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The next morning was a bit rough. Bravye, frankly, did not want to get out of bed. She had spent the previous evening refusing to let Isoli force her to eat. Instead she had more or less locked herself in the office, even going so far as to barricade the door knowing that Isoli had a key. She had finally emerged late in the night, sliding into her bed so carelessly she’d failed to even dress in her nightgown. Her sleep had been a poor, fitful thing. The next morning found her buried under the covers, feeling revolted on general principle, and fighting a weakness of stomach and bowel that she knew would eventually force her to seek the toilet.

The sound of the door opening was an unwelcome thing, as she had little doubt that it meant Isoli had given up on waiting for her to awaken on her own. Footsteps crossed the room to drag open the drapes on the windows, then headed for the bed. There was a moment’s pause, and then the blankets were forcibly removed from above her with a jerk.

Cringing against the sudden cold, she attempted to curl into a ball to preserve what heat she could, only to feel something smack against her stomach.

“You made the papers.”

“Wha?”

“You’re much more articulate in the news,” Isoli replied as she strolled over to stoke the fireplace to life. “Breakfast will be up in ten minutes, and you will be eating it.” Only a few seconds passed before she gave a satisfied grunt and turned to walk into the closet for clothes.

Bravye attempted to force her eyes open in spite of the light in the room stabbing her every time she tried. Eventually she succeeded sufficiently to recognize that the object that had slapped into her stomach and become trapped in her fetal curl was a newspaper. Her eyes, still irritated at her having opened them to begin with, struggled to stay unfocused in spite of her best effort, only to finally yield and allowing her to read the headline.

“I am not a madwoman,” she croaked as Bravye returned, laden with drawers, chemise, stockings, underskirt, overskirt, bodice, petticoat, and the thousand and one additional garments that made dressing a complete venture every morning. These were dropped on the foot of the bed as Isoli turned toward Bravye.

“You have to admit that ‘Madwoman Mocks Moot’ is at least marginally witty,” Bravye replied. She stepped closer and gave a sniff, then turned back towards the closet. “Bath first. Then clothes. I’ll fetch you a robe.”

Bravye stared at the paper, reading the article. Despite the title the article itself seemed relatively reasonable, and even a bit sympathetic, though it is clear the writer thought she had gone off the deep end in grief. “Well, that could have been worse,” she concluded, setting the paper aside as she stood and turned to let Isoli help her into the robe the woman had returned with.

“It was. That was the nicest article I saw this morning.”

“I suppose you think I’ve gone mad as well.”

“No,” Isoli replied. Just as Bravye started to attempt a smile Isoli continued. “I’ve always known you were.”

Bravye sighed.

Snosote walked in with a tray, setting it on the table near the bed. The smell of bacon, eggs, and toasted cheese made Bravye’s stomach turn. “Thank you, Snosote,” she said. “But that won’t be necessary.”

“Just leave that here,” Isoli replied instantly, as though she’d been anticipating Bravye’s comment. “Warm water for a bath, if you please.”

With one glance towards Bravye that she took to almost be pity, Snosote gave a little curtsy and left, closing the door behind her.

Sighing, Bravye gave in to the inevitable. Isoli was clearly going to be unreasonable about things so she might as well simply give the woman what she wanted and eat the food. A collection of angry old men she could defy. Her head maid was made of more frightening stuff.

Despite herself she found herself glad of the meal and the bath later. She still did not feel particularly well assembled as mid day rolled around, but at least things had improved somewhat. She knew that it would not be long before she would be feeling the repercussions of yesterday far too keenly, and she would need to be at her best to handle them. Vaguely functional would have to do.

She was sitting at the desk in the office, staring at a book when Isoli entered not long after a late lunch. The woman looked a bit cross as she entered, and Bravye had no doubt why. The front porch had been inundated with callers all morning, none of whom had been admitted by the dower maid. Most she had turned away herself, but in a few cases she had judged it necessary to check with Bravye first. Doubtless this was yet another such case.

“Unless it is the one god himself, turn him away, Isoli,” Bravye muttered.

“Here, Great Lady.”

Bravye looked up from the book she’d been staring at. Isoli seldom called her by her title. That she did now, when it was simply the two of them, was something that went beyond merely unusual.

The maid was holding a note. When Bravye looked up Isoli held it out. “This was just delivered. I thought you would want it immediately.”

Bravye opened the note and read it aloud.

The moot has reassembled. There has been much argument and debate on the matter, but a surprising number of smaller families have thrown their support into calling your bluff. It’s almost as though someone has made a few promises for their vote. The more powerful families have conceded the point. Start recruiting.
-Grib.

“There’s a man downstairs, Great Lady. He brought the note.”

Bravye sighed. “Send him up, Isoli.”

“Of course.”

Isoli’s very proper behavior was a tad worrying for Bravye, but she hardly had time to consider it before the much larger woman escorted a man through the door. He was a ruddy figure run a bit to fat. His clothes, while by no means poor, were practical things, with little in the way of decoration. The only concession to ornamentation was the gold chain that disappeared into the waistcoat pocket, doubtless holding a matching colored watch. His beard came down to mid chest, a riot of yellows and browns intermingled, with hints of grey as well.

Isoli stepped forward to stand beside him. “Great Lady, this is Frenek, son of Yellen, of the family of Greyrock.”

Bravye smiled politely, though she didn’t feel it. “Please, come in and be seated, Frenek.”

“Thank you, Great Lady.” Frenek walked in and seated himself with care. “May I speak openly?”

A bit surprised by the question, Bravye nodded.

“Thank you.” Frenek waited a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. “I don’t believe in any of what you are doing. Women have their place, and that is the way it has to be for our society to function. I consider you to be disruptive, immodest, and dangerous. I am here solely because I owe Elder Grib a great deal, and he has asked me to do this. I am to run the foundry on your behalf. I will take over all day to day management and routine bookkeeping.” He frowned. “On more important matters I am to consult with you whenever possible, and abide by your decisions.”

Brayve frowned. “When are you to take over?”

“I am to work with you for the next week, learning the specifics of the foundry and what you have been doing with it. After that I will take over. You will then be free to focus on your… unit.”

“What are your qualifications?”

“Thirty years at the Greyrock Foundry. Five as the assistant foreman.”

Bravye grunted. Her foundry was by far the largest of the foundries in the family, but it was not the only one. Blaistrupe had first learned the foundry trade at Greyrock Foundry before deciding to start one of his own. Greyrock developed iron rather than steel, and was perhaps a fifth the size of Blaistrupe Foundry, but if Frenek had been assistant foreman there, he knew his business.

“Allow me to be blunt in return. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you running my foundry. I want to send you packing. But I don’t have much choice. Grib made it very clear where things stand, so you’re the foreman now.” She stood and reached over to the shelf where the accounting books for the foundry rested. “Just don’t get comfortable, because I will be back for my foundry just as soon as I am done being disruptive, immodest, and dangerous.”

The two glared at one another for a moment before she pulled the first book off the shelf. “Let’s get started, shall we?”