Profits and Poppies

[Vautier]

It was with the faintest sense of unease, quickly discarded, that I made my way towards the better part of the town. I take little pleasure from these places, with their leafy boulevards and their wide streets, and the trappings of wealth laid out for all like a copper-bit doxy touting for trade. But I go where I must. I made brisk progress, but I was wary. This can be my world when necessary, but for preference I would not choose it. Perhaps this would seem something of a peculiarity for a man who spends his days and nights primarily in Night’s Doorstep, but it makes my skin crawl.

I arrived at the de Rouille residence, and rapped upon the door, casting indifferent eyes over the facade, wonder if there was some conclusion I should be drawing from a mere assemblage of stone. Was this good taste, or bad taste, gentlemanly, or vulgar? I had long since resolved such questions about its occupant at least.

The door was opened by a servant of somewhat formidable aspect, and I saw his eyes flicker in confusion as they beheld me, for he was unable to decide whether he should be bowing and scraping, or telling me the tradesman’s entrance was round the back.

I gave a thin smile. “My name is Vautier,” I said, solving his quandary. “Is the master at home?”

Not giving him time to reply, I slipped past him into the hall. He was taller than I am, and could have blocked my progress, but it’s surprising how little people seem to want to touch me once they know who I am. I find it quite helpful.

I could have sent word of my coming but, as much as I would have preferred to extend the courtesy, that would have only given him time to prepare. And although I believed Denis de Rouille ultimately biddable, he also possessed a vicious, animal cunning (not entirely dissimilar to my own) that required he be handled with some degree of care.

And if I found him in a drug-fuelled, sex-saturated stupor so much the better.

I find people are far more amenable when their weaknesses are in play.

[Denis de Rouille]

I liked my study best at this time of day. The way the house faced, the sun didn't quite reach here, only dappled shadows from the tree that stood just outside. I liked it that way, dark and quiet. I'd always thought that the night was my time, and daylight was merely an inconvenient intrusion.

I was poring over some accounts, I needed to move some money around to avoid undue notice from the authorities, when I heard a slight commotion at the door. That was one downside of my office - too close to the front door. I was alternately curious and irritated about who was calling without so much as sending notice ahead, but I liked to think it was someone I actually wanted to see, like Lilliane or maybe even Sandrine, who had been scarce since Sophine had left the country. Smiling in anticipation of seeing a pretty face, I set my quill aside and rose, walking to the doorway of the study and peering down the hall.
Not a pretty girl, but a man. I frowned as something teased my memory, did I know this man from somewhere? I didn't like the feeling that crept over me at his presence, but I would never be moved to show such an aversion outright.

"Come along into the study," I said, stepping back and walking back over to my desk. For some reason, I felt as if I should place something between us.

[Vautier]

Unfortunate. He seemed perfectly, what's the phrase, I’d heard it from a more educated mouth than mine, possibly Zephyr’s, ah yes, he seemed perfectly compos mentis. Perhaps reports of his decadence had been exaggerated.

From whom had I received such reports? I would have to make my displeasure clear. I very much dislike having to make my displeasure clear. It’s vulgar. And, occasionally, messy.

I remembered the man who emerged from his study well enough. It was mildly entertaining to watch his face alight with anticipation and, on discovering I was not a woman for him to swive with, fall into a frown. Like a small boy denied sweets.

I prowled after him into his study, brushing a few vexing speckles of dust from the lapels of my white coat.

“You may not remember me,” I said, as he put the desk between us like a barrier. So typical of his class. Short memories for people they considered below them. “My name is Vautier.”

I smiled at him, sharp-toothed.

Do you remember me now?

I did not need to say it for the question to be there, hanging between us like a thrown blade.

[Denis de Rouille]

Vautier. Of course. The name conjured up the man, instead of the other way around. I had to force myself not to grimace with distaste. Vautier was the type of man people told stories about, the type that drew attention. In short, not someone I wanted to be associated with. I had my moments, to be sure, but rumors of this man made even my blood run just a tad colder.

I motioned for him to sit and then took my own seat across the desk.

"Vautier, of course," I said, as if I had known him all along. "To what do I owe this unexpected ... pleasure." The pause in the air left no doubt that the pleasure was dubious at best.

[Vautier]

I thanked him politely, and sat down in the chair indicated, crossing one leg over the other, allowing my foot to sway gently back and forth, as if the motion was idle and unintentional. I rarely do anything unintentionally if I can help it, but I have noticed people tend to underestimate you if they believe you have habits or ticks, or whatever it is that makes someone seem ordinary.

I enjoy this ability that the well-born possess of somehow conveying their meaning without having to say anything remotely truthful. I committed his intonation to memory. I would try that myself some day soon, when somebody impinged upon my time or notice. To what do I owe this unexpected … pleasure.  The pause, it was all in the pause.

“I'm here to discuss our mutual interests,” I said, rather more frankly. Although I suppose “interests” suggested gardening or needlepoint, rather than drug-running. But at least we were both interested in it, so in that respect it was not an evasion. “I have so far allowed yours to run unchecked since they accorded with mine. However, of late there has been...” I, too, deployed a pause, and an eloquent hand gesture “...divergence.”

[Denis de Rouille]

Allowed me to run unchecked? My irritation rose immeasurably at this man's choice of words. No one had allowed me to do anything since I left my mother's household! Even my esteemed father-in-law had seen my potential right away and not stood in my way.

I rested my elbows on my desk and steepled my fingers, regarding Vautier with an impassive gaze that I hoped belied the aggravation beneath.

"What type of divergence?" I asked, noting that he could play the game of words as well as I. I did not think him high-born, but then, who knew better than I what an accident birth was? My title was bought and paid for, and not just in coin. Whatever the man's intentions, for now I needed to hear more.

[Vautier]

I returned his carefully impassive gaze blandly, as if I didn't suspect I'd annoyed him. But I've spent my life watching people – there's not much else for the unwanted bastard son of a servant to do - and I've never abandoned the habit, for it has served me well over the years.

Also, I had been guilty of a smallest hint of personal indulgence which was somewhat unprofessional of me. Business would likely go more smoothly if the lordling didn't resent me from the very beginning. But men like him always resented men like me. And in some unnecessary way it pleased me to irritate him.

“Well,” I said, abandoning word games for the pragmatism I favoured, “most simply, your rapid development from a mere bit player to someone with a sizeable stake in the black market opium trade has had significant ramifications. Ramifications to which I am sure, content merely to rake in profit, you have paid little heed.”

I paused, detecting a hint of irony in my next statement even though it was true.

“I am an agent of stability.”

[Denis de Rouille]

I considered his words carefully, pretending that I was not unduly interested in the 'ramifications' of which he spoke, though indeed I should like to know what he meant by that. The only ramification that I could see was that I had likely put others out of business. It wasn't just the opium, but the smuggling, that really drew in the coin, but that smuggling allowed me to invest heavily in the illicit drug market here in Terre d'Ange.

"Well," I began, watching this man and wondering just how dangerous he really was. Of course I had heard the rumors, but I had heard similar rumors - untrue - about myself. Well, mostly untrue.

"Business is business. If a man can turn a profit, why should he not do so?"

[Vautier]

I watched him with an air of indifference to match his own, but my mind was turning rapidly. He was acting a little too readily to fit my lowest estimation of his character, which was precisely what I would have done in his place. I would want him to underestimate me, so it seemed likely he was trying to manipulate me in return. Decadent and intemperate was not the same as stupid.

I really was going to have to do something about my sources. I suppose I couldn't expect everyone to be as infallibly accurate as Zephyr but I was conscious that I was operating in territory that was not quite as well-mapped as I had originally believed. It was irritating, but nothing I hadn't managed in the past. I would just have to be a little careful and put aside my personal distaste for men of his ilk, however tempting it was to indulge them through petty needling and veiled insults.

All the same, letting him play the careless fool to quite this extent was helping neither of us. “I suppose,” I said, mildly, “it would depend on whether the man was content to be short-sighted or had the potential for greater scope.”

[Denis de Rouille]

Perhaps he was offering a proposition of some kind? I wasn't sure I wanted to climb in bed (so to speak) with this fellow, but at the same time, if there was the chance for a greater profit, well, it would not hurt to consider it.

"Greater scope, hmm?" I asked, rising and going to the sideboard where I decanted a bottle of some Montblanc vintage that I had paid a pretty penny for. It was chilling there, in case I should want some, and this seemed like a good way to perhaps loosen my friend's tongue. I poured us both a glass and returned to the desk, offering one to him.

"I like the idea of such a thing, but I must admit that I prefer the certainty of a coin in my palm now than the possibility of two in the future."