The Bell Tolls for Me

Duke Brett, the Stone Arbiter, straightened the papers that he held and looked at the accused solemnly. "Archbishop Pius. By the authority vested in me by His Majesty for this Royal Diet, and after careful deliberation, I deliver judgment."

Brett glanced at his papers, then continued. "You are found guilty of simony, of selling holy office as though salvation were a ledger to be balanced. Guilty of pluralism and absenteeism, treating bishoprics as annuities, not duties. Guilty of violating your vow of celibacy, not in secret shame but in arrogant defiance. These charges you do not contest, for how could you? They are written in ledgers, in birth records, in the silence of your vacant cathedrals.

"We have heard the testimony of those that stand closest with you, and all are in agreement of your wanting moral character. Even your own relatives speak against you on every count. You have misused sacred trust for private gain, and though many greater than you have sinned as much, few have done so with such open hands. After reviewing the laws of the land and the teachings of the Eternal Word, I have come to this sentence.

"Henceforth, you are stripped of the title Archbishop. You will be imprisoned for the remainder of your natural life. All of your assets will be seized, and distributed as is just and proper." Duke Brett set the papers down and looked into Pius' eyes unwaveringly. "This judgment is final, and laid down on behalf of the king."

And yet… the king was not here. Merely the nobles, who looked upon Pius as he stood there, broken and bereft.

"Next week, we will discuss the fate of Alistair, who spurred this talk of reformation." Brett slammed his gavel down. "This diet is no longer in session."

***

Isabella sat at a desk in one of the many rooms of Valerio's estate, quietly reading a spellbook. She hoped to expand her horizon beyond the purview of familiars alone. As she was reading, the door opened, and a familiar old man walked in. She raised her head to receive him.

"Gaspar is here to visit you, Your Highness," Roderick said, dipping his head. "Would you like to see him?"

"Certainly," Isabella confirmed.

Isabella waited for a few moments, reading through her spellbook quietly as Roderick went to retrieve Gaspar. He showed up a while later, looking brighter and livelier than ever.

"Your Highness," he greeted formally, his breath a little labored—he must've come right away. "I came here to start repaying my debt."

Isabella didn't deny he had a debt—she'd learned that doing so meant people often walked all over her goodwill. "What do you have?"

"I have a tip from some of the people that worked with Pius closely," Gaspar said, walking closer. "Cesare is making a move against Pius. And considering what he's aiming for… I assumed it might interest you. It won't begin to repay what you've done, but I hope it's a good beginning."

Isabella looked toward Roderick, a subtle smile playing about her face.

***

Cesare peered out at the formidable walled estate with his men. He looked to the right and the left, and upon seeing nothing, gave the signal to advance. They ran out into the grass plains and made it to the back gate under the cover of night. Once there, Cesare held up keys and fit them into the slot one by one until a key worked. Once inside the walls, they fanned out efficiently.

What erupted inside the halls of the estate was vicious and ruthless combat. Most of the men guarding this place had once served as holy paladins, before being disgraced and recruited by the archbishop. They were formidable opponents, but with the leadership and organization of Cesare and the element of surprise, they quickly fell. Cesare himself dueled the commander of the guard—a viciously strong opponent whom Cesare narrowly defeated.

Once the guards were dealt with, they set to work pillaging. The archbishop's vault was hidden behind a false bookcase—a false bookcase Cesare knew the intricacies of. The mechanism was slow, but it opened. Inside was a pantry of unimaginable wealth. Trays of emeralds, rubies, diamonds, sapphires. Bullions of silver and gold, stacked up into pyramids so heavy the shelves warped beneath their weight. Shelves of paper, each a deed of ownership of one kind or another. Cesare scanned a few, and then nodded to the men behind him.

"Each of you can take a little for your own pockets, but if we take too much, Albert will have our heads. He knows what's here." Cesare was lying, but these people didn't need to know that. It was difficult to keep men's greed in check when so much wealth was just before their eyes.

They worked fast. Bullions into wheeled containers, gems into small sacks. They didn't touch the art, though, or the deeds of land. Too bulky, too traceable. Gems and gold, though, could have any source. Ten minutes was all it took, and then they were out the same way they came in. Through the gate, into the treeline, where their transportation waited.

The carriages were there, ready and waiting. The only problem was… their horses were all gone. The moment that Cesare recognized that, he heard a whistling and metal impacting metal. He looked to his right to see one of his companions ducking low, their armor having narrowly prevented them from being pierced by an arrow.

"Ambush!" Cesare shouted at once, seeking cover behind the wood.

Cesare's mercenaries were very well equipped, and the initial volley of arrows only caused a few injuries. They managed to get to cover, but they couldn't tell how many enemies there were or how well armed they were. In the end, Cesare chose what he thought was the best option.

"Drop the bullions," he commanded. "Take the gemstones and everything else lightweight, and make a run for it."

His men's discipline overcame their greed, and they abandoned the heavy crates of precious metals. They ran out into the forest, knowing that it would be a desperate escape. The only thing that occupied Cesare's mind was trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Had Duke Albert cut him out of the deal? Had one of his own betrayed him?

Whatever the case, his team was one of many. He'd led this one because he knew the most valuable objects were there, but… if the rest of his raids were similarly beset, this would simply be a disaster of the highest magnitude.

***

Isabella and Valerio sat in a carriage as it rolled down the streets of the capital, nearing dusk. Valerio had a large smile on his face. The both of them were dressed far nicer than they usually were, as that was something necessitated by where they were going.

"About 37 two-kilogram bars of gold, 58 bars of silver of the same weight, and a few small sacks of gemstones that his fleeing men dropped in their haste," Valerio summarized to her. "My people tried to chase after Cesare, but I'll admit… he's quite good at leading his men, and he was well-equipped. We didn't kill even one of them." He shook his head. "A shame, that. Should've gone myself. We checked the estate, and there were some miscellaneous items that he neglected to get. Nothing that we could pawn off without arousing suspicion."

Isabella was glad that the advice that she had given Valerio had turned out to be fruitful, but she couldn't help but be aghast at the fact that that entire estate has been slaughtered. In her last life, Cesare had come across immense funds that he used to propel himself onto the stage as a major mercenary. She supposed that was one mystery unraveled.

"How much will this benefit you?" she asked.

"Us, you mean?" Valerio looked at her pointedly. "For now, I intend to save it. After all, if each of the opportunities that you present are as lucrative as this one, that money might multiply quickly."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Do you think it will be enough to placate Roderick?" she asked.

"I think Veronica's warming up to you. But Roderick?" Valerio trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't think he'll come around for a long while yet."

Isabella was somewhat dispirited, but wrinkled her nose as the carriage proceeded. "What's that smell?" she asked.

"Cow dung," Valerio explained, looking out the window. "Duke Albert sent about two carts full of dung to pour across the street here this morning. He's quite scared of the potential of your auction house if he's doing something that desperate. Not that it matters. After all, this grand opening of yours has incredibly high turnout."

Valerio pulled back the curtains of the carriage's window, and Isabella looked outside to see what was happening. Beyond the gate of the auction house that Archduke Felix had built, there were countless carriages and just as many attendants waiting. Soon, they would be one of them.

"Are you nervous?" Valerio asked her.

"Is the sky blue?" she asked dryly.

Valerio looked out. "The sun is setting, so I'd call it… burgundy. Almost a shade as beautiful as your eyes."

Isabella stared at him.

"What? I said almost." He crossed one leg over the other.

"Words like that certainly won't help calm my nervousness," Isabella rebuked.

"Knowing you, this will go fantastic," he said with confidence eclipsing her own.

***

Isabella sat with Valerio, Abigail, and Archduke Felix in one of the galleries overlooking the auction. The auction house was positively jammed full of countless people that once had graced the halls of Albert's auction hall. It would seem that, despite his best efforts, the duke had been unable to stop this grand opening. And a grand opening it promised to be. It seemed as though for every two counts there was at least one duke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, connoisseurs of taste and patrons of excess—welcome to an evening of decadent temptation! I shall be your host tonight—you may call me Mr. Robins," her chosen auctioneer said. Handsome, pleasing voice, silky intonations, lazy smile—he was everything she remembered. "Welcome… to the Velvet Block!" he said, proudly shouting the name of the auction house.

"All of us stand tonight on the very edge of beauty's precipice, ready to plunge into a new age. What age, you ask? The age of powdered elegance, of pearl-flecked vanity and cherubs too spoiled to know shame, comes to us now in glorious oil and gilded frame!" he continued.

"He's quite… foppish," Valerio complained.

"Wait until the bidding begins." Isabella smiled. "He knows how to spur the fear of missing out, and stoke the flames of rivalry to reach record high prices."

Valerio leaned back into his chair to watch the event unfold. As she sat there, Archduke Felix tapped her arm, and she turned her head to look at him.

"Well done, Your Highness," he praised. "Quite the crowd."

"To you as well," she returned.

"Another thing. I have it on good authority that there was a witness that was supposed to speak against you at the royal diet," Felix said.

Isabella looked back in surprise. "For true?"

"A woman by the name of Bernadetta," Felix explained. "But upon seeing how poorly things were going for Pius, she likely retracted."

Isabella swallowed. She didn't know what information that Bernadetta could have on her. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. It seemed that even beyond the royal court, its politics wouldn't leave her be. Somehow, Bernadetta had maintained relevance throughout the whole of Isabella's prior life. By now, it was nearly indisputable that the woman had other backers. But who?

For now, Isabella devoted her full attention toward this auction.

***

"And so, we open bidding," Mr. Robins called, voice ringing like a bell across the auction hall. "For lot seven: The Splendid Reverie—painted, allegedly, during the artist's second exile, and smuggled out beneath the floorboards of a bishop's litter. An image banned in three principalities, and worshipped in two."

Polite laughter rippled through the room.

"Four hundred gold," came Count Tiberian's smooth and dismissive voice as he raised his gloved hand. He lounged in a gallery bearing his family's banner, one leg lazily crossed over the other as if already imagining the painting hung above his wine cellar.

"The opening bid is in," Mr. Robins said smoothly and bombastically. "What comes after four, ladies and gentleman? Does anyone know? Can anyone educate me? I must've skipped that lesson…"

Across the room, Baroness Seraphine of House Verdelle snapped her fan closed. "Six hundred."

Mr. Robins turned toward her, eyes bright. "Ah yes! Six comes after four." People laughed. "The lady makes her move—six hundred ducats for this piece of divine relaxation and expertly drawn joy. Do we hear something higher? A seven, an eight? Does the count fight for every gold and silver, every scrap of dignity, or does he concede with grace to the gentler sex?"

Tiberian smiled without warmth. "One thousand."

"One thousand!" Robins cried, spinning theatrically. "The gods blush, the crowd sweats. Lady Seraphine, will you surrender this prize to a man whose taste runs no deeper than his boots? Surely your husband loves you that much…"

"Fifteen hundred," Seraphine said calmly.

Murmurs rose. Mr. Robins tapped his gavel against his palm. "Fifteen hundred. Do you hear that, my lords? That's the sound of a woman redecorating a parlor with your dignity. Will you let her tell the story of how she bested Count Tiberian every time someone comes to visit?"

Tiberian's smile twitched. "Two thousand."

"Two thousand gold coins," Mr. Robins said softly now, reverent. "The price of a modest vineyard."

Seraphine tilted her head, then muttered something to her husband beside her. He looked bitter, but gave a nod.

"Two thousand two fifty," Seraphine called out excitedly.

"It appears that the lovely lady Seraphine is committed to remaining unbeaten, unbroken. Can anyone challenge this Valkyrie? Does anyone dare step up?" Mr. Robins raised the gavel. "Then… sold," he said, voice crisp. "To Baroness Seraphine of House Verdelle… for two thousand two hundred and fifty gold. She's earned a very, very fine piece, and the eternal envy of all those seated here today. Let us now proceed to lot eight..."

Isabella had been watching this exchange with bright eyes. She leaned back in her chair and exhaled with pride. That painting had sold for more than it had in her previous life, likely due to the circumstances and the excellent salesmanship of Mr. Robins. She looked to her right where Archduke Felix watched with obvious joy. Then… to her left, where Valerio looked tired. He stared at her fondly, evidently more interested in her than the event. He wasn't very intrigued by this sort of thing, but he was here. That meant something to her.

Even if all of the next lots sold poorly, they had already secured themselves an amazing showing in the very first event. There was no denying that this auction house could be a competitor to Albert's. Without Albert's stranglehold on the market of artists, his vast financial resources, and thus importance, would slowly begin to wither.

Despite this joyous event, this was merely the very first step of Albert's precipitous downfall. It might be difficult to see from in here, but what she did today stabbed Duke Albert in the heart. Now, she had to make sure that he bled out. He wasn't a stupid man, and he could definitely see what was happening. He would undoubtedly be trying to prepare for what was coming.

But for now… this was her night. There was no taste sweeter.

***

Pius sat in a dismal cell, where the dripping of water was his only company. He heard the scraping of boots on stone, but didn't even shift his head. He felt dead inside. Broken. A hollow shell. Betrayed by his colleagues, his relatives, and his own son. It was nothing less than the total erasure of his life.

Pius heard keys rattling outside his cell and turned his head. He was expecting a meal, but what he saw made him pull his head off the wall and straighten immediately.

"Your Majesty?!" Pius exclaimed.

King Claude walked into the cell, accompanied by no holy paladins or any other such meddlers. He looked down at Pius.

"I'll be clear," Claude said. "I have no love or respect for you. You're a dog, and I'm happy to see you die a dog's death."

Pius said nothing, staring up at the king.

"But in a world of dogs, you need to know how they think. So… let's talk," Claude said, expression as serious as it'd ever been.

"About what?" Pius asked.

"About how to pry the fingers of the nobility from my neck."