Mastery requires discipline, his father had once said.
The words had been a rule and a lash all at once. Victor had made a habit of removing the lash and leaving the rule.
He counted four slow breaths, then six. The air steadied in his lungs. The quick, ungoverned thoughts of the night before folded themselves away into their proper drawers.
He considered the day’s figures, the timber that waited upriver, the mills that required a new schedule, the farm at Greystone that needed a different rotation if the soil were to hold its virtue.
He welcomed the work. Work did not gaze at a man as if demanding that he remove a mask he had worn since boyhood.
He could still feel the press of her soft palm against his cheek. He could still taste the questions that had shaken more than they should have.
“Run away? From whom?”
He had heard the fear in her voice, and had wanted, absurdly, to order it out of existence.
Foolish. Dangerous. Hold up your end of the bargain. Keep the rule. Seven nights, then you’re done.
He pushed off the wall and squared his shoulders. The mask was not false. It was the face that allowed the world to function. He did not have the luxury of discarding it.
Roderick appeared in the doorway and lifted a hand. “The great Halden awaits us with ink on his fingers and a sermon on his tongue.”
“Good,” Victor said. “Ink I can use.”
“Tongues you can cut,” Roderick murmured, amusement warming his tone.
Victor allowed the smallest smile. Then, he entered the counting house with the look that made clerks sit straighter and men whose fortunes wobbled stand in sudden awe of balance.
Halden’s warehouse smelled of hemp, ink, and ambition. Bales stood like small fortresses in neat ranks. Clerks scratched figures on foolscap with the grim joy of men who believed the world rested upon their sums.
Mr. Halden himself advanced, a florid-faced fellow holding a pocket watch like a trophy.
“Your Grace,” he boomed. “Wycliffe. An honor. I have been reviewing the last shipment of Baltic timber. You will find that my price remains the best in the city. The Dutch bid at a farthing higher per load. I, in the spirit of our long friendship, hold firm.”
“We are not friends,” Victor said pleasantly. “We are useful to one another. Apartnershipwould be more appropriate, Halden.”
Halden’s laugh fell short. “As you say. Pray, step into my office.”
The room beyond was narrow and hot. A fire roared as if Halden feared winter personally. He indicated the nearby chairs and laid out a tray with glasses that had seen better washing.
“Now,” he began, “about timber. Years at war taught us certain shortages. I maintain an admirable network. Always have. It costs money to keep such arteries clear. There is dock money, inspection money, and small tokens that smooth the path of diligence. You understand.”
“I understand that I will never pay twice for one service,” Victor rumbled. “Your invoice lists inspection at a shilling per load. The dock ledger shows the same shilling paid in your hand already. Either you refund mine, or you refund the dock.”
Halden’s face twisted into injured innocence. “A clerical error. I shall correct it in the next quarter.”
“You will correct it now,” Victor said. He took a single sheet out of his pocket. He had brought it for the purpose of avoiding an argument. The sums were laid out in columns, and at the bottom was the figure that should appear on Halden’s revised bill. “You may keep a copy.”
Halden read and blotted. His mouth worked, then smoothed into a thin line. “Very well. I concede.”
“Good. Now, about quality.” Victor tapped a sample list. “Of the last shipment, a tenth was sapwood rather than heart. You know I do not accept sap for structural work. You supplied it without a notation. You will replace it at your cost. You will also removethe inferior boards at once. If the lighter wood remains on my wharf for a week more, I shall charge you storage.”
Halden stared at him. “Your Grace, that is…mostirregular.”
“It is perfectly regular,” Victor countered. “We have agreed on the specifications. If you have forgotten them, my steward will recite them to you while you sleep.”
Roderick watched, idle and amused. Halden mopped his brow.
“There is also the matter of your foreman,” Victor added. “Mr. Pike has a hand in too many pockets. I have an affidavit from a carter who would prefer to keep his license. Dismiss Pike within the week, or dismiss the thought of my custom after Michaelmas.”
