Catherine let Mathieu stew.
From the safety of her sanctuary-room, she could have joined him immediately, but haste is the enemy of power. Patience, on the other hand, is its most faithful ally.
She let him wait, imagining his anxiety growing each time the tavern door opened on a face other than hers. She wanted him to be on the verge of despair, so that her appearance would not be a relief, but a miracle.
For an hour, then two, she remained at her window, watching the city's nightlife unfold below. She was no longer a part of that chaos, a potential victim in every dark alley. She was above it, an observer, a strategist.
A sense of ownership washed over her, cold and delicious. This city was a complex organism, and she was finally learning to feel its pulse, to divine its secret arteries.
When she judged that the wait had sufficiently steeped his spirit, she prepared herself.
She once again put on the dark green dress, the costume for her new role.
It was no longer a simple stolen dress, but the uniform of the woman she was becoming.
She brushed her hair until it shone, slipped the simple silver ring on her finger a solid weight representing her new fortune. Looking at herself in a shard of mirror, she saw her own gaze, calm and inscrutable.
She was ready.
She entered The Cracked Chalice with the same silent confidence as the first time.
The scene was exactly as she had foreseen. Mathieu was at the same table, in the same corner, but his demeanor was different.
He was no longer slumped, but sat upright, vibrating with nervous energy. He had only one drink before him, barely touched. His eyes never left the door.
When his gaze met hers, a wave of relief so powerful washed off him that she felt it physically. The gray thread of his anxiety was instantly consumed by an incandescent silver thread. He half-rose, nearly knocking over his chair.
Catherine approached and sat opposite him without a word, as if resuming a conversation that had been interrupted only minutes before.
The message was clear: I knew you would be here. This is all part of my plan.
"You came!" he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.
"I did what you said. I searched. All night. I found something… It's incredible, it's…"
He pulled a roll of parchment from his satchel, his hands shaking with excitement.
"Show me," she said simply.
He unrolled the document on the table.
It was an old property deed, covered in seals and signatures. Before he could even begin his breathless explanation, Catherine placed a hand on the parchment.
She closed her eyes for a moment, not to read the text, but to read its history. Her vision activated, and the threads of the past lit up.
She saw the greed of the first signatory, the subtle fraud in a clause, a forgotten addendum that tied this property not to the current owner, but to an older debt a debt to a rival of Silas, his moneylender.
She opened her eyes and looked at Mathieu.
"A forgotten servitude. A hidden claim in a debt-transfer clause, dating back two generations. The current landowner believes he owns it freely, but in reality, he is beholden to the Weavers' Guild. The same guild to which Silas owes a fortune, a debt he has tried to conceal through a web of secondary loans."
Mathieu stared at her, his mouth agape.
He hadn't yet had time to explain half of his findings. She had just summarized the result of ten hours of painstaking work in three sentences. The last vestige of doubt in his mind evaporated, replaced by an admiration that bordered on veneration.
"How…?"
"How I know is unimportant, Mathieu," she cut in gently. "What matters is what we do with it."
The word struck him, and her, with its power. We.
"We?" he repeated, as if he dared not believe it.
"You didn't really think I would give you a treasure map just to let you search for the gold alone, did you?" a hint of amusement in her voice. "You have the key, the access. I possess the knowledge of locks. Together, we can open doors."
He nodded, his eyes shining. For the first time in his life as a man in the shadows, someone saw his potential, not just his function. He felt like the equal of this extraordinary woman.
"So, what do we do?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.
"This information is a dagger," Catherine explained. "But it is useless if we cannot reach the target. For this claim to be activated, it must be recognized by the Office of Disputes. And the head of that office is Magistrate Valerius."
The color drained from Mathieu's face. "Valerius? But that's impossible. He's an arrogant, corrupt man… He's untouchable. He would never grant me an audience, he'd throw me out!"
Catherine looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her lips, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile full of promise and danger.
"He doesn't need to grant you an audience, Mathieu. You are the brains of our little enterprise." She paused, letting the full implication of her next words settle in the tavern's smoky air.
"I, on the other hand, will be… the face."