The Night Market was a miracle come to life. Juliana had never sold so many of her wares so easily, without having to make secret appointments in shady alleys or dark parking garages. No, here she could stall and sell her wares safely: a weighed blanket which allowed for dreamless recovering sleep, a garment woven with spider thread to provide the utmost of protection against weaponry and magic alike, a stola crafted of the fur of a yeti, and so on.
Her stall itself was as lavishly decorated as her garments and fabrics. When one entered through the black silk, one was transported to Victorian times. Old furniture renovated to perfection, bits and baubles of high value decorating the counter and the displays, and a work area for the craftswoman herself in the back.
But that was not enough for the ambitious witch. No, she wanted more than being a simple saleswoman. Therefore she stood in front of Abraham King now, member of the infamous Curia Regis. She chose not to wear any of her magical garments, relying on her persuasion skills and knowledge alone.
“What I can bring, Mr. King, is more than you could ever imagine. I know my way around weaving fabrics, yet I also know how to weave myself into crowds. Take away my makeup, my outfit, and what remains but a poor widow who goes unnoticed by most? I can thread the smallest needle; making an escape in dire situations is of no issue to me.”
She lifted her chin proudly and continued her speech in a strong but soft voice, lightly tainted by the harsh sounds of the Dutch language. “I do not stop until I have reached my goal, no matter the means necessary. I will do as little as I can and as much as I must to achieve the target set. Though assassins you may not need, an extra eye surely would be welcome. And who better to portray that role than a woman who can weave into crowds, tie up loose ends, develop close-knitted relationships without letting a stitch slide?”
There were an awful lot of metaphors related to the wonders of textile art in her membership application. However, Juliana did so on purpose: why hide what she was good at? Why not use it in her favour?
“So you see, Mr. King, why I may be of use to you. If necessary, I will gladly take it upon me to fulfill an inquiry to prove my worth. Had I not been reliable, I would have spilled the knowledge I have of your society long ago.”
Bram was quiet as Juliana made her pitch. One thick finger rested lightly on his strong, jutting chin, the elbow on his desk, as he took in the spiel. It sounded promising. But they always did. He did know Juliana a little better than he did many such hopefuls, and he did not disapprove of her. But one had to do far, far better than that to get him to back their application into the Curia Regis. Anyone that you put forward with your sponsorship, was at your own risk. Risk that could very well include your own membership if the novitiate proved unworthy. Thus, this was something Bram, as did they all, took very seriously.
But taking it seriously didn’t just mean being stringent about who was kept OUT—it was also about being sure to SNAP UP anyone who WOULD prove useful. After all, what were you doing at the table if you brought nothing to it? So if there was no reason to yet dismiss Juliana—and he had yet to see one—he was keen to root out if there was reason to keep her.
“That will be necessary, yes,” he said in an even tone, neither derisive nor encouraging, just neutral, as if she were filling out an application for a doctor’s appointment,
“I’m glad to hear you’re eager to prove your worth; as it happens, I have a few tasks right now you can accompany me on. It will test your power and mettle, but more importantly, your talent for subtlety, negotiations, delegation, and so on. It takes more than raw power to be one of us, but then, you clearly already know that.”
He stood up, his massive frame rising slowly but not lazily, and he extended a hand as he stepped out from around his desk, as though he were asking her to dance,
“What say you? Have you cleared your schedule for this evening?”