“Pottery. Textiles. Tanning. Cosmetics. Shipyards. Dyeing. Domestics.” Willem looked at a page, then folded it back to look at Dirk. “Do you know what all of these have in common?”

  Dirk looked out the window of the office distractedly.

  “Dirk,” Willem called out loudly, and the man looked back. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just… we haven’t had any new customers,” Dirk said. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do? I should be out there, right? I’m the salesman.”

  Willem looked back at his page. “Nope. The gold rush is done. You did good. I’ll start teaching you the other aspects of the business eventually. Now, to answer my question… soap.”

  “Soap?” Dirk repeated. “I didn’t hear the question.”

  “Soapers of today use pottery to produce the product. Soap is used to scour textiles for weaving and dyeing, or to soften leather. Soap is used for personal hygiene and beauty regimens. It’s used to clean ships and naval equipment, and preserve sailcloth. Recently, there’s been the introduction of perfumed soaps.” Willem opened up a leather pouch, pulling out a sample of said soap. It was lumpy and irregular, evidently cut by hand. He smelled it. “Rosemary. Hmm.”

  “Okay.” Dirk nodded. “Not sure what you expect me to say next.”

  “There’s a very clever soaper somewhere in this city.” Willem set the soap down, looking at it. “It’s a shame that I have to kill them.”

  “Uhh… Willem?” Dirk pivoted his head uneasily.

  “Metaphorically kill them,” Willem clarified. “They’ve expanded their business very rapidly. The way that they’ve managed to breach into new markets is incredibly impressive. They’ve also managed to cut down costs on the materials that they need admirably. But… they’re overextended. They levered themself too much to achieve these things. Robert’s Chandlery was the most glaring sign of that, but the more I look, the more I see. The lye and tallow providers. The sources of rosemary, lavender, and other scents that he uses. The people that he sells to. The merchants that he uses to import.” Willem smiled as he looked at the soap. “Whoever they are, they’ve already done the dividing for me. Now, I need to swoop in and do the conquering.”

  “…uhh. Okay then,” Dirk shrugged. “By the way, Viviene left a message for you. She wanted for you to meet her at the count’s estate. She didn’t mention what about, just that it was really important business.”

  “Hmm.” Willem nodded. “Alright. Thanks.”

  ***

  Gustav strode into the Soaper’s Guild with a vigorous gait. Theirs was a humble—if impeccably clean—stone hall worked into the walls of Gent. Gustav just had impeccable marble flooring put in this place to emphasize their heightened success, and it seemed just as likely that they’d be forced to tear it out to make their payments.

  “Why in the name of the goddess did Gustav call us all together so early for?” someone said as he neared. “What could be so important?”

  “Your livelihood,” he answered, startling the chatting pair that was oblivious to his presence. He waved them in. “Get in the conference room. Now.”

  The two scrambled to obey, and Gustav looked around to be sure none of the other guild officers were lingering outside. Content, he walked inside, looking around. The Guild Treasurer, Guild Scribe, and the three Guild Inspectors were all present, alongside the larger contingent of Master Soapers.

  “We’re dealing with an existential problem,” Gustav declared as he walked closer in. “I just spoke to Robert.”

  “The chandlery owner?” the treasurer asked.

  “No, the woodsman.” Gustav shook his head quickly. “Willem van Brugh, the same person that brought out the chandlery, was talking to him about logging rights. He’s also been talking to the pottery that makes the molds that we use. He’s been talking to textile shops that buy our soap. He’s been down at the shipyards, asking about the kind of soaps they use. He’s been talking to the herders outside the city about the tallow, and to our providers of scented herbs, perfumes, and fruits.” He walked to the table and slammed his hands down. “We fought very, very hard to get prices from our suppliers down, and now Willem is intent on making use of low prices to root us out.”

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  The treasurer stepped to the table and said in concern, “But… our monopoly charters—”

  “Won’t be worth anything,” Gustav said, looking at the man squarely. “Willem is beloved by the Dowager Countess, and Count Ventura listens to his mother absolutely. Willem is more solvent than we are. Even if he wasn’t, most of the merchants that we’ve been using to import olive oil are in his Society of Assured Prosperity. The other guilds have made it clear that they won’t intervene yet.”

  All of the guild members were clearly disturbed. They knew enough about the situation to know one thing—at the very least, this would mean the good times would be coming to an end if nothing was done. If the cost of materials went up, they’d have to scale back production or raise prices—and the second option simply wasn’t something they could do without inadvertently causing the first option. Either outcome would mean a painful period of downsizing. His colleagues, mostly without vision, looked for him for the solution.

  “What do we need to do?” one of the quality inspectors asked him.

  “The only advantage that we have over Willem is knowledge of the soap formulas, knowledge of production, and quality built up over many generations,” Gustav said. “As it is with any guild… if he can’t get that, he can’t succeed in creating viable competition.” He took a deep breath, prepared to lay out the bad news. “We’ll have to tighten our belts. Scale down. Soaps made from imported perfumes, olive oil… we’ll have to cut back.”

  “And once we’ve cut…” the treasurer began hesitantly. “How in the world are we to begin again?”

  Gustav didn’t have an answer right away, but he looked between all present. He couldn’t let them know that he’d been caught off guard, that this period of contraction would be a direct result of his overexpansion.

  “I have a concept of a plan,” Gustav said. “It’ll be a standoff until I can put the pieces together. And we haven’t lost a standoff yet.”

  Some of the guild officers were heartened upon being reminded of that fact, but Gustav had to admit… he was in inner turmoil. He didn’t want to stagnate, didn’t want to do what his father had done until the day he died without advancing in life. He wanted to do something, be someone. He simply didn’t have the time to wait around.

  His only hope was that Willem felt the same way.

  ***

  Viviene tensed as the door to the training room opened, and Willem walked in. Despite the fact that she’d never seen him train, there was still a warrior’s presence about him. And the aura roiling within him… it was fierce, developed. It had seen real battle before and been molded by it, hardened. And ever since her conversation with Willem, where he’d expressed no desire to do battle… she’d been worried.

  Her son had changed. Something had happened to him—something major. She had thought it was merely the passage of five years. The young could change drastically in short amounts of time like that. But this was far beyond that—this was something fundamental.

  “Why in the world are we talking here?” Willem asked, looking around. “Did you really call me all this way so you could train while we talk? I don’t think you’re that busy. Or… no.” He stopped, and pointed. “You dragged me out here to train with you, didn’t you?”

  “Catharina let me use their sparring chamber,” Viviene said. “They don’t have any aura users in the Duyn family, currently. It’s not in use.”

  “Nor will it be,” Willem said with a cheeky smile. “Unless you want me to get one of the other ones.”

  She walked to the side of the arena, where she retrieved a wooden greatsword. She heaved and tossed it, and it landed near his feet. “You use a greatsword, unless you’ve changed. We’re going to spar.”

  Willem looked at the greatsword, then scoffed. “Forget this. I have things to do.” He turned around, waving at her dismissively. “I’m gonna get back to work. You have fun.”

  Viviene drew the rapier at her side, manifesting her aura. She concentrated it into the tip of her rapier, and its silver blade grew hued with emerald green. She thrust the blade, projecting her aura forth as a sharp bolt, and it slammed into the doorknob Willem reached for. It clattered to the ground, rendering the door useless. Willem slowly turned around, a look of cautious disbelief on his face.

  “In this world, it’s important that you be able to defend yourself,” Viviene reiterated her previous point. “No matter who against.”

  Viviene reached up to the mask covering her right eye, and she lifted it up. With her good eye, she could see a brilliant golden hue emanating from the aura wound.

  “Your father gave me this,” Viviene said, tracing the jagged mark with her finger. The flickering aura was still warm. “It was the day that he proved to me that his duty was more important to him than his family. The day that he showed our love mattered less than his noble obligations. Every time I see him, it flares. It pains me.” She shook her head. “I don’t ever want you to bear the same pain, Willem. I won’t let you.”

  “So instead you’ll do it yourself?” Willem jabbed.

  “If that’s what it takes to make you strong.” Viviene assumed the Valdérie fencing stance—an elegant, lithe pose designed for maneuverability and lightning-fast attacks. “On your guard, my son.”