The Grand Capital (Part II)

"You know," Jean-Guillaume says, "it is still not too late to arrange a name change with the Citizen Census. You have the resources for an expedited process, surely? I maintain that 'Arthur' is quite awkward on the tongue…"

"Arthur?" I whisper to him, and only then does he acknowledge me. "Would you like an excuse to leave?"

He gives me a numb nod. I say loudly enough for both men to hear, "Monsieur Arthur, if you would be so kind as to pick out a refreshment for us from the counter over there? I think that I would like something to re-energise me after the—"

"Allow me, Madame la Comtesse." Jean-Guillaume waves a serving maid over and gestures wildly at the refreshments counter, and I can do nothing but give Arthur a guilty look as he slinks deeper into his chair.

"As I was saying, Monsieur Kaplan." The Mayor steps forward to block his companion's view of his quailing son. "We cannot all be blessed with wealth enough to compete with Wreathlander industries directly, and I have found it more prudent in business to take the path of least resistance, even if it means flattering a few foreigners with a novel birth name."

"Pah!" Jean-Guillaume points his chin at me. "Do you not hear this, Madame? He would make a laughingstock of his son for a few Wreathlander sterlings! First those foreigners force an intervention in the war, and now they take over our markets! Yet still this man sees nothing wrong with fattening their pride!"

I narrow my eyes at Jean-Guillaume. "Most of us don't have the luxury of choice, Monsieur. Had I failed to secure the interest of our local industrialists, I was looking into finding Wreathlander investors myself."

"And do you think them ignorant of the leverage they hold over us, Madame? I would not fault your sense of enterprise, of course, but if you are not careful, they will soon turn us into another of their overseas colonies!"

"It's only shoddy textiles, Guillaume." Emond lets out a breathy snort. "That's hardly 'taking over' anything, and no amount of mechanisation will let them surpass the quality of Chambiard wine."

"Of course you would say that, when you own nearly one-third of Val-des-Courbes, but you have a few things left to learn about business if you think that makes you safe, my friend — for it is not the best products that thrive in the aftermath of war, but the cheapest!" He receives a cocktail glass from the serving maid and offers it to me. "I get ahead of myself, however — I did not come here for a philosophical discussion."

I take the glass from him and turn it over in my hands. "May I be so bold as to presume myself the subject of your interest then, Monsieur?"

"You would be so bold and, indeed, correct, for I would not have shown my face in public for just anyone! It hasn't escaped my notice that you are — as they say — shopping around for investors to stimulate Mondmaden's economy?"

I nod warily. "Are you interested in recommending someone, then?"

"You need not be so coy when your forests are the envy of your neighbours, Comtesse. I shall be upfront: I am interested in opening a factory there — one which produces furniture of the sort that might compete with Wreathlander imports. They are at the moment struggling with a piracy problem back home, and I intend to capitalise on that lull in trade."

"Then allow me to be upfront as well: What would I owe you for such a favour?"

"Only your support, Comtesse, with regards to an issue that has been plaguing my business for a while — our Courbillon branch, especially, has been a cause for some concern."

"And that is?"

Arthur all but spits out the word: "Strikers." All three of us turn to regard him in mild shock, but he pays us no mind and continues: "Kaplan Manufacturing's been caught in violation of about a hundred different labour laws."

"The real violation is that there are a hundred laws to worry about in the first place!" The businessman squints at the boy. "You have been spending too much time in your university, perhaps. It's always the students that cause the most problems around here."

I scowl at Jean-Guillaume. "You should know that I'm not some United Commonwealth thug, Monsieur, to be thrown at worker dissent in the hopes of silencing it."

"I do not expect you to be! I could have hired any old tiger if I wished to resolve the problem with force, but no — I have respect for the worker's plight, however vicious their threats against me and mine, and for that, I need them to respect me as well."

"If it's my reputation you wish to leverage, then I'm afraid that it's atrophied somewhat in the wake of the war. Your workers would only view my presence as an insult."

"The public yet adores you, even if the army doesn't. I'm sure you could consider mediating if I were simply to provide the right incentives?"

"I will not act against the interests of my own countrymen, Monsieur."

"But I am every bit the patriot they claim to be — and in fact, I am more!" He takes another look around the lobby before leaning in to whisper, "I suspect foreign agitators are behind the strike, Madame."

Arthur's scowl almost matches his father's for spite. "He's lying, Comtesse."

"Lying?!"

"You've been claiming for years that Wreathlanders infiltrate your factories, submitting your migrant workers as proof — the same ones that live like paupers under your pay."

"I pay them more than anyone else! And you only prove my point, boy: they are asking for more and more every year and I am certain they are but agents of a higher power, looking to strangle native Chambiard competition."

"And I tell you," Mayor Emond says, "that you are straddling the line of paranoia." The two men exchange a barbed glance before Emond turns again to address me, "I hope that you do not think too poorly of him for—"

"She is no false patriot, Emond, to accept Wreathlander money and write it off as a dowry. How is that wife of yours doing these days, anyway?"

There is another terrible silence that drags in the attention of the guests around us. I glimpse their whispers and pointed fingers — and one woman looks about to call for security. I rise from my seat as the two men step towards each other and address the Mayor pointedly: "I wish to walk the city with Monsieur Arthur, if that is alright with you?"

"With Artie?" He turns to me with a furrowed brow. "I should not want him to be cause for your name in the gossip rags, Madame. If you would be willing to wait a few minutes for the lady's companion I have arranged to—"

"I am no stranger to scandal and I doubt it will be cause for much, when I intend to keep to the main causeways and parks. Do I have your permission, Monsieur?"

"Ah, well…!" His eyes seem to light up at that. "Artie, what say you—?"

"I'll go." The boy rises from his chair and shoots me a grateful look. "Thank you for inviting me, Madame."

"Emond, I would not presume to lecture you," the businessman cuts in loud enough for the room to hear, a savage grin twisting his face, "but is it not best to attach an able man to escort them in the event that the Madame runs into any trouble?"

"… It is done." Emond smiles back through gritted teeth, the veins of his fists pulsing faintly around his walking cane. "Artie, take the coachman with you."

"I, ah, but I'd told him that he was free to spend the afternoon—"

"Take him."

Arthur nods frantically. "Yes, of course, shall we go now, Madame?"

I am already marching for the exit by the time he collects himself, a migraine pounding away at my skull. People continue to point and whisper as I cross the room, and I think I catch pitying looks from the serving maids as I push through the door.

Arthur doesn't say anything more as he falls into step beside me.

This is going to be a trying day, indeed.