Chapter Three
Most of the lamps were turned down by the time Calya crept into Helm Naval Engineering’s office building in Renstown. Only the front light still glowed, causing her to move slowly as she navigated through the dark to the stairwell leading to the residential floor.
She’d nearly made it, fingers outstretched to grip the handrail, when light flared at the end of the hallway. She bit back a curse as the tall, gaunt figure of Arthur Wembly cast a long shadow across the floor.
“Miss Helm. I thought you would take an earlier ship,” the older man said.
“The festivities at Song’s Scrap went longer than I’d anticipated.” The small lie flowed smoothly off Calya’s tongue as she forced a conciliatory smile to her face.
A disappointed exhale accompanied Wembly’s frown. The man was the pinnacle of joyless. “I see. If you have a moment?—”
“Sorry, Mr. Wembly, but it’s been a long day, and the sail was unpleasant.” Only a partial lie that time. Anadae’s missing wards and the rumors about Brint lingered in Calya’s mind. She wanted a chance to look over last month’s shipping records before girding up for battle with the trustee. “If we could continue this in the morning, I’ll?—”
“I take it you did not read any of the messages I sent?”
Calya froze with one foot on the first stair. Smoothing her expression to neutral, she faced Wembly as he approached. “I’m afraid I didn’t have a chance. But I met with the administration while I was at the university. Everything from the protection route with AG should be cleared up, and the final accounting will be sent next quarter.”
She couldn’t recall the specifics of Brint’s failed research experiment, something about manufacturing a new type of armor that would’ve benefitted Avenor Guard. Only, the process was dangerous and toxic, and environmental cleanup very costly. Brint had used the longstanding relationship between his family’s security company and Helm Naval to hide the evidence of his royal fuckup. Gods only knew how long he’d have managed the deception if not for the joint protection deal Calya had brokered between their two companies using a route that went too close to Brint’s failure. In his efforts to keep it a secret, it had only unraveled further.
His mess, yet Andrin Helm saw only how it reflected poorly on her. She’d been the one to strike the deal, to not keep a closer eye on Brint and his erratic behavior. Her decisions that nearly embroiled Helm Naval Engineering in a scandal.
Eighteen months she’d been chafing under Wembly’s thumb as she cleaned up every last bit of Brint’s failure, excising every last hint of his taint. It was finally behind her.
Or so she’d thought.
“I’ve had letters from your father about your recent business arrangements made with the university,” Wembly said, stopping in front of her.
“I sent thorough reports. The terms are favorable for us,” Calya said, injecting false sweetness into her tone. “Not just monetarily, either. I’ve taken your lectures on building soft power and image to heart.”
Which generally meant taking whatever Wembly advised and either doing the opposite or doubling her efforts, depending on what exactly he had suggested. He was always too conservative for Calya’s taste.
“Miss Helm.” Wembly sighed, eyes closing as if the words physically pained him. “Impulsive unilateral decision-making is what led to my position here. Such deals require discussion.”
Calya had been patient. Mostly. Had worked her ass off even more. Put up with her parents’ and Wembly’s conservative approach, managing to secure deals and position HNE for growth despite the trustee’s restraining hand. To her mind, Helm Naval needed less pearl-clutching and more boldness in its actions and plans. Entering into trade deals with Sylveren University and the Rhellian government to handle the transport of the new healing tea was a step in the right direction. The agreement she’d made while in the Valley was just one of the many plans she had for taking HNE into the future. Plans which required her having the authority to take the company anywhere.
“Speaking of discussions, that reminds me.” Calya kept her tone light, but a wariness crossed over Wembly’s face regardless. “I spoke with my sister while I was across the lake. She mentioned something about a shipment of the wards she and Prince Sor’vahl made for delivery in Desmond’s Landing. I don’t recall any such amendments to our shipping schedules, do you?”
“When was the request made?”
“A month ago.”
Wembly inclined his head in an apologetic nod. “I’m afraid I can’t recall such a request, either. We handle so many contracts. A supplement to an already established route, especially for goods we already transport quite often is”—his bony shoulders twitched in a shrug—“not something for which we would make special note.”
A perfectly vague answer, nothing she could protest outright. How Wembly of him.
Calya mimicked his shrug. “I’ll see if the Renstown port commissioner still has records.” She raised a hand to stay Wembly’s argument. “I need to speak with them anyway. I have another deal in progress with the Sentinels to get them one of our fastest ships out to the Landing. There’s a lot to organize before we go, and not much time, so I’ll be?—”
“Go?” Wembly said, the lines on his brow deepening. “You intend to go with the Sentinels? To Desmond’s Landing?” He spoke slowly, a mix of confusion and consternation in every word.
“Yes. This missing shipment business and it occurring on that particular route… Well, given all that’s happened with that venture, I’d prefer to handle it. Personally.” Calya feigned a yawn. “I’m very tired, Mr. Wembly. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
The older man’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he didn’t press. Backing away with a short bow, he murmured, “I’ve left your father’s messages in your room. Please familiarize yourself with his arguments so we may discuss them in the morning.”
“Of course,” Calya said, her smile more of a polite grimace. “Goodnight, Mr. Wembly.”
She turned away and climbed the stairs, his farewell floating up behind her. Once safely alone in her room, she sighed in the direction of her bed before eschewing it for the small desk in the corner. Several boxes of documents rested on the floor next to the chair.
Calya scoffed as she eyed the envelope Wembly had left on the desktop, recognizing her father’s precise script—and how the letter was addressed to the Helm Naval office care of Wembly. Calya itched to rip the damned papers to shreds instead of read them.
