26th Martius in Clockthon.
"Vashtun, we have to find the Mirror of Ulthar before someone else does. The Sovereign's Gambit is only seventeen days away," I said. We were in his underground hideout, in the same room lined with red velvet and filled with ebony furniture. The whiteboard in the corner was now covered in diagrams linking House Droct to that mysterious artifact.
"Of course," Vashtun answered from behind his black jester mask. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "But what can we do right now? Nothing. To steal it, we'd have to infiltrate Droct's estate, and you said yourself that would require a complete understanding of your Motley Fool's powers."
"That's right," I said. "But we can take it if we can tell which one is the real Mirror of Ulthar and which ones are decoys. As you know, I heard a rumor yesterday that House Droct bought up dozens of mirrors without even knowing what the real Mirror looks like."
This was the heart of our problem. According to the Ghost Librarian's intel, we knew House Droct had the Mirror of Ulthar. We knew they intended to use it during the Sovereign's Gambit to cripple the heirs of other factions. But we didn't know what it looked like, where they were keeping it, or how it worked. Infiltrating Droct's estate, which was basically a military fortress disguised as a noble's manor, without that information would be suicide.
"So, we're back at square one," Vashtun said with a hint of mockery. "We need information, and to get information, we need access, and to get access, we need to know where to look. It's a vicious cycle."
"Every circle has a weak point," I shot back. "We just haven't found it yet. House Droct may be strong, but they're not perfect. You know as well as I do that they're arrogant, and arrogance always creates an opening."
I stood up and walked to the whiteboard. "We can't strike their fortress head-on. So, we'll make them leave their fortress. We'll create a problem that forces them to bring the Mirror out."
"And what kind of problem would that be?" Vashtun asked, now genuinely intrigued.
"A problem tied to their biggest weakness, which is their reputation," I explained. "House Droct built its image on military might and unshakable discipline. We'll attack that image. We'll make them look weak, incompetent, and ridiculous in front of all of Clockthon."
The plan began to take shape in my mind.
"Milverton," I said, using his codename again. "I want you to use all your resources for one goal: to humiliate House Droct. No violence and no trail leading back to us. I want a string of embarrassing, awkward 'accidents' to fall on them."
"Such as?"
"For example," I began, "I want the shipment of new uniforms for their elite guard unit to 'accidentally' get switched with circus costumes. Picture Marshal Droct's reaction when he sees his proud troops marching in polka-dot pants and frilly collars."
Vashtun chuckled behind his mask. "That's wicked. Brilliant. I love it."
"Next," I continued, "hire a few actors to pose as tax officers from the Ministry of Finance and conduct a 'surprise audit' at one of their armories, right when they're receiving an important delivery. Create bureaucratic chaos. Make them fill out pointless forms for hours. It'll make them look powerless against the bureaucracy."
"And finally, I want you to use the Magpie network to spread the most absurd rumor about Lord Xerxes Droct himself. Not an affair or corruption. Something utterly ridiculous, like that he secretly collects porcelain ducks and can only sleep if a baritone singer from Zarovgard sings him a lullaby."
"James, you're completely insane," Vashtun said, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. "This doesn't even look like strategy anymore. You're an artist."
"This is asymmetric warfare," I corrected him. "We'll keep them busy putting out these small, humiliating fires. They'll become the laughingstock among nobles. In their frustration and anger, they'll slip up. They'll get sloppy. And that's when we strike."
The whole point of this was to provoke a reaction. I wanted to see how they'd respond to psychological pressure. Would they rely on their military strength, or would they use their secret weapon, the Mirror of Ulthar, to find out who was behind this? I was betting on the latter. I'd create a problem so bizarre and untraceable that they'd be forced to use their conceptual tool to solve it.
"This will need significant resources," Vashtun said. "Bribing couriers, forging fake uniforms, faking ministry paperwork. You know that costs money."
"The Consortium will pay for it," I replied. "Our job is to disable House Droct. I'm just choosing a more creative method. Tell them it's part of a long-term strategy to break the enemy's morale before the main strike."
Over the following week, Clockthon was rocked by a series of strange incidents that struck the mighty House Droct.
First, the circus uniform incident. It was executed perfectly. An entire battalion from their Iron Griffons unit was forced to do their morning parade wearing garish, ill-fitting costumes. The news spread like wildfire and became the joke of every tavern and salon in the city. Marshal Droct reportedly smashed three desks in his office in a fit of rage.
Next, the fake audit. Our team of actors, led by a former bureaucrat now working for Finch, managed to hold up a shipment of Evolver suppressant ammo for six full hours under the excuse of "serial number discrepancies on Form 27B."
And the rumor about the porcelain ducks was my masterpiece. It was so specific and absurd that people started believing it. Nobles began whispering at parties and always tried to peek inside Lord Xerxes's carriage to see if there were any ducks.
House Droct became paranoid. They tightened security at all their properties, but they were looking for the wrong enemy, searching for mercenaries or spies from rival noble houses. They weren't looking for a Jester pulling strings from the shadows.
Amid all this, I spent my time in the unlikeliest place: the public library in the Scholars' District. I wasn't reading books on sorcery or history.
I was reading children's fairy tales.
I sat there for hours every day, surrounded by students and scholars, studying collections of folktales and legends from different provinces. I was searching for patterns. I was searching for traces of the Primeval Forger from the Shattered Moon Era that might still linger in these stories everyone else overlooked.
I found a few interesting things. Many tales from the northern regions near the Frostfang Mountains spoke of "mountain craftsmen" who could "forge ice into light" and "weave mist into cloaks."
In a book of fairy tales from the south, near the Zarovgard border, I found a story about a "Mirror that Steals Faces." It told of an arrogant prince who discovered a silver mirror in ancient ruins. Each time he looked into it, he became a little less like himself while his reflection grew more alive. One morning, the reflection stepped out of the mirror, took his place, and pushed the now faceless prince back into the glass, imprisoning him forever.
The Mirror of Ulthar. This had to be a distorted version of the true history. "Steals faces." "Prison." It matched the Ghost Librarian's description perfectly.
I felt someone approaching and looked up to see Irene.
"Children's fairy tales, Welt?" she asked, an amused smile on her lips. "I thought you preferred reading financial reports."
"Every story has value, fairy tale or not," I replied.
"I agree," she said. She placed a thick book on the table. "I've been trying to decipher the language used by the Primeval Forger. The gear-and-twelve-stars symbol we saw in that church keeps appearing in ancient alchemical diagrams."
So, she was following the same trail. The two of us, separately, were hunting the same ghost.
"Have you heard about the incidents hitting House Droct?" she asked, changing the topic.
"Hard not to," I said. "The whole city's talking about it."
"Who do you think did it?" Her eyes locked onto mine, trying to read my reaction.
"Someone with too much free time and a strange sense of humor," I said flatly.
She laughed. "Or someone very clever, sending a message that power doesn't always mean a bigger sword."
We sat there in silence for a while.
"I'm going to the Sovereign's Gambit," she said suddenly. "Representing my family."
"So am I," I replied.
The smile on her face widened. "Then the game will be interesting. See you there, Welt."
She stood up and left, leaving me with my books and my thoughts.
That night, I received the message I had been waiting for from Milverton.
"James, they're moving. Our scouts saw an unmarked armored carriage leaving Droct's estate an hour ago, heading toward the Undercroft border. Inside is a single small chest under heavy guard. They're probably moving the Mirror to a safer location before the Gambit."
I smiled. My bait had worked. Their carelessness and paranoia had forced them to move their trump card, exposing it in the process.
"Where's the destination?" I replied.
"An old warehouse under the Crucible, the auction house where you operated before. The place has been converted into Lord Xerxes's private vault."
"Perfect," I said. "Get the team ready. We're going to greet them."