XXV Malcolm

– 1 Year 11 Months and 2 Days Before the Deadline –

Malcolm got off the phone, sitting in his office. Everything was all set. People by in large were predictable, and yet there still remained the occasional annoying variations from the established model. To solve this, Malcolm would mentally map out all the possibilities and formulate a plan so that regardless of how variables played out, Malcolm would benefit.

“Anna, send in Geoff.”

It was as he had expected. Geoff had done well with the project, while Malcolm had been a little distracted with his hobby. Geoff had, in fact, done too good a job. It was important to keep him humbled if his ambition was to retain its usefulness. His model of the man was still unrefined. How he reacted to the roadblock put in his way would tell Malcolm much.

Geoff strutted in with that particularly grating confidence almost solely exhibited by young men.

“You wanted to see me Sir Lioncourt?”

“Please have a seat.” Malcolm gestured at the chair across from his own.

Malcolm’s desk was a vast reddish patterned cocobolo. His chair was a leather and mahogany monstrosity. It bordered on a throne, but tastefully so. Sitting his guests in the much smaller, very elegant, and entirely uncomfortable chair across from his expansive desk was something Malcolm found to be rather effective in framing conversations. The mayor, of course, avoided this trap by lounging in the big reading couch off to the side, chain-smoking cigars as if Malcolm’s office was an extension of his parlor. He was a member of the Duke family, after all. Geoff, a Swordsly, dutifully sat in the small chair and tried to get comfortable.

“Smoke?” Malcolm asked, opening his silver case.

Geoff took out one of the black and gold cigarettes and lit it, taking shallow puffs.

“So, what news of the project?” Malcolm said, lacing his words with insinuation.

“Everything is ahead of schedule. It will be far more profitable than what was originally envisioned.”

Malcolm leaned back and exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “Glad to be out of spidersilk then?”

“Yes, I believe only working on projects of this magnitude can show what I am truly capable of.”

“Is that so? No setbacks?”

“None.”

“That is very interesting.” Malcolm folded his hands together, he raised his voice. “Anna, can you come back in here and repeat the message from earlier?”

Anna dutifully entered notepad in hand. “Yes, sir, Mr. Lioncourt, the planning commission called. They said with the alterations to the proposal, they are canceling the building permits.”

Geoff scoffed, his face quickly shifting, trying to hide indignant rage.

“Did it occur to you, Mr. Swordsly, that perhaps deviating from the original plans in the pursuit of additional profit might remove the fig leaf covering our little scheme with the garden revitalization?”

Geoff shifted uncomfortably.

“And that perhaps with our goods exposed, the political pressure would force the Mayor to go back on our little agreement?”

Geoff opened his mouth to speak, but words, it seemed, failed him.

“But you, Mr. Swordsly, you assured me that everything is fine—in fact, that everything is better—would you care to explain this discrepancy?” Malcolm sat relaxed, swirling his right hand, causing the smoke to trail it in long spirals.

It took some time, but Geoff finally began to speak, “I will have it taken care of, Sir. It is not a problem. I knew I could handle it. So, there was no need to bother you with it.”

“Truly? Do I have your word, just like I have your word that there are no setbacks? You should be wise enough to remember little escapes my notice. Not only have you displayed incompetence, but arrogance. I do not mind arrogance, Mr. Swordsly, especially amongst executives who can prove their worth, but few things grate as does the hollow arrogance of the incompetent. Perhaps you would be more comfortable, my little Icarus, back with the goats? You seemed to do so well with them.”

Geoff’s face almost cracked but not quite. It was clear the result of his internal struggle was to double down. “No sir, as I said, I have the matter well in hand. However, if you are so anxious about the course of the project, it seems like a matter you could easily resolve, Lord Lioncourt, sir.”

“Indeed I can, though doing tasks myself takes away most of the charm of delegating them. Is this understood?” 

Geoff sat in the seat, the ash of his cigarette falling to the floor. “Yes… Sir. I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t. You may continue in your current role Mr. Swordsly.” Just imagining all the meetings and paperwork made Malcolm vaguely ill. Geoff maintained just enough face to have some dignity but would be cautious and well cowed for a few months at least. His work was top-notch, and he seemed to have a bureaucrat’s heart for dealing with all the sniggly little details. “Be careful. Any further large alterations must, from now on, be approved by me. I will accept no more disappointments and, especially, no more hiding of crucial details, favorable or not.”

Geoff nodded, his jaw clenched so tightly that the sound of teeth against teeth became audible even across the chasm of his table.

“You may be excused, Mr. Swordsly.” He said with a casual wave of his hand as he turned his attention to some documents on his table.

Malcolm did not exactly enjoy asserting dominance, but if he didn’t, there would just be too many annoying yipping little dogs constantly nipping at his heels. Unquestioned dominance would be preferable. Unfortunately, the traits that made one question dominance were the very ones that made one so useful in the corporate world.

Coming home lately, he could sense something a little different in the penthouse. Everyone seemed more chipper than usual. Sapphire was drenched in sunlight reading a book lying on a nest of haphazardly arranged cushions that she had built under the window.

“You know, we do have a reading room for that.”

“But the sunlight is too perfect. Besides, that’s where I took the cushions from.”

Malcolm sighed audibly. “What am I going to do with you? What if guests come over and see my wife lying on the floor, legs crossed in the air?”

“Well, you could say, ‘This is Sapphire,’ and I’ll even put my book down, promise.” 

“Sir,” The new maid interjected, “I’ve only been here a few months, but I haven’t seen a single guest.”

“That’s right, maid Sally!” Sapphire said. He had given in and hired a maid named Sally, which was no easy feat. It would be easy enough to hire a woman and then pay her to change her name to Sally or just call her Sally, but Sapphire insisted that both were cheating. A help-wanted ad for maids that says ‘only women named Sally need apply’ sounds like either a joke or the work of a serial killer with very specific tastes. This was compounded by the fact that any attempt to assuage the reader that such an ad was not as weird as it sounded would just make it sound all the more strange. So instead, he had his butler go through the applications and hire the first amiable Sally that applied. The girl was affable but clumsy. She was a maid in name and costume only. It kind of felt like he bought a cat for his cat—a costly one at that.

To have an advertised rate high enough to attract enough applications to have one with the unlikely name of Sally ended up being higher than what even competent experienced maids got paid. Which meant that they all had to get raises in order to avoid resentment. Which meant for the same reason, so did his butler. And this is how Malcolm came to have what must be the highest-paid household staff in Elysia. Why couldn’t she just like cosmic diamond earrings like a normal girl? If she was a normal girl, she would be too boring to have caught his eye. Ultimately it was his own fault that he was stuck finding maid Sallys. While an insignificant drop in his finances it wouldn’t be good for his reputation if people knew. Jewelry and space vacations might cost several thousand times more, but they were socially understood and accepted ways of blowing money.

He turned to his butler, “Set up tea, Niles.” Then, looking directly at Sapphire, “You are cordially invited, my dear.” He said with a mock bow.

She sat across from him, trying to tilt the teacup just right to get it to balance. It was at least better than her cup-stacking phase. He had lost some irreplaceable communard artifacts to that one.

“So, how’s the hunt going?”

“It is early days still, but so far, he has just been holed up in that girl’s place, ordering enough wine and single malt to stock a large bar. I have been keeping tabs on the books he is ordering—mechanics, maps, and a few others. I am guessing he did not have access to them before—but nothing very definitive about his future plans as of yet. He better not hide there like a coward for the two years. It would be a waste of a substantial sum of money.”

“The singer? Why did you agree to not watch him there anyway?”

“Well, it will make his collateral more valuable to him, lowering the chance that he will run.”

She giggled, covering her mouth, “I am sure that is exactly why.”

“I admit, something about the idea did entertain me. Had he been the type to abandon her, I would not have made the agreement to begin with.”

“The hunt is just getting started. I’m sure he’ll eventually give you some fun, dear.”

“Those two are certainly peculiar, not nearly as practical as I have come to expect. It is especially surprising given the lives coppers face usually sands off such sentimentality.”

Her cup fell over, spilling tea. “I want to meet them!”

Malcolm lit a cigarette. “Sure, that would go over really well.”

She made a face. “So right now, you don’t have anything to do?”

“I do have work, you know. Pretty soon, we will be twice the size of any other corporation based in Elysia.”

“Atlas?”

“Pretty well-crushed at this point. I almost feel bad buying up so many of their assets at a discount.”

In a very proper accent, clearly attempting to mimic Malcolm, she announced, “Yes, I shall soon take over Elysia and then the world. The only thing I am incapable of is using contractions!”

Instead of responding, he merely shot her a threatening look.

Sapphire brushed the look off. “Oh, come on, there isn’t anyone else around! I know your bark doesn’t have any bite behind it.” 

“Tell that to all the people I killed.” He said, taking another puff. But it was true, there wasn’t anyone else around. He was so used to projecting strength it had become instinct. But wasn’t lowering his mask the whole point of having her around? At first, he had just needed some arm candy to bring to formal events, but he had started to realize she was a person who he could spend time with that didn’t drain him. She didn’t want anything from him—Well… that was not true, but the way she wanted things from him was different from the other people around him. Normally each petty person tried their best to grasp a shard of his power while still maintaining a face of innocence like Eli or Geoff did.  She had no desire for power, and he was confident at this point of the genuine nature of her innocence.

She picked up the spilled cup going back to balancing it. “Speaking of which, are you going to take any more contracts while you wait? I like hearing your stories. What Edgeworth writes is even better!”

“They don’t have enough sport to keep my interest anymore. Very few hunts ended up making for stories genuinely worth telling.”

“See, was that so hard?”

Malcolm raised his eyebrow. “What?”

“You said don’t!”

Malcolm chuckled. “Do you have any idea how hard my tutor would rap my knuckles if I so much as said an it’s? Among the eight families, contractions are seen to be as vulgar as chewing with your mouth open. It is a hard habit to break.”

“Why is it bad to chew with your mouth open?”

“Because people will judge you for it.”

“I thought you didn’t care about that.”

“I care not at all about how people feel about me. I care about how the way they feel about me affects me. It is for this reason, my dear Sapphire, that purity exists in this world as a snowflake can maintain its form in hell. The world is coarse enough to scratch even a diamond if you go against the grain for too long.”

Sapphire pushed her lips together, “I don’t feel scratched.”

“You are among a very lucky few. In fact, I would personally place your status even above that of the King himself. You are free in this little bubble from the grit and grime of the world, with no real responsibilities or expectations, because I just want you to be you—unless people are watching, then I need you to play the conventional well-behaved academy girl who knows not to chew with her mouth open. Imagine if every day we had to go to a ball and you had to behave. Or imagine if I had not chosen you, if you did not burst onto the scene yelling about your book, what your life would be like. I imagine scratched would not be the half of it.” A rare flinch told Malcolm he had gone a little too far. Some mental images are better left unconjured. He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “But my dear, my point is, someone has to make that bubble. It doesn’t sustain itself. I must go out and gather the energy to maintain it.”

“But when you are here, you can be in the bubble too.”

“I will work on it.” He paused for a moment and then said, “I’ll work on it.” He often looked inside to see how he felt, but most of the time, it just felt like there was nothing there. Other than the occasional flare, he couldn’t be sure what his feelings were—but he felt something, a little warmth growing in his chest just then. Was he, perhaps, developing feelings for his wife beyond mere amusement? Emotions were just chemical reactions to compel animals to act, but if he was going to be that reductionist, then everything in the world would just be an assortment of chemical reactions. Maybe, just maybe, some of them could simply be considered good.