Catherine's smile, as she read Madame Lin's report, was easily visible, seeing her adversary make a beginner's mistake.
She had spent weeks preparing to face her father's lieutenants, expecting monsters from the Pathway of Pride or Wrath, paragons of strength and will.
And instead, the first to present himself, Viktor, was governed by the most common and most despicable of sins: Avarice.
A man who owes money to everyone is a desperate man.
And a desperate man is a predictable man.
His paranoia as a lieutenant of The Rook would always be at war with his gambler's thirst for the next big score, the one that would erase all his debts. Catherine was not going to offer him a score. She was going to custom-build one for him.
Her plan took shape with a formidable clarity. She would not approach Viktor with the seduction of the flesh, nor with the threat of violence. She would seduce him with the promise of a sure victory, the most irresistible bait for a gambler's soul.
She drafted new instructions for Doctor Thorne, far more complex and theatrical than the last. She attached a purse containing a sum of gold so substantial it could have bought The One-Eyed Goblin tavern and all its patrons. Gold was a weapon, and she was beginning to appreciate its simplicity.
The orders were precise.
Thorne was not to approach Viktor. He first had to find a new pawn and build him a legend.
Sending to the One-Eyed Goblin a disposable person, but as a foreign, eccentric, and degenerate aristocrat, with a passion for the brutal sport of dog fighting.
He was to buy the most pitiful dog from the kennels, bet heavily on it, and make it win spectacularly.
The message also contained the recipe for one of Thorne's alchemical concoctions, modified by Catherine, who had read his notes with particular attention.
A neuromuscular stimulant that would provoke an incredible burst of fury and strength in an animal for a few minutes, before leaving it on the verge of collapse. A perfect spectacle.
Over the next few days, Catherine followed her plan's progress through the succinct reports from Madame Lin, whose "sparrows" were now watching the tavern with great care.
Thorne played his part to perfection.
He sent a man of no consequence, drawn by the lure of profit. The man presented himself at The One-Eyed Goblin as a foreign dandy, betting insane sums on a scrawny mutt that looked on the verge of dying of old age.
The crowd mocked him, the bookies rubbing their hands together. Then the fight began. The man's dog, which the regulars had nicknamed "The Ghost," transformed. It fought with a supernatural ferocity, shredding opponents twice its size, before collapsing, trembling, at the end of the fight.
The man repeated the feat three times in one week. The legend of the "lucky clown" and his phantom dog spread throughout the tanners' district.
He had become the darling of the gamblers, an eccentric who seemed to have a pact with the god of chance.
Catherine read these reports with a cold satisfaction.
The stage was set.
The audience was captivated. It was time to set the trap.
She sent a new instruction to Thorne.
For the next big fight of the weekend, he was to spread a rumor. One of his agents, a henchman discreetly paid with Catherine's gold, "confided" in the tavern's bookmaker.
The dog, The Ghost, was injured. Its spectacular victories had taken their toll. The "Lucky Fool," knowing his dog was going to lose, was planning to place a massive bet against himself to recoup some of his winnings.
It was a secret. An inside tip. A guaranteed victory.
As expected, the rumor spread like a virus through the tavern's ecosystem of debt and despair. And it reached the ears of Viktor.
The next report from Madame Lin was the one Catherine was waiting for. Viktor, whose threads of avarice must have been screaming in unison, had spent the last two days liquidating assets, borrowing from moneylenders even more dangerous than the ones he already owed. He had gathered every coin he could find. He was going to bet everything on this "sure victory."
The night of the fight arrived. Catherine, in her library, was tense. She had given up her vision, but she could almost feel the tension emanating from The One-Eyed Goblin across the city.
The last report of the evening arrived, brought by a breathless Leo. It was a note from Thorne.
"He has bitten. Hard. His entire fortune is on the table. The fight is in an hour. After his defeat, I will invite him to 'discuss mutual investment opportunities.' He will be broken, humiliated, and desperate. He will accept. The game is yours, Oracle."
The unknown person who was the patron of the lucky fool was starting to act.
Catherine set the note down. Her plan, based on the simplest of human weaknesses, had worked to perfection. She had seduced Viktor, not with her body, but with the promise of gold. She had played with his gambler's soul, and she had won before the cards were even dealt.
She turned to the window, looking at the distant glow of the city. She had a new pawn, a lieutenant of her father's, about to fall entirely under her control. A pawn who could lead her to Jun-Ho Park, and from there, to the very heart of the empire she coveted.
She thought of the myriad of threads she was pulling across the city. The thread of Mathieu's devotion. The thread of Valerius's lust. The thread of Thorne's greedy professionalism. And now, the thread of Viktor's debt and despair. Her web was growing.
A cold, satisfied smile spread across her face. She closed her eyes, and in her mind, she heard the sound of a deck of cards being shuffled. It was the sound of her own power, the music of her vengeance taking shape, a complex melody played with the souls of men.