After recruiting the sleazy merchant to his cause, Lucius then went on to visit many of Ganelon’s retinue who seemed displeased with their leader’s orders. Mister Marcille wasn’t the only one suffering losses due to Arabia’s bans. Many others such as spice hawkers, crystal caravaners, steel, incense, and even seaside exporters found themselves in quite the conundrum, their coffers steadily draining of funds by the day.

  The Saracens no longer needed to rely on solely Francia for trade, and with an open route now available to the northern Saxons and the southern Lombards whose borders were previously ruled under Frankish watch, the desert people’s goods could now travel throughout the continent. This would ordinarily be good news, even for the Franks, because with widespread trade came a bigger, bustling economy. Those who conducted transactions fairly found themselves practically drowning in new Arabian contracts.

  The problem lay with those of… dubious inclinations, so to speak. The Arabia of past had no power or influence elsewhere beside their own border, and thus they were forced to bargain with whoever came their way, even if it meant being swindled into an exploitative arrangement. But the Saracens had never forgotten. The humiliation, the shame, helpless to watch as their already poor nation fell deeper and deeper into the clutches of ravenous merchants… they held onto their grudge. And when it came time to enact it, they did so ruthlessly.

  Everyone who once took advantage of the Saracens were now blacklisted across the entire desert. They couldn't even hire middlemen to do business in their place, for only those who underwent an extensive audit by the Saracen financial inspectors could be given permission to handle Arabia’s goods. No stone went unturned, as the saying went, especially considering that Lucius had already given the young Emir an extensive list of those belonging or related to Ganelon.

  However, it was also Lucius who had the power to remove those names from Arabia’s bans. Such a hilarity it was that, for the proud and slimy traders of Francia, the gentleman they were ordered to bring down was now their only hope for salvation. They were left with two choices: continue acting as Ganelon’s pawns, or abandon him to sustain their life of debauchery.

  Needless to say, most picked the latter option.

  All Lucius had asked in return was to be their friend. A simple request, no? Some would say even foolish. It’s not as if the gentleman was forcing them to switch sides - far from it! He needed them to stay close to Ganelon, to listen and relay all they were ordered to do. Having such an informal relationship allowed the merchants to feel more at ease, and their only requirements for the good Lucius’s aid was to complete the occasional request, fulfill a favor here and there, and stall for time by lazily carrying out their duties.

  Did that mean Lucius trusted them? Of course not! If given the chance, they would no doubt backstab him if the High Tribunal ever appeared to be back in power. But that was just fine. The gentleman would never allow for that to happen.

  Thus, with the merchants thoroughly convinced, Lucius went to sway the old priests of the Order. Their troubles weren’t related to Arabia. They didn’t wish for money, particularly, and had no reason to align with the gentleman since Ganelon had promised to raise their positions. Regardless though, the same desire stoked true in their hearts: power. They wanted authority, influence, the right to command others.

  The old priests clung to their faith and their long-decayed seats because it was the only way they could remain affluent within the court. Without their so-called history and traditions, there would be no reason for the people to revere them. They’d simply move on, leaving the decrepit relics behind to brood in their bygone glory.

  Ganelon had assured otherwise. So long as they served him and him only, their lives were all but set… however, was that really true?

  Lucius approached them and asked as such. He received many different answers, some confident and others more hesitant. They wished to believe that the priesthood would never fade. The High Tribunal had even promised to make one of them the Archbishop! Surely that was reason enough to stay in his graces, right?

  Unfortunately for them, the gentleman provided a different perspective.

  He asked a simple question. It was an obvious one, really. “What happens if you aren’t picked?” They looked at him for a time, confused, even a bit angry, before eventually falling silent.

  All this time, Ganelon had enticed them with that ever-tempting possibility. It was their ultimate goal, the position of power they had long sought after since the very beginning. And yet it was undeniable that only one could hold such an honor. To be Archbishop was to lord over the Holy Order until their voluntary retirement. It could be years, decades even, before the next one was picked, and so for those who’d dedicated their lives helping Ganelon, doing his dirty work, even going against the faith at times to serve his needs, what would be left? If they weren’t chosen, all their effort would have been for nothing, and they would continue to spend the rest of their days groveling as his convenient little tool.

  The church would carry on regardless of who led it. They didn’t need him exactly to stay as senior priests; and while Ganelon certainly played a part in promoting them to their current positions, the tides were turning, and the High Tribunal’s once solid hold over the castle’s affairs was slowly starting to loosen. He failed to get rid of Roland. He nearly exposed the priesthood's corruption after the fall of Roncevaux Fortress. Even Mister Renaud, his once most trusted ally, chose to leave his side. The times were changing; and when Ganelon was inevitably ousted of his title, who did they think would be next?

  They were stuck whether the High Tribunal succeeded or not. But even so, what were they to do? Who would possibly accept them after all they had done?

  The answer was a certain gentleman.

  He reached out to them with an innocent smile and spoke but one sentence. “Will you be my friend?”

  Lucius made many friends in the weeks to come. Merchants, priests, and judges as well… everyone wanted to be his friend! And through this all Ganelon was none the wiser that his allies were quickly shrinking. The gentleman picked well and only appeared before those he was certain would listen.

  The one faction he didn’t try to sway, interestingly enough, were the veteran paladins of the holy war. They were not like the others. They didn’t follow Ganelon out of greed or want for fortune. Each grizzled member was there because they believed in the High Tribunal’s cause. They believed in his vision of Francia, flawed and corrupted it might be.

  Their trust was quite puzzling to Lucius. These men were by no means foolish, so why resort to such drastic means, especially if it meant tearing apart their own nation?

  What did they see during the holy war that made them so disillusioned with the empire?

  Regardless of their involvement, Lucius’s arrangements were proceeding along just fine. Thus came the twentieth day since the players’ return. Contrary to the gentleman’s prediction, Ganelon had been taking a bit too long to carry out his schemes. That wouldn’t do. In order for the good fellow to tread the path of a beautiful bloom, Lucius needed him to take action before the final Evil broke free from its tomb.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  What better to do so than with a little motivation?

  ———

  “I am very thankful for your invitation, Sir Lucius, but… um, should we really be doing this right now? It’s past my curfew. I should head back before the head maid gets upset.”

  It was late into the night, and not a soul was heard stirring, when Lucius decided to host a fun tea party with Karolus in the hopes of attracting a certain, dandy darling.

  “Hoho, no need to fear, my friend,” Lucius said to the boy. “It is in our nature to seek occasionally the comforts of a midnight rendezvous. I’m sure your caretaker will understand. Besides, Isn’t it just lovely to have a warm cup of tea in these chilly evening hours? Of course, I’ve made sure to give you an herbal blend that won’t keep you up.”

  The pair talked and laughed in casual conversation as they had always done with their every meeting. This one in particular, however, was special. Why? Lucius had invited a guest.

  “I am a bit nervous, to be honest,” Karolus said, fiddling with his cup. “Are you sure your friend won’t tattle about our gatherings here?”

  “They know how to keep a secret, at the very least,” the gentleman replied. “You are welcome to depart if the thought worries you.”

  “No, no! I’m sure your friend is trustworthy if you say so. I just… I’ve never really talked with any of the otherworlders before. Besides you, of course.”

  “Who ever said they were an otherworlder?”

  “Hm? What do you mean?”

  As if on cue, Lucius heard the rough, frantic stomping of someone outside. The door practically blew wide open, and there, standing with a horrified expression, was the High Tribunal himself.

  “... Karolus?” he muttered. “Are you safe? Are you hurt at all?”

  The boy paled, surprised by the sudden encounter with his uncle, but his face quickly became stern and he jumped out from his seat as if to scold him. “I told you I didn’t want to see you, Uncle Ganelon—”

  “Stop!”

  The man’s voice shook with a fear unlike any Lucius had heard from him before. His brow was drenched in sweat—his cheeks were thin and sunken—and in his head, no doubt, countless simulations were being run all at once. For before him stood his one, sole weakness… and a gentleman mere paces away.

  “Get away from him,” Ganelon said, doing his very best to remain calm.

  “But uncle, Lucius is my friend. He’s a good person—”

  “Now!”

  Karolus flinched. Tears welled up in his eyes, for never before had he seen this side of his so-called uncle before. The tall, disgruntled man was terrifying, but more so than his appearance, what frightened the boy most of all was his cruel voice dripping in malice. It wasn’t directed at him. Rather, it was toward the kind and caring Lucius that Karolus had come to know.

  The gentleman smiled and reassured the boy that everything was alright. “Go on ahead, my friend. Worry not over me. I shall catch up with you later.”

  Karolus meekly nodded and, after a few tentative steps, took off running into the halls outside. Now, there were only two.

  “Would you like to take a seat?” Lucius said, gesturing to a chair. “I was just in the middle of a charming tea party before you interrupted.

  But Ganelon was in no mood for such things. He sighed in relief with Karolus gone and soon glared at Lucius with a mix of caution and disgust.

  “How dare you,” he spat. “How dare you involve him in this. When did you… when did you even find out?”

  Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know full damn well what I mean!”

  Lucius bid him a dazzling smile. “Well, let’s just say your God isn’t the one who granted this stigma on my forehead.”

  Ganelon stuttered, his mind gradually breaking down due to the gentleman’s words—the implication. “So you’ve… you’ve known from the very beginning. The beginning. Haha! All this time, we’ve been wrapped around your little finger, is that so? Are we all just amusement in your putrid game?”

  “Sir Ganelon. Please, such accusations are unsightly. I have never treated this as a game.”

  “Then what do you want? Hm? Does it excite you knowing that I’m dancing around in the palm of your hand? Fine, I’ll act the jester. I’ll give you all the entertainment you want. Just… please, please don’t lay a hand on him. The boy doesn’t deserve to be harmed because of me.”

  “Perish the thought! I would never bring harm to young Karolus. He is my friend, you see. I am quite fond of the boy, as I am toward you.”

  “Hahaha, more of your sickly love. I should’ve known.”

  Ganelon raised his head and became eerily still. He closed his eyes, taking deep, steady breaths, and when he opened them again, a new resolution flared bright. It spoke of a willingness to fight, to die, to by any means be rid of the enemy before him.

  “Stars be damned,” he uttered, conjuring a large claw made of wind. “I’ll kill you right here and now if I have to.”

  And yet, before all that hate and hostility, Lucius only clapped his hands: goading him, encouraging him even! But the gentleman knew he wouldn’t strike. It wasn’t because of hesitation or guilt or even the fear of being held accountable.

  It was because he couldn’t. Ganelon could not kill Lucius, no matter how desperately he tried.

  “Do you really believe you’ll succeed?”

  The man stiffened in response. He wanted to declare otherwise, but the shame in his heart wouldn’t allow it. Even in his rage-addled state, Ganelon couldn’t help but weigh the consequences of his actions, the benefits and inevitable repercussions. He calculated every scenario and looked for even the slightest hope that he could somehow emerge victorious. Yet in the long silence to follow, he moved not a muscle. His expression remained frozen in despair.

  “Damn it. Damn it!”

  Eventually, Ganelon fell onto his knees, and he cursed the strength he did not wield. All these years he had built up his power, reigned as de-facto leader of Francia, yet not even with these experiences could bring Lucius down. Not in his current state, at least.

  “I thought I was free from one monster,” he uttered. “Only to, haha, be met with another not long after!”

  “That is rather rude, my friend.”

  “Oh, choke on your spit, friend. I am tired of being tormented by cruel, heinous things like you and that filth I once called my liege, yet what I truly abhor is your blatant indifference: how easily you torture, and ridicule, and mock us. Your kind have never seen us as anything else but toys to be played with. If not out of twisted pleasure, then why do this at all? Why did you need to bring Karolus into this?”

  Lucius tilted his head, confused by the question. “Because it was necessary.” He did not elaborate nor explain himself any further. This, too, was the gentleman’s guidance. Ganelon must be made to feel, in all that encompassed his body and soul, that Lucius was far beyond him.

  No matter where he went or what he tried, no matter the schemes he conjured or the woes he cried, Lucius would always be one step ahead of him.

  Only when a prideful and stubborn man such as he was thoroughly broken that true beauty could be emboldened to rise.

  “I very much look forward to what you do next.” With a snap of the finger, Lucius cleaned the room and joyfully made his way to the door. Ganelon didn't try stop him. His parsed lips could barely utter a word as the gentleman passed by.

  Before Lucius left, though, he placed a hand on the poor, disheartened fellow’s shoulder and then whispered into his ear. “Give my warm regards to Karolus, would you? I do hope our next encounter will be in brighter spirits.”

  Thus, he departed, leaving Ganelon to anguish all by his lonesome. Who knew what effect their meeting today would have? Lucius certainly wasn’t a prophet. People were complex, charming little things, and oftentimes they surprised with their choices. This time, however… he suspected that the High Tribunal would react exactly as he expected him to.

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]