A small bell chimed as Lord Florent Lafons strode into the silk shop on the Rue Courcel. Helene Bridault, head of the Ceramics Guild, and Margot Langneau, head of the Weavers Guild, stood deep in discussion at the front counter. At the sound, they abruptly ceased their chatter and turned toward the handsome, well appointed young man.
“Good morning, monsieur,” Margot chirped at the noble from Namarre. “How can I help you this morning?”
“I am here to pick up some fabric for my mother. She said it was pomegranate patterned velvet? She is to have a dress made and seems to think that I am the only one capable of delivering this to the dressmaker. It must be something terribly important, I suppose.”
The silk weaver nodded. “Ah yes, milord! I have it ready for you, all wrapped up.” She turned to the cubbies on the wall behind her and pulled out an oilcloth wrapped parcel.
“So, what have you two hens been squawking about this morning?” the gentleman inquired, leaning toward the two women, as if they were all about to share their deepest secrets.
“Oh, we were just discussing the recent Judiciary vote, sir,” Margot replied carefully, her eyes darting to her friend. Did this rich young man know which way they cast their votes? Gossip was all over the City of Elua and everyone knew that the gentry were taking sides. Word leaking of one’s vote to the wrong person could potentially cost one theirNamarre livelihood.
“It would seem that the Night Court is to remain a legitimate trade guild, thank Blessed Elua. I dare say,” he chuckled, “The threat of the doors to Mont Nuit closing was a terrifying prospect!” He clutched his chest with feigned drama.
“Well, they had to do something!” Helene sniffed, “That preposterous Halceaux! Just who does he think he is – bringing his personal problems into our businesses?”
“Ah yes, this overzealous smith everyone is appalled at. Encouraging the merchants to rise up against the oppressive courtesans.” The nobleman laughed. “Truly, I have heard no funnier joke from a professional jester.”
Margot nodded vigorously in agreement, her worries forgotten. “He acts like he’s representing the interests of the Guilds, but I will tell you, monsieur, he does not speak for me!”
“And this embargo on silver,” the potter exclaimed, “Do you think it hasn’t started to have an effect on the rest of us? Some of us are starting to see fewer imports available from Aragonia. They take the silver from their mines elsewhere. Why would the traders sail all the way up to Terre d’Ange if they can only trade for part of their cargo? Look at what that blasted Halceaux has brought upon us!”
Helene was outraged.
Lord Lafons chuckled. “The silver embargo is a shrewd endeavor by a, shall we say, friend of the Night Court. But Roland cannot think that he alone has enough power to control all Terre d’Ange’s trade routes.” He waved his hand dismissively.
“The Duc de Chalasse controls more than you can possibly know and has his hand in more than you can even imagine. The embargo will end when it suits him. He has greater interests here than simply keeping the Night Court on the Judiciary and punishing an arrogant tradesman. The Duc plays the long game and he has been playing it since before you were a babe at your mother’s breast. Don’t underestimate him,” Margot scolded.
Lafons rolled his eyes. “You overestimate Roland’s influence. No single lord holds that much sway. This will be done in short order, no matter what he wants. He thinks to throw his weight around with this small move, but it’s no more than posturing.”
At this Margot burst out laughing. “Oh, my Lord, surely you do jest. If the Duc de Chalasse were to throw his weight around, we would feel all the Earth shake.”