The rain, gentle and cold, fell without end. She observed it from her carriage as the door on the other side opened and permitted a visitor. Without acknowledging her guest, the carriage shuddered forwards, thick silence filling the space.

Her guest cleared her throat.

Rain fell, endless, yet the world did not drown. That there was some grand balance to this act of nature, unlike that biblical act of God. Through storms, through droughts, through dams and dikes, however uneven in its distribution, there was always water.

The sights outside familiar, she waited for the imperceptible signal; with an uncanniness, she turned to her guest the moment before the carriage came to a stop.

Beside her was an interesting woman. She had, near her youth's end, been sent to a nunnery—as far as Julia could infer to save the family money—where she had lived, apparently content, for about a decade. At that time, a tragedy struck the family which brought her young nephew under her guardianship, herself acting as reagent for his modest barony.

Something which her guest had handled remarkably well. Her time at the nunnery had left her with both a diligence and literacy well-suited for governing, and she had even acted as caregiver for orphans, her nephew in good hands.

Upon his majority, her reward was to be disowned. The young man was certainly easily swayed by those with ulterior motives. In the end, it could be said that she had the last laugh, whatever false accusations laid at her feet not even worth the effort of kicking. She simply left with nothing but the clothes she had brought with her those years ago.

As for him, Julia had no interest in how his life had continued.

As for her guest, she had made a meagre living off of accounting, no apparent desire to return to a nunnery even as still volunteered at a church. That was, in essence, how Julia encountered her, her being the one who responded when a "census" went out to every church in the county to see what funding was required. Those kinds of matters were not personally overseen by Julia; however, her guest had been notable in their meticulousness, and such notes were personally overseen.

Given what she now knew, it surprised her that her guest had accepted the invitation to work for the city. The invitation had been accepted, though, and her guest had performed well.

Rather well indeed.

"Miss Louise, is it?"

Her guest did not fume, nor did she put on a polite smile, simply sat with a flat expression. Julia did not think it an act either. In her experience, an unmarried woman of a certain age necessitated a certain numbness. Of course, however numb, a sharp knife still left a cut, and cuts left scars.

"It is, Ma'am."

The rain fell heavier.

Once she had held her guest's gaze for long enough, she turned back towards the window. "What results has the audit to show?"

"With all due respect, the audit is for the mayor."

Slowly, she turned back to her guest, a small smile on her lips. "Has Miss Louise seen the city's charter?"

The unexpected question gave her guest pause, for a moment rather still, then her hands tensed. "I have not."

"Then do not speak as if you have," she said, said softly, said sweetly. "In particular, I know the mayor left you with specific instructions to answer my every question and follow my every order. I know this because I instructed him to do so."

With that, she turned back to the window.

"I have let this matter slide until now because it did not affect me. That I have arranged this meeting—I need not say more."

Indeed, she did not, only a brief pause before her guest spoke. "From what Ma'am has said, I am to understand that some of the results are unfavourable."

Her lips curled. Indeed, an interesting guest. "Let me put this matter clearly. I know that Miss Louise is aware that, for example, Mr Holzer's company has certain discrepancies in their accounting. However, Miss Louise should be aware she has no authority to question nor to address these discrepancies."

"If Ma'am would inform me of which discrepancies should be ignored, I shall amend the results." A quiet voice, measured, and so very cold.

She almost laughed. "Let us pretend Miss Louise did not ask for such corruption to be put into writing. No, Miss Louise simply misunderstands, which is why I thought a meeting would be most suitable to… address this issue."

Silence followed, mixed with the falling rain, an erratic beat upon the carriage's roof.

"Ma'am is correct, I do misunderstand."

"There is no shame in that. Miss Louise had lived a certain life, and now she lives a different life. It is natural that there will be these issues which seem obvious to both of us even as we disagree."

She spoke gently, little louder than that heavier rain; her guest still heard every word clearly.

After a long breath, she brought her hand up, then slowly closed it, as if grasping something unseen. "This matter, in truth I do not care whether Mr Holzer is embezzling funds. What I do care about is that, if paid a certain amount, a certain job is performed to a certain standard. As such, this audit is to ensure the standard to which his company has worked. If he claims he bought certain materials from one place at such a price, we simply wish to confirm that those materials are suitable, regardless of price or place of origin."

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There, she paused. With a small smile and pinched eyes, she turned, slow, and her gaze sought out her guest. Such a knowing smile, knowing that her guest believed she knew better.

"Does Miss Louise understand?" she whispered, quiet, yet anything but soft. A question with only one answer.

But her guest knew better. "I do, Ma'am."

She met her guest's unyielding gaze with ease. "Do not think me a fool," she said, tilting her head. "You understand nothing."

As talented as her guest was with these matters, what her guest lacked talent with was dealing with the likes of her, and that now became evident. That reply was not the baseless accusations of her past, hurled with heat and venom. No, that statement carried with it humour, cold humour, the precise opposite of how one would warmly chide a child.

A warning.

Her guest shivered, eyes lowered. "I understand nothing, Ma'am," she whispered.

After a moment, she returned to the sights outside. "Miss Louise needs to understand that she is no longer inside the Church. The world is naturally sinful, and it is not our place to judge. Miss Louise, in particular, must act in the interests of the people of the city, however sinful such people are. If she cannot, then it is better we end this arrangement sooner rather than later."

The rain, heavier still, pounded the carriage, drowned the world in its beat.

"Is it not in the interests of the people to confront such corruption, Ma'am?"

"No."

That question deserved no more of an answer, all the proof she needed that her guest still misunderstood. Not that she was surprised. Or rather, if her guest had understood this easily, then her guest would not have been so interesting.

With that in mind, she sighed. "Miss Louise believes people are evil while I believe that they are good."

A second passed, then her guest softly asked, "Pardon, Ma'am?"

"Miss Louise heard me. She thinks those like Mr Holzer are in need of punishment, and she is insistent upon it. It is, quite honestly, a most amusing irony. Someone of the Church so unwilling to entrust his judgement to the Lord."

Another sigh fell from her lips, a slight shake of her head.

"Miss Louise is not as special as she believes. That is, she is of the impression she understands matters she is inexperienced in, that she is someone who acts with good reason, and thus that she is correct in her actions. The truth is that she now finds herself surrounded by peers who are as capable, if not more so, and who do have such experience as to make well-reasoned decisions."

The rain, which had built up to a storm, broke as she spoke, barely a drizzle which now landed in a pitter-patter outside, a gentle drum upon the carriage. Shortly, the door opened and a hand was offered to her. She rose easily, stepped down without hesitation, ended on a bridge beneath a broad umbrella.

While she waited, she watched the rain fall upon the canal. Such a fascinating pattern. Ripples, endless ripples, merging, overwhelming, fading. Until finally, a gentle splash beside her.

"Miss Louise, your responsibilities are rather simple, do you understand why?"

After a second, her guest replied, "I understand nothing, Ma'am."

"Of course. The reason your responsibilities are rather simple is to avoid corruption. It would not do for one person to be both lawyer and judge. If you believe there may be corruption, then you need simply indicate such and allow those whose job it is to investigate such corruption to handle the matter.

"Miss Louise may have grown accustomed to small places of work; however, she now finds herself in a place that is rapidly expanding. For such a place, it is imperative that everyone understands their responsibilities and performs those relevant duties to the best of their abilities. Is that not most reasonable?"

Words unlike rain fell, a steady and even rhythm. Although she could not see her guest, she knew the effect of her words, difficult for such a woman to remain stubborn once broken.

"It is, Ma'am." A quiet voice, not soft, nor cold.

She could have laughed, but she didn't. "In the end, Miss Louise does not know Mr Holzer, while I do. She thinks such discrepancies malicious. Knowing him, others have taken advantage of his kindness. Of course, we may uncover such people, yet it is also his kindness which contributes to his advantages. That many are not only willing, but desperate to work for and with him. Such becomes our advantage as we hire him. For proof of this, one need only look to see his contributions to the city."

As she said that, she gestured ahead of them to the canal. A grand canal. The city had had canals before her, before her father, before her grandfather. However, it had no canal like this one.

And it was still so very far from finished.

"Master Haartsen has been a great help in supervising our expansion of the canals, and I have given them many gifts for that. One could easily call such corruption. Of course, I do not do so out of any favouritism. It is a reflection of how, without them, our work would suffer greatly. That such gifts encourage their eager support to continue for many years, and make it difficult for others who recognise their talent to entice them away."

In a small step, she turned to face the other way, canal stretching out beyond the bridge, far away from the city.

For now.

"Miss Louise should know well how meaningless money is. That this world has such bounties that all should be fed, all should be clothed, all should be sheltered from the cold. I certainly wish for the city to work towards such goals and have worked towards such goals since I took up my majority. Roads, canals, these are important, that they allow us to more easily move goods from where they are in abundance to where they are scarce."

Step by step, the umbrella naturally covering her, she crossed to the other side of the bridge, gaze distant.

"Miss Louise should know my ambitions well, for the mayorship and everything under it exists explicitly to further my goals. This singular, selfish ambition to use my talents as the Lord would wish for me to. A vague ambition shaped by all those I have spoken to.

"This canal, I wish for it to continue farther and farther south. And along it, I would have the city, stretched out wide into a strip. That this would bring the people of the city closer to our farms, and would bring the simple luxuries of the city closer to the peasants. A road with which we may provide to those who lack that which all our brothers and sisters deserve."

Her soft voice mingled with the rain, yet never faltered, never muffled, always clear. A voice which lacked emotion, only to be dyed warm by the words she spoke. Words which purposefully rebuilt that who she had broken.

In a small step, she turned to face her guest, smile small, eyes pinched. "Miss Louise, do you now understand your responsibility?"

Her guest showed nothing on her face, yet looked older. Looked her age. And her guest could not quite meet her eye, gaze that little lower, an old trick taught to children of good breeding.

"I do, Ma'am." A quiet voice, weak, but still heard.

Slowly, she brought up her hand to her guest's shoulder and rested it there. A weight felt and no more. "You need only trust that I would find those suitable people for each job, and everything else shall fall into place."

It was not a question, yet her eyes, her smile, pulled on her guest, not a heavy pressure, but the opposite, that the words floated up, unable to be held in.

"Yes, Ma'am."

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