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People act with such limited perspective. They divide everything up into neat little boxes and never think to question their assumptions. They fail to see the bigger picture. Their tiny minds lack the capacity to behold the world in all its glory.
They’re not like him.
They can’t see the war.
More’s the pity. For them, not for him. He can use their foundering for his own ends.
After all, decisive victory is always easier when then other side hasn’t even realized that the war has started.
~~~
He attends one such battle tonight.
It requires careful preparation – it would not do to be caught off guard. First, he bathes and perfumes himself with vanilla and rosewood – the scent he has settled upon as his upper-class signature. Scent is a powerful thing, tied every so strongly to memory. Yet another way in which he may be known and unknown as he pleases. A spritz of his perfume in the right room at the right time could easily sow division amongst his enemies. And should he wish to go about in disguise, its lack would simply be one more note of discord with which to obscure his true nature.
After that, his next layer of armor, his next weapon. Clothing recently returned from the tailor, made and remade to his precise instructions. It is the perfect sort of design – fashionable but not too fashionable, speaking of wealth but not screaming of it, the sort of thing that makes it clear that he belongs here in these elevated circles. That he is, for all his low origins, one of them. No accusation of cuckoo-ism on his part could be sustained, dressed as he is in all the raiment of the upper classes. And further still, every fabric, every cut, every fastening has been pressed into service in his great war. His coat is cut in a particular style that one society matron had said suited him perfectly. It will please her. More importantly, her fawning will displease her husband in a way that will send him straight to the bar and then to the gaming tables, where – drunk – he will proceed to lose money he already does not have. His piling bills will force him to withdraw his investment in a particular Knightly society. All to his advantage.
A ring upon his left hand boasts a Calimshan emerald near the size of a dove egg, brought in on one of his own merchant cogs within the past fortnight. The patriars will gush at its size and clarity and ask after its origin, which he will be only too happy to reveal. Especially the fact that he’s brought over cases of them at a price never before seen. Not all had his talents in negotiations, after all. And why of course he intends to see more brought over, and other gems besides! Such talk will reach the ears of one particular man there, one whose family is invested heavily in the gem trade. And perhaps worry over his declining fortunes might lead him to stay home in the future, far away from fancy parties, and thus prevent him from making ill-thought-out comments to certain other attendees. A humbling might teach the man to mind his manners in front of his natural betters.
A cravat is wound around his neck. It is the highest quality silk, dyed a deep, bloody red – it alone had cost more money than his parents had seen in a year. He should know. He’d kept the books. But more important than the wealthy bona fides it provides is the enchantment laid upon it. One that would stop a single strike of a blade, just the once. Silk did not take enchantment well he had been told. The magic ran from it like water. A larger swathe might hold it better, but in such a slight and delicate strip as this it was only through the very great skill of the enchanter that any magic would take root at all. He had half believed it impossible himself, when they had presented it to him. But perhaps he ought to have known better. They had always had a way of surprising him. The knot he ties it in is more important still – a request from Vesper. It is specific and unusual and full to bursting with meaning. Upon seeing it, one man will believe he has their support, another will feel snubbed. The snubbed man is well known for his hot temper, a temper he will not hold even in public. He will confront them, by appearance unprovoked to all outsiders, and be disgraced for it. The man supported will relax and drink and return home in a stupor, and when he wakes the next morning he will put anything out of place in his chambers down to his own drunken stumblings. Anything missing will be attributed to the same. A convenient cover and neat little solution, all told.
Finally, a multitude of minor details. A button, looser than the others, one he could snap off at a moment’s notice should he need to leave a token of his passage in some bed chamber or other. A sown flat pocket, hiding both a poison and its antidote. A buckle on a delicate shoe from which, if pressed in just the right place, would snick forth a small, sharp blade. One must always be prepared for any unexpected opportunity that might arise in war, lest one lose an advantage all for want of a simple tool. He would do no such thing. He plays to win, always has.
Satisfied with his appearance and weapons, he leaves his dressing room for the entry hall where he hopes his greatest armament yet awaits him. He is pleased to see that they do, resplendent in the clothes he had chosen for them, the very image of beauty and power and barely restrained violence. Their regalia hides many touches similar to his own, he knows. Some of his devising, some of theirs. He is familiar with it all, having given every last measurement to his tailor in exacting detail, and yet he finds cannot keep his eyes from them as he descends, entranced by the ripple of muscle under silk, by the emerald-set necklace that mirrors his own ring so picturesquely, by the canny eyes that divine the drift of his thoughts so exactingly.
“Shall we?” Vesper asks, offering him their arm. He takes it willingly and they set off, a pair not matched but reflecting one another nonetheless.
“I know you have picked your own targets for tonight,” they say, touching their necklace, a whisper of amusement brushing over their features, “but I have a list besides, one you’d do well to heed. A few precision strikes now might see this campaign shortened considerably.”
“Do tell,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially, armed and armored for the night to come.