Chapter 41 – Man of Conviction

On Thursday, Valentina was back at Violet Delights.

Today her client was Master Irlwin, a cloth and wool merchant from Southwatch who came to Bridgewater every two months to do business with the local guilds. He was a quiet man in his fifties, with a carefully groomed grey beard and the work-worn hands of someone who had learned the cloth-making trade from the ground up before he became rich enough to have others do the work. As always, he brought with him a lock of hair from the wife of his fiercest competitor.

The encounter was accordingly a bit rougher, but just the way Valentina liked it. When he politely thanked her afterward, she smiled warmly and said she was already looking forward to his next visit. It wasn’t even necessarily a lie.

After washing up, Valentina left the room and stepped out into the first-floor hallway. From behind one of the closed doors on the left, she could hear muffled laughter, bright and a little too loud to be real, and from one of the rooms further back, the rhythmic creaking of a bed came through the wall.

She walked down the hallway and reached the gallery above the entrance hall, an open balustrade made of dark, polished wood that allowed a view of the foyer below and enabled the girls to see arriving customers before they met them.

Valentina glanced down casually as she passed and nearly tripped over her own feet.

In the entrance hall stood a man who was just being greeted by the doorman. Tall, slender, his dark hair tied back with a simple leather cord, wearing a close-fitting doublet in dark wine red.

Johann Georg Bombastian von Agrippin.

She took the back staircase instead of the front one and descended to the back salon, where Madame Dolorosa sat in her velvet armchair, an account book on her lap and a goblet of red wine on the side table.

“Did everything go well with Irlwin?” Madame Dolorosa asked without looking up.

“Oh yes, everything’s fine. As always.” Valentina sat down in the chair across from her and reached for the wine carafe. Her hands were steady, but her pulse was slightly quickened. “Tell me, did you really send an invitation to Professor Von Agrippin by any chance? I thought that was a joke.”

Now Madame Dolorosa looked up, and a knowing smile played around her lips. “No, my dear. The good professor found us on his own. He was vetted, paid the initiation fee without batting an eye, and asked for our most experienced girl.”

“Rose?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course,” said Vyxara in Valentina’s head with an amusement that Valentina didn’t share at all. “The man has good taste. And obviously deeper pockets than I would have expected.”

Valentina took a sip of the exquisite wine, which didn’t taste as good to her as it usually did.

The feeling in her chest was a jumble she didn’t like because it made no logical sense. Relief that she wasn’t his assigned companion, of course, because if he somehow had recognized her through the illusion, it would have been a disaster. But beneath the relief, sharp and unwelcome like a splinter under a fingernail, was something else, and she couldn’t find a word for it that she liked.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘jealousy,’ little Weaver,” said Vyxara thoroughly amused.

“Shut up.”

Vyxara just laughed.

She poured herself some more wine and tried to organize her thoughts and set her feelings aside with some effort. His visit here revealed something to her. So, obviously he had decided to go to one of the most expensive and exclusive establishments in the city. That said something about his wealth, because Violet Delights was not a place one could necessarily afford on a professor’s salary alone and it said something about his appetite.

Knowing this secret about him gave her a small, instinctive sense of security, a piece of knowledge that might come in handy someday.

“That cuts both ways,” Vyxara remarked, “If he ever finds out that you work here.”

True, but being careful was a habit for her by now.

She remained seated in the back parlor, even though her shift for the evening was actually already over. Madame Dolorosa didn’t ask why or perhaps she didn’t have to, because she suspected the answer anyway, if Valentina interpreted her mischievous smile correctly. Instead, she handed Valentina the ledger and asked her to check the totals on the expenses side for the last three months, and Valentina threw herself into the task with a gratitude that was out of all proportion to the triviality of the work.

After a while, sounds penetrated the ceiling from above, muffled by the solid construction of the house, but not entirely inaudible. Rose wasn’t quiet, that was one of her professional virtues actually. And her moaning became audible in the back parlor, at first the soft, melodic variety that Valentina knew as Rose’s work mode, sweet and convincing and truly lovely to listen to. But then, at some point, the pitch shifted, and the moaning became rougher, more breathless, and lost its playful routine.

Madame Dolorosa raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said. “How nice.”

She moaned for a long time. A very long time. With several climaxes.

“Rose is obviously having a good evening,” Vyxara commented.

“Obviously,” Valentina thought back, checking the same line in the ledger for the fourth time.

“Don’t you know the ledger by heart by now?”

“I’m thorough.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m thorough.”

“Whatever you say.”

It took a surprisingly long time before it grew quiet upstairs and she heard footsteps on the stairs. She hurried to the door.

Von Agrippin was coming down the front staircase. His gait was relaxed, almost springy, and he looked as if he were completely at peace with himself and the world. His doublet was neatly buttoned again, his hair a little more disheveled than when he’d arrived, and on his face was the same half-smile he wore when he took questions from his audience after a successful lecture.

He saw her standing in the doorway.

Von Agrippin stopped, looked her over briefly, and then curved his index finger in a casual, wordless gesture that beckoned her over to him.

Valentina in her guise as Lily walked over to him.

Up close, he smelled of Rose’s perfume and sweat. His gaze wandered over her face, briefly down to her neck, and then back into her eyes.

Then he took her chin in his hand and lifted it gently.

His fingers were warm and a little wrinkled as if he had taken a long bath, and they smelled, well, unmistakably of Rose. He turned her face slowly to one side, then to the other, and Valentina had the greatest trouble keeping her knees from buckling and her heart from galloping away.

“Pretty,” he said. His voice was even softer than in the lectures. “What’s your name?”

“Lily, my lord.”

“Lily.” He repeated the name and then let go of her chin. “Perhaps I’ll have you next time.”

He nodded to her with a smile that was both charming and aloof, and then he walked through the entrance hall and out the door.

Valentina stood still for a moment until the door had closed behind him. Then she went back to the rear salon, sat down in her chair, and picked up her wine cup.

“You’re trembling,” Vyxara said amusedly.

“I’m not just trembling.”

“I noticed.”

Madame Dolorosa had watched everything from her seat, but said nothing.

Valentina took a long sip of wine and set the cup down. “How often do we even have scholars as customers?”

Madame Dolorosa visibly had to stifle a laugh. “Occasionally. Most of them can rarely afford Violet Delights, but when they do come, they’re among the most pleasant customers.” She smiled her dark, knowing smile. “Very vivid imaginations. And they love to talk.”

Valentina snorted softly.

“This one, though,” Madame Dolorosa added, “doesn’t seem to have come here just to talk. Rose will probably have a big smile on her face right now.”

“I heard that,” Valentina said dryly.

“The whole of Bridgewater has probably heard that, sweetheart.”

They talked about other things for a while longer. From a demanding client Madame Dolorosa was expecting next week and whom she wasn’t sure who would be best suited to handle, to the question of whether she should raise Rose’s rates.

It was late when Valentina said goodbye.

On her way home through the dark streets of Bridgewater, her thoughts swirled, and she couldn’t stop the memory of how his fingers on her chin had felt from coming back again and again.

“He’s coming back,” said Vyxara.

“We don’t know that.”

“He said he’ll have you next time.”

“He said perhaps.”

Valentina turned onto Pinfeather Lane. The street was dark, quiet, and empty.

“And what will you do if he comes back and wants to have you?”

“We can worry about that when it happens.”

“Hmm,” Vyxara said.

~

A few days later, news spread that the Illumination had raided the village of Dillfield, located two days’ journey north of Bridgewater. A Rogue Weaver was suspected there, and the Emberwarden had done a thorough job. There had been several arrests, including the village midwife and a herbwife who had been the only source of medical care in the surrounding area for thirty years.

The village had been sealed off, houses searched, and even winter supplies confiscated, for whatever reason. Whether the Rogue Weaver had actually been found, no one heard anything about that.

Valentina sat with Innogen and Crispin in the university dining room on that rainy afternoon, and they, too, were discussing the news. It was, after all, more exciting than the barley soup.

Crispin set his spoon aside. “It’s sad, but it’s necessary,” he said. “A Rogue Weaver is no trivial matter. And some of these herbwifes sell poisons that can kill a man within a week without anyone recognizing the cause of death.”

Valentina broke off a piece of bread and dipped it into her soup. “Herbwifes are almost never Essence Weavers, Crispin. Most of them are just women who’ve learned which plants help with fever and which with toothaches, and they do that in areas where the nearest healer is three days’ journey away.”

She lowered her voice and leaned a little closer to him. “And before you pass judgment on herbwifes and their concoctions, I’d like to remind you that the advice and a potion from a herbwife are the reason you didn’t put a child in me when you took my virginity.”

Crispin blushed, from his neck to his ears, and lowered his gaze into his soup. It took a moment before he spoke again.

“That’s…” He cleared his throat. “That’s a fair point. But it doesn’t change the fact that the Illumination has a mission that goes beyond such individual cases.”

“Yes, but how do they act while they’re on this mission?” Valentina asked. “Do you remember Professor Horne?”

Crispin looked up. “Of course I remember.”

“They publicly flogged him and drove him out of the university. He was a broken man by the time they were done with him. Was he some kind of demon worshipper? Or was he perhaps just a flawed human who was used to make an example of because he was an easy target?”

Crispin folded his hands on the table. “Horne was a vile man, Valentina. He was a pervert! Even if he wasn’t influenced by demons, which we don’t know for certain, he has done things that-” He trailed off and shook his head. “The severity of his punishment was justified. If Illuminator Eastwald had been more lax, had maintained a less strict regime, then Gladder might have found a way to cause even more damage. I don’t deny that Illuminator Eastwald’s methods were unpleasant. But discomfort with the methods shouldn’t obscure the necessity of the mission.”

“The methods weren’t just ‘unpleasant’,” Valentina said calmly. “They were brutal.”

“The threat is brutal as well.”

Innogen, who had been listening in silence until then, raised her hands and made them both pause.

“Perhaps,” she said in a diplomatic tone, “the methods could be reformed without abandoning the mission entirely. Valentina and I met an Illuminator in Vandercourt who also believed that Eastwald’s approach was excessive. There are voices within the Illumination itself that advocate a different path.”

Crispin fell silent, deep in thought, and for a moment it looked as though this might be a compromise they could agree on, but then he sadly shook his head. “I understand what you mean, really. But when you consider what’s at stake, and ultimately, that is the eternal fate of souls, then any earthly injustice, however regrettable it may be, is a small price to pay. What is an injustice on Earth compared to an eternity of suffering?”

Valentina opened her mouth and closed it again. That was crazy. According to Crispin’s logic, there was no upper limit to acceptable earthly suffering, as long as it served to protect immortal souls.

“Do you see where this is leading?” Vyxara asked in her mind. “He just declared every cruelty justifiable as long as it’s done in the name of his cause.”

Valentina didn’t answer.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

~

After dinner, the three of them walked across the university courtyard. The rain had stopped, but the cobblestones were still wet and shiny, and the eternal flame of the Burning Tower was reflected in the puddles between the stones.

“What is it exactly that you find so fascinating about Von Agrippin’s lectures, Val?” Crispin asked casually.

“He’s brilliant,” said Valentina. “His theory is elegant and potentially groundbreaking.”

“You’ve gone to every single one of his lectures, I noticed.”

“I’ve also gone to every single one of Veilford’s lectures. Because I want to pass my master’s.”

Crispin smiled a thin smile. “You know what I mean. Is it really just academic interest?”

“I don’t understand why you’re even asking me that,” Valentina said wearily. “What do you hope to gain from this?”

Crispin fell silent. He started to say something but then stopped. And tried again. “I’m just worried about you.”

She looked at him from the side, and for a moment there was a hint of the old Crispin. A little hurt, a little uncertain, but trying his best.

Valentina touched his arm. “Crispin. I appreciate your concern. Really. And… we don’t have to agree on everything.”

He looked at her and nodded. But his gaze said something else.

“I have to go to evening prayer,” he said, his tone firmer again. “Shall we meet tomorrow before Emberfell’s lecture?”

“Of course.”

He smiled, raised his hand in farewell, and walked straight off toward the Burning Tower. A young man who knew exactly where he was going.