The hour that followed the sending of Thorne's note was the longest of Catherine's plan.
She was a goddess chained to her velvet throne, capable of unleashing storms across the city but unable to feel the rain.
She had wagered a fortune in gold and a considerable part of her strategy on the weakness of a single man she had never met. She trusted in the power of Avarice, the simplest and most reliable of sins, but chance remained a variable she could not control. Not yet.
She tried to read, but the words in Lord Finch's journal seemed empty. Her mind was elsewhere, in the smoky, foul-smelling back room of The One-Eyed Goblin.
She imagined the scene: the howling crowd, the smell of sweat and ale, the sound of clashing fangs. And in the middle of it all, Viktor, a lieutenant of her father's empire, his face taut with hope and greed.
She was pulled from her reverie by footsteps in the corridor. It was Valerius, returning earlier than expected. He entered the library, his face beaming.
"A victory!" he trumpeted. "The chief accountant of the Eastern Sail has talked. He confessed to the existence of a system of slush funds. The vise is tightening, my Oracle. Your vision was true!"
He was expecting praise, admiration. Catherine offered him a thin, distant smile. "This is only the beginning, Magistrate. The serpent's head is still far away."
Her coldness unsettled him, but he chalked it up to her "mystical fatigue." He tried to entice her to the bedroom, but she gently refused, feigning an immense exhaustion from her "visions." Disappointed but submissive, he left her to her solitude, not without bestowing some condescending advice on the importance of rest.
As soon as he was gone, Catherine dropped her mask. Her attention was entirely focused on waiting for Thorne's report.
It finally arrived, late in the night, brought by a trembling Leo. The envelope was thin, containing only a single sheet.
Catherine locked the door, broke the seal, and her eyes quickly scanned the doctor's precise script.
"Oracle,
The spectacle lived up to my expectations. 'The Ghost' lost miserably, collapsing after thirty seconds of fighting. The pawn I hired, the 'Lucky Fool', played his part of despair to perfection. The crowd nearly lynched him.
The subject, Viktor, lost everything. I observed him. An adept of the Pathway of Wrath should have exploded, destroyed everything. But as you predicted, his Avarice is a deeper corruption than his Rage. He did not scream. He simply became… gray. His face drained of blood, his hands trembling. A broken man.
I approached him as he was staring into the void. I did not introduce myself as a doctor, but as the architect of his ruin. 'A fine game, was it not?' I asked him. He looked at me with dead eyes.
I explained: 'You lost tonight because my game was better than yours. You bet on information. I bet on a certainty. Imagine the profits we could make if we were playing on the same team.'
I offered him a choice. Remain an indebted and humiliated lieutenant, waiting for his creditors to claim their due in flesh and blood, or join a new 'patron,' one who understands the value of risk and who has the means to cover his losses and guarantee future winnings. In exchange, of course, for absolute loyalty and some information.
He did not hesitate for long. A man who has lost everything has nothing left to lose. He accepted. He is yours. He is awaiting my instructions in a room I have provided for him. He thinks I am his new master.
Congratulations, Oracle. You have just acquired an enemy lieutenant. I look forward to seeing how you intend to use your new toy. And I am expecting, of course, payment for my services, as well as our next… discussion.
Regards,
Dr. A.T."
Catherine set the letter down, a shiver running through her. It was done. She had a man on the inside. A lieutenant of The Rook, a man who knew the inner workings of the organization, its members, its safe houses. It was a gaping breach in her father's fortress. The plan, as risky as it was, had worked. Thorne had been the perfect tool, and his description of the scene was a delight of clinical cruelty.
Her web was expanding, every new thread giving her more control, more power. She had Valerius for political power, Madame Lin for the whispers of the street, Thorne for clandestine operations, and now, Viktor, for the enemy's secrets.
Her mind raced, the possibilities opening up before her. Viktor knew the security routines. He knew the money flows. He knew who paid whom. And above all, as the man in charge of the dirty work, he had to know where The Rook hid his most precious assets… or his oldest secrets. Like an old man who knew too much.
She did not waste a moment. She took a new sheet of parchment, her hand moving with a new speed and certainty. The time for doubt and waiting was over. It was time to go on the offensive.
She drafted a new note for Doctor Thorne, an order to be passed on to their new agent. It was her first direct command to a member of her father's organization, her first true act of usurpation.
The note was simple, direct, and left no room for interpretation.
"Thorne,
Give this order to Viktor. His first test of loyalty. His first chance to repay his debt.
I want to know where they have moved Jun-Ho Park. The exact address.
And I want you to arrange a 'distraction' for his guard, Milo. I need an hour. A single hour, alone with the old man."
She sealed the letter. The subtle game of chess was over. She had just given the order to prepare the final assault on the enemy's master piece.