Chương 96: 30 – Interlude: The Mysterious Weaver

Chamuet licked his suddenly dry lips. He used his skill again, making sure that he was using it properly. Nothing happened. He turned to look at the Duchess. Her life story spilled out before him like a book as it always did. He examined the housekeeper and discovered, yet again, that no matter how much he knew about her, there was almost nothing he could do to make her like him. It actually impressed him.

She was aware of his skill to such a degree that no matter what he did, or how he spoke, nothing would ever convince her that he was trustworthy. It was a rare strength of character. Not unheard of. Easier to find when people knew that his entire free point gain had been devoted to the Observe skill. They became naturally untrusting when they knew just how much he could pick out about them. The Duchess herself was also refreshing, but in a different way. She simply didn't care.

He knew many strange things about her that he was sure she wouldn't want spread around… but if they were, she would just kill him, and that would be the end of it. He glanced at the old stone wall and discovered a weakness where a strong gauntleted fist might punch a hole through to the next room. It would require probably upwards of thirty strength, but it could be done. He filed that away but continued frantically observing everything.

The Head Housekeeper's daughter, Amadra, a somewhat cute little scullion maid who would grow up to be a beauty, kept glancing at the new Weaver like she expected her to open her mouth and breathe fire. So… he could still glean information indirectly, at least. Why? How? He had encountered people who his Observe skill did not affect, but only in people who had devoted significant time to their deception skill. Why would a weaver do such a thing?

It made no sense and would likely cause problems on down the line if he didn't figure it out. The most important part was that there were no problems with his skill. Just something strange about the girl. Something that he had to admit, he found intriguing. The girl had her head bowed in a perfect picture of demure reverence as she was presented to the Duchess. She looked nervous, though she hid it surprisingly well. Slightly red ears. Stiff back, in a way that implied she was performing.

Dry lips, as she presented the first dress she had made for the Duchess since arriving. The dress itself was as exquisite as the first had been and equally unique. A bright red that would accent the Duchess's blonde hair. It was cut a tad shorter than the usual fashion and intended to be worn with an accompanying overcoat that the wearer could remove as the temperature and audience dictated. If the Duchess wore this, it would be scandalous… but not too scandalous.

The Duchess had asked the girl for daring, comfortable, and exotic, and he'd eat his hat if the girl hadn't delivered exactly what she'd wanted. He felt a sudden surge of lust that he immediately quelled, glancing at the Duchess and imagining her in the dress. If she wanted to provoke a response at the next ball, this would certainly do it. She didn't consult him. She didn't need to. The dress was a masterpiece.

"This is magnificent," the Duchess said as she stepped down the stairs of the Grand Hall and approached the weaver. She laid gloved hands on the soft threads of the dress. It was soft, yet firm. The product of days of work, even from an elite-talented weaver. Exquisite Velvet Dress Effect 1: When wearing this dress, gain Charisma +8 Eight. Eight. What an incredible piece of cloth. If anything, he'd underestimated the impact this weaver would have on the fashion of Denarla and Tacuria when he'd said the next decade.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted a small glimpse of silver hovering behind the weaver's back. Needles. Two needles. She was rolling them across her fingers the same way a merchant might roll a coin. He was confident that he would have enough to say to the Duchess to make sure she didn't know the girl was apparently immune to his Observe… but it concerned him. The Duchess cooed over the girl, congratulating her on such a marvelous first dress.

She then began to point out every non-existent flaw and perceived aesthetic imperfection that she could invent, making sure the weaver knew that even if the Duchess was pleased, she was never satisfied. The Duchess's methodology was insidious, but it worked to his advantage. She'd given up the pretense with him because she knew he could see right through it, but he would not want to be on the receiving end even if he could tell it was all fake.

Watching the Weaver go from proud to worried to humbly chastised for creating the single most beautiful piece of cloth he'd seen in years left a bitter taste in his mouth, and created a well of sympathy that he'd thought he'd long since exorcised from himself. The problem was, he didn't know that was what she was feeling. If she was hiding simmering resentment, or zealous passion to do better next time? He had no idea.

Based on her expression and features, she certainly seemed like a regular weaver, but without the surety… how could he know? It was… exciting. He excused himself from the audience chamber but didn't go far. Instead, he waited by the door as the few attendees filed out of the room. The Duchess would leave by the back entrance to the Grand Hall so he was free to wait until the girl left. She was the last to exit the room, ushered out by the downright fearful Amadra.

He thought he'd have to make some excuse to speak with the weaver alone, but the girl excused herself and ran off after the rest of the staff, leaving the Weaver alone.

"Are you well, Mistress Weaver?" he asked, gently. She looked up, and jumped, startled to see him standing there.

"You… were in the room. To the Duchess's far left, I think. Who are you?" she asked. He grinned.

"Is that how you spoke to the Duchess? If so, it's no wonder she began tearing your work down." The girl's eyes widened in horror, and she immediately dipped into a clumsy curtsy.

"I'm so sorry, my lord! I haven't been at court for more than a month and–!" He snickered, interrupting the stream of apologies and excuses. If this girl was an actress, then she was one of the best he'd ever seen. Then again, he might be biased. Until now, he'd damn near been able to read people's minds based on the most minute details.

"Wh-what?" She asked, horror and affront warring inside her.

"I'm no lord. I'm a commoner, same as you. Another toy for the duchess's whims, albeit one with a bit more experience in these matters," he said. He still wasn't ruling out that the girl was a spy, but finding spies wasn't his job.

"Oh. I see," she said.

"That was a bit harsh, was it not?" he asked.

"I… I thought I did good!" she complained.

"I saw her eyes! She looked so excited, but then…"

"She took the dress, did she not?" he asked, curiously. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The woman thought about it for a moment, continuing to twiddle those two needles in her hands, before she met his eyes again.

"Yes…?" she asked.

"I suppose she did."

"Made you feel like it was just barely good enough. Acceptable. Nothing amazing. You watch, though. Watch what she wears at the ball tomorrow night," he said.

"It'll be that dress. I guarantee it."

"But… why would she do that?" she asked. He sighed.

"To be honest? I think it's just a habit for her at this point."

"Habit? To tear down her servants, for work well done!? Why?" He shrugged.

"It gets results. Had you not met me, would you not have left absolutely determined to impress her next time?" She scowled.

"Why… tell me this? It sounds to me like you'd prefer I botch the next dress and get kicked out of the castle," she said.

"I wouldn't recommend that," he said, amused.

"She is a petty little thing, but if you think her little digs and put downs were bad in there, you should see how she acts when someone has actually done a poor job."

"So… so… what do I do?" she asked. She looked so genuinely upset. He'd seen the look so many times, and always observe had confirmed it for him. For her, there was nothing! Why!? It was infuriating.

"I suggest making a better dress." She scowled.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I thought it was," he replied with a grin. She stared at him for a few moments.

"You're a bit of a donkey, aren't you?" He snorted, sputtering, amused. He'd been certain the girl would lash out at him, not act snide. He couldn't predict her! A mystery and a treat, all wrapped up in one young woman.

"A Lord, to an ass, in less than five seconds. A new record," he said with a bow.

"So what did the Duchess actually think of the dress?" she asked, completely unintimidated.

"Trust your instincts. You saw her eyes the same as I did. She adored it," he said.

"Rest easy, Weaver."

"Perhaps I should let the Duchess know that her commoner toy is giving away her secrets? Rest easy, yourself! Whoever you are." Rather than be frightened, Chamuet was delighted. First and foremost, it would be months until this girl might be allowed anywhere near the Duchess in private. The threat was as empty as they came, and yet she'd been brave enough to make it anyway.

"You're quite right! I haven't introduced myself, have I? I am Chamuet Stableman," he said with a haughty bow.

"I fill a role somewhere between Advisor and Court Jester for the Duchess. And you, my dear?" The girl had a small smile creeping up the side of her cheek. As best he could tell, she was amused… but he couldn't be sure. It was thrilling!

"Well, Advisor-Fool Chamuet. I am Ilhadira Weaver. Thank you for the advice. You're quite terrible at your job, though. You should try being a fool full-time. You have some talent for it." He snickered before turning around and walking away. Chamuet didn't make it three steps before he tripped and caught himself on the wall. He almost managed to right himself when he slipped a second time, tumbling to the ground. The girl giggled at him, and he flushed. His footwork skill was only in the thirties.

He was about to pull himself up, but stopped as a hand appeared under his nose.

"That looked like quite the fall. You alright?" she asked. He blinked. The girl… had a very beautiful smile. Fascinating. He took her hand, and she helped pull him back to his feet.

"I'll… be fine. Thank you."

"Any time!" the Weaver said brightly before turning and walking down the hall, presumably back to her room. His cheeks flushed. Most days, he felt he'd made the right choice with his skill points… but sometimes he would kill to have a bit more coordination. He returned to the Duchess's chambers, only to find them frustratingly empty. He was hoping the Lady might be in the mood for something more entertaining than words.

He could use a bit of fun to ease the humiliation of tumbling into the damn wall, but apparently she hadn't rushed straight off to stare at herself in the mirror as he'd expected. Something must have detained her, and only one thing could do that anymore. He turned and rushed back to the council chamber. The door was closed and guarded, but the knights in their gleaming armor stepped aside to admit him before he even requested it. That was new. A conversation spilled out of the door the moment the knight opened it.

"-ogon's last position has been overrun! According to the latest runners, he is in full retreat. The remains of his army are fleeing into the Eastern Woods. He no longer stands between the Eschal army and us. We must send him reinforcements, My Lady!" The Duchess was scowling. She'd never responded well to being told she must do anything. Lieutenant General Mostorn didn't realize it, but he was making it a certainty that the woman wouldn't send any aid to the front.

Not that Chamuet had done any better on that himself. She'd agreed with him that five thousand men would certainly help the countryside and that fifteen thousand might make a difference for Neogon! She'd had everything prepared, and then the brainless Duchess promptly didn't issue the orders. If he didn't know better, he might think the woman was toying with him. But he did know better. The Duchess simply did not care. She couldn't be bothered.

Steering her toward decisions that might actually help Tacuria would've been easier if the Duchess actually were an Eschal spy. At least then she might be tricked!

"If he's been routed, then he must not have been a very competent commander, was he? Does that mean the Eschal army is coming here? Bother," she pouted. The soldier took a deep breath. He was in command of the garrison that Denarla had begun mustering as soon as news of the war had broken out.

"My lady… please allow me to take my men to the field and regroup with General Neogon!"

"How many men do we have again, General?" she asked.

"It's Lieutenant General, and we have nearly one hundred and ten thousand. But most of those are older veterans or new recr–!"

"And what is the size force coming towards us?" she asked. The man bristled.

"Less than one hundred thousand, by the last scouting estimates, but evidence suggests that they have a fresh batch of reinforcements and that they've split their–!"

"So!" she interrupted as if that settled the entire matter.

"We have more men, and they are coming to us! That means we'll be safe behind our walls while they die in droves outside them! Plus, the king's army is on its way. I see absolutely no reason to risk our position here to help a man who failed all of his objectives." The Duchess spotted Chamuet entering, and her eyes lit up. He smiled. He did like the girl. If only she actually gave the slightest damn about anything but herself.

"That's not…!" the man paused and visibly stilled himself.

"Raw numbers can not determine the effectiveness of an army. Most of my men are raw recruits, enlisted for less than two months, and the walls have proven themselves ineffective! That doesn't even include the thousands of rift monsters roaming the countryside!"

"All the more reason for you to remain here and keep the vast majority of Tacurian citizens who have gathered here safe. Neogon's defeat changes nothing. That will be all, General." Rather than let the soldier depart, the Duchess turned toward Chamuet and practically bounced her way over to him, dismissing the man more thoroughly than if she'd ordered him thrown out.

"So!? How did she act? Was she mad?" she asked, giddily. He frowned." That General seemed pretty mad. What was all that about?" The Duchess smirked.

"It's Lieutenant General." He rolled his eyes and prompted her to continue. She sighed.

"War, war, and more war. It's like they think the whole country is going to come crashing down around them at any moment, just because one old man couldn't hold onto a few forts. Tell me about the Weaver!" He let a smile cross his features. He had to keep her interest. It was the only way he might manage to convince her to help.

"She was weeping like a babe," he lied.

"She's more determined than ever to make you a dress that will shock the entire court." That was probably true. He just didn't think she'd need to put all that much effort into it.

"Wonderful!" the Duchess said.

"I can't wait for the ball! And you? Have you been adding points to that dancing skill of yours?" He winced. She grinned. As it turned out, she could sometimes read him like an open book, too.

"You'll work that talent of yours to the bone, and have at least fifty points in Dancing by tomorrow night, won't you?"

"And what do I get in return?" he asked. She pouted.

"The pleasure of my company?" He blinked as she stood up onto her toes, leaning in close to his ear. Her blonde hair caressed his cheek.

"I want you to see me in this dress. Before anyone else. Meet me in chambers in ten minutes." Her voice was tinged with laughter. It always was. He considered pushing to convince her to listen to the general… but he was no saint.

"I'll dance like no one you've ever seen," he rasped.