Then again, if he were more canny, getting Luce’s location might have proved impossible. Unlike now, when it’s of course practically guaranteed, vouched for an aristo that lies as easily as she breathes.

Even the basics couldn’t be taken on faith. If Jacques had actually showed up, Eloise might already be dead. Only the fact that he hadn’t showed that Leclaire was being true to her word on some level.

When Jacques finds out, eventually, after the fact, I wonder whether he’ll be furious or amazed at the audacity. It wasn’t like being their pursuer’s proxy was a time-honored typical practice for fugitives. Maybe that’s just a tradition I’ll have to start.

Eloise would certainly be needing audacity today if she wanted to make it out of this alive, let alone save Luce and come out ahead.

Especially with Ms. Sunderland in attendance, representing the Aranea’s cafés. Shit. She was supposed to have traveled here with Jacques, and gotten caught up in whatever he did to keep her out. “Should we not wait until Mr. Clochaîne arrives? He is the chairman of the Convocation.”

“He’s not coming,” Eloise declared as forcefully as she could manage. “Jacques appointed me as his proxy, as he had other matters to attend to.”

“You?” Sunderland’s hands gripped the handle of her teacup tightly. No doubt she knew that Eloise was supposed to be dead; perhaps she’d even seen or heard about the bloody clothes Camille’d been planning to use as ‘proof’ to help distract him. “I find it very much doubtful.”

Eloise plastered a smug grin across her face. “He’ll resume his position once he arrives, but he’s been delayed by important stuff. Really important.” Why don’t you believe me, Ms. Sunderland? Is it because with the information you have it’s extremely obvious that I’m lying?

“And what is it that Mr. Clochaîne found so important?” Sunderland asked, voice convincingly innocent. “I’ve never known him to miss a meeting of the Convocation of Commerce in the two decades I’ve known him.”

“Well, you must not know him as well as you think you do.” Eloise made a show of flipping through the papers in front of her, materials Perimont’s people had prepared. “Lady Perimont, please proceed.”

That earned her a raised eyebrow from the Lady herself. “I will, thank you.”

At her side, Anya Stewart shook her head.

“But first, I’d like to hear what exactly is so important to Mr. Clochaîne that made him miss this very important meeting.”

“Well…” I have no idea what she’s doing to delay him, or if there’s any nicer way to dress it up. Camille might have given her any further information, were she capable of being anything other than infuriating to deal with. “Fucking Leclaire,” Eloise muttered, trying to think of a convincing lie about where Jacques—

“He received a tip as to the whereabouts of Camille Leclaire. Given how slippery an individual he’s dealing with, he thought it too important not to follow up in person. If the day is fair, he’s apprehending her as we speak.” Hopefully that’s good enough. Eloise even slipped an Avaline expression in there to put them more at ease, wildly unsuited for the current climate though it was.

But then, I’m wildly unsuited to all of this. Sure, she was among the most respectable of Jacques’ people, not a complete stranger to above-board deals and powerful merchants. But keeping your foot out of your mouth long enough to make a deal and living an elaborate lie were two very different things, and Eloise tended to stay away from the latter for good reason. All of this, really. It was what Captain Verrou was good at, or even Florette, the way she told it.

I’m supposed to have people for this. The whole thing made Eloise want to snarl, but she smiled instead. “I’m sure he’ll be with us soon,” she finished.

“I suppose we’ll know what to do if he isn’t,” Ms. Sunderland warned, staring like a lighthouse beam over the rim of her teacup. “Or in the event you prove unable to adequately represent him.”

Yeah, she’s definitely going to have one of her people knife me the second I’m out of these people’s sight.

“I’ve seen her around, working at those candle giveaways with Luce and the like." Simon shrugged. “I’m sure she knows enough for this meeting.”

You did? That whole thing was wrapped up inside of an hour. “Not giveaways,” she corrected. “That was an investment, expanding the impact and reputation of Clochaîne Candles for a pittance. Daily sales rose 12% afterwards. Whole thing paid for itself in a few hours.”

Simon Perimont tilted his head at that, scratching his chin. Deciding how judgemental to be over the fact that I have to work for a living? Let me help you, you fop, it’s ‘not at all’.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Lady Perimont added. “Though, if you would be so kind, please provide Mr. Clochaîne with his informational packet if he doesn’t make it today. I think it’s exciting stuff!”

“Uh, sure. Of course.”

“Excellent. I’d like to thank all of you titans of commerce for gathering here, Mr. Clochaîne excepted. Standing in his place is… I’m sorry, Miss, what was your name?”

“Eloise,” she supplied easily. Just like Leclaire had said, Eloise was here as herself, just a version who wasn’t on Jacques’ lethal shitlist.

Lady Perimont stared at her expectantly, not proceeding. It felt like the entire room was staring along with her. Ms. Sunderland surreptitiously sipped her tea, no doubt hiding a smile underneath it.

They want more. I gave them my name, but…

Oh.

“Eloise Clochaîne,” she finished, using Jacques’ stupid made up surname in the absence of anything better. She needed something here, and there wasn’t too much time to think. Still, it rankled.

He doesn’t get to claim me. That was what Cya hadn’t understood, trying to tar her with that name.

Ms. Sunderland didn’t bother to hide her extremely skeptical expression, but she didn’t bother to gainsay anything Eloise had said. Probably because she’s planning to kill me in a few minutes anyway. Why bother to make a scene here?

Immediately all the tension went out the room, the curiosity gone. Simon even nodded to himself, as if it explained everything. Fucker.

“Well, that makes sense,” Lady Perimont said with a nod. “The rest of you, I’ve met before, so with that, let’s begin. If you open your folio to the opening page, you’ll see the agenda for tonight’s meeting.”

Eloise already had it open from her earlier shuffling, but she actually looked down to read it now. The words were printed like a journal, an overdesigned black spiral of vines circling around the list of topics.

“To begin with, the time has come to bid the Prince of Crescents farewell. After the revelations of his involvement in the late Lord Perimont’s murder and the cover-up thereof, Prince Lucifer has resigned his post and will be leaving the city shortly.” Feet-first in a mahogany box, most likely, though perhaps they’ll just toss him off the ship.

“With a change in leadership comes a chance to re-evaluate our priorities, to move forward. I know I’m not alone in hoping that all of you are ready to grow with us together, reaching towards a brighter future. On a personal note, thanks to the tireless efforts of Captain Stewart here, the conspiracy against my husband has been uncovered, and now it’s only a matter of time before the perpetrators are brought to justice. I’m looking forward to that closure, as are the rest of my family. In the meantime, we reach forward to a better world.” The poison dripped sweetly from her mouth, not a trace of malice in her tone. “Simon, sweetie, please continue with the next item.”

The young lord glared at his mother briefly, but turned back to the assembled merchants quickly enough. “Every one of you here got where you were through your own hard work. No one handed your success to you. You wanted it, and you made it happen. People might call you selfish for it, but that selfishness is the heart of progress, innovation, growth. Endless growth, and each of you are the ones making it happen.” Interesting. His gaze even lingered on Eloise as he said it. “Right now we face a time of unprecedented hardship, with working conditions more difficult than ever, cost of goods rising endlessly and even, when reprieve seems completely beyond our reach, the eternal tyranny of taxation.”

His mother nodded. “I wish I could tell you that I returned from the Great Council with better news, but the Prince regent issued a declaration, passed with majority support from the Great Council, to return one grain out of every four grown in the Territories back to mother Avalon.” She barely finished her sentence before the room erupted into a cacophony of jeers.

“That’s bloody robbery!”

“What does he think is going on?”

“We’ll starve!”

Eloise debated using the distraction as an opportunity to slip away before Sunderland could sharpen her knives, but then she’d be leaving empty-handed.

“Enough,” Stewart said softly, and the room immediately quieted.

“I cannot overrule His Highness, nor the Great Council, only soften the blow as best I can. I’m afraid it’s seen as essential back home.” Perimont shook her head sadly. “Only barely could the Harpies even pull the Prince back from the brink. His initial proposal was for over half, and those damned Owls would have rammed it through just the same. Instead we came to a compromise, as politics demands. So too do I intend to reach an accord with all of you. To begin with, every business represented in this room can expect an infusion of two hundred thousand mandala from the territorial budget to continue the normal course of business. The Convocation of Commerce as a whole will be granted veto authority over all upper-level appointments within the governmental apparatus. Given the trying times, worker contracts…”

She continued on for quite a while, going over each and every bribe and concession she was granting them to help shore up her own power. Eloise was starting to feel her eyes glaze over when she noticed Lord Simon quietly slip out of his chair and head outside.

Eloise waited a moment, then ducked out after him. Not going to get a better opportunity than this.

It was snowing again, piles of slush and ice building up outside the guildhall so fast that one even looked like it was moving. Things just kept getting colder, with no end in sight.

Simon Perimont was leaning against the wall, a lit hand-roll in his fingers. Laced with naca too, by the smell of it.

“You alright?” Just tell me where the fuck Luce is so I can get out of here. “Couldn’t handle being called ‘sweetie’ in the Convocation of Commerce?”

Simon snorted, then passed Eloise his thin tube of herbs. “My condolences, by the way.”

“Huh? Oh.” Camille had scrounged up whatever presentable clothes she could from the people clustered at Levian’s Temple, which in this case included a green jacket that barely fit and a pair of white boots, so thoroughly bleached by the sun that it passed as intentional if you weren’t looking too closely. Not enough time, not enough options.

And, of course, neither of them had remembered that in Avalon white was the color of mourning.

“Thank you,” she said, hoping that her reaction had been believable enough. “My mother…”

“I understand. So much death flying around these days.” He shook his head sadly. “You know that ‘compromise’ they’re talking about? It’s a fucking war. Milk the territories for all they’ve got, or go claim some new ones. Either way the Prince gets a feather in his cap, and Avalon thrives.” He sighed. “It’s just not right.”

“Yeah?” Eloise inhaled, then passed it back to him. Definitely naca. “Either way, you come out ahead.”

“It’s just so stupid. If they would just lay off and let us grow, allow… Everyone’s talking about Luce like he was some massive fuck-up, but I really respected what he was doing, handouts aside. People like you, the businesses, the fucking beating heart of our entire economic system, he was smart enough to leave alone. He didn’t need to squeeze Malin dry because he was growing it to be something better. Even where we disagreed, at least he listened, you know? Now I’m stuck at the kid’s table again, suddenly a peer with Gary fucking Stewart.”

“And Camille?” Leclaire had been extremely insistent that Eloise not drop her name, super paranoid about being associated with someone after Florette couldn’t just follow the plan. But that basically meant Eloise had to.

He took a long pull from his hand-roll. “She was part of the cover-up, sure. So was Luce. Even me, I didn’t say anything until Mom got here. I’d say we all deserve something for that, but ‘deserve’ has nothing to do with it. It’s about what’s smart.”

Did he really just say that? “Yeah, people just get so hung up on right and wrong when it’s completely meaningless. Treating people like shit is brilliant right? Don’t even worry about the knife at your back. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Treating people badly is a mistake, but not because it’s wrong. It’s because it’s dumb, on account of that knife at your back. Just like starting a war we don’t need to. You’d have to be a complete fucking idiot to piss off everyone beneath you if you weren’t getting something really important out of it to be worth the trade-off.”

Going straight to the personal attacks, huh? “Isn’t your mom kind of doing that now?”

“Eh.” Simon waved his hand. “She’s offering them the farm in there, your father too, even if he isn’t here to hear it. Ultimately the grain tax mostly affects their workforce, not any of them directly. Offset the cost enough, and it’s a rational decision for them. Just not for Avalon. It’s meddling in markets that are supposed to be free.”

“Jacques is not my father.” Eloise sighed, but didn’t elaborate further. Let him think what he may. “Why do you care, anyway? You’ll be fine either way.”

“Because I believe. Avalon is a place where the truly great among us are supposed to rise to the top, where greatness can come from anywhere. Blocking people on account of birth is just illogical, when they have just as much right to empower themselves. If they have the ability, that ineffable greatness, they’ll reach it.” The corner of his lip curled into a smile. “Even if they have to make up a family name to do it.”

“No idea what you mean.”

“Take the pistol, for example.”

Eloise had to stop herself from audible choking. “That?”

“It’s a weapon, but more than that, it’s a product of economics. On the field, they’re not that much better than bows. Worse than cannons, in dala per dala effectiveness. But they’re just parts, metal that can be thrown together in a factory en masse. And anyone can use them with a bit of training. An archer needs the strength to pull a hundred pounds, but all you need to do with a pistol is point and shoot. Now that the design’s been proven, we could have thousands of them ready to go within a few years.”

“Yeah, that would be super great and not a total fucking disaster for humanity.”

“Humanity’s been killing each other since we were using rocks and sticks, and we’ll keep doing it until we’re eradicating entire worlds as a warning to the others. But that doesn’t mean we have to indulge in that foolishness. Plagette has dominated arms sales for centuries while largely staying out of the actual conflicts, and it’s served them brilliantly. Avalon could do the same with a far bigger stick. Let the splinters of the Erstwhile Empire fight it out amongst each other while we sit back and take in all the profit.”

“And this pistol that you used in your example, it was created by one of those joint-stock companies? Avalon’s buying them?”

Simon frowned. “Well, the design was created and refined in Ortus Tower. There’s not a company in the world that could compete with them yet, though the day is coming. But the actual parts and all of the assembly will be handled privately, deriving their value when the Crown or anyone else purchases them to use as they will.”

“Hmm.”

“The point is, people act according to their own interest. That’s not being selfish, it’s just being human. If you can recognize that and lean into it, and if you’re truly up to the task, you can go anywhere in life.”

It had a certain logic to it, even if the specific example didn’t much support it. Still, ‘get what you can and fuck everyone else’ definitely had its appeal. Eloise would be lying if she said she hadn’t basically lived by that creed for the past few years. Doing ‘the right thing’ hadn’t really amounted to much either, though there were a lot of reasons for that.

But there were people depending on her now, Margot most of all. I fucked her up almost as badly as me by trying to keep her out of sight, out of mind. It wasn’t fair, having to deal with that. It wasn’t.

But here I am, and she needs me.

“You know that Luce is never making it back to Avalon, right? That’s just your mother acting in reasonable self interest.”

“You don’t think… Prince Harold almost started a war just to punish the pirates that messed with his brother. She would never…”

“That’s why she has to. What do you think happens if Luce gets back to his brother and starts crying about what Lady Perimont did to him? It’s not like it’s without precedent; your dad tried to throw him to the wolves just to hold onto Malin.”

“...Fuck.”

“Do you really think your mother is better for Malin than Luce was? Better for Avalon, even?”

Simon threw the blackened end of his hand-roll into the snowy ground, then rubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t turn on my family again. I’m already… I mean what could I even do? It’s not like I know where Camille is, or how to... I can’t just walk onto Stewart’s ship and get him out. He’ll be gone in a few hours.”

Stewart’s ship!

Eloise patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I guess there’s nothing you can do. Until next time.” She leaned on her cane and began walking into the snow, pace as infuriating as ever.

“Wait, Miss Clochaîne! Where are you going?”

She turned back, looking over shoulder. “You can’t turn on family. So I’ll leave it at that.”

The wind sent a chill down her spine as she crept slowly forward. She’d done her job, and apparently Camille had done hers too.

Now all that remained was the bottom line. Time to finish this.