by L. K. Rigel
She handed her judge’s stole to a proof.
“The bottom line is you will take Garrick’s mark. I suggest you make the best of it.”
The bottom line. The solution came to Mal, simple and righteous. She smiled and nodded like a good little chalice.
“That’s good advice, ma’am. I will do just as you say.”
The door to the judges’ chambers swung open. She tensed, expecting the gridvid crew, but it was Saskia.
“I’m leaving, Durga.”
“Yes, yes.” The Matriarch closed the clasp of her mantle and adjusted its collar, oblivious to Saskia’s emotions, oblivious to Saskia at all except as something in her way. “You are free to go.”
Saskia crossed to the private exit and stopped. She looked back at Sister Jordana. Mal felt like she was eavesdropping on something intimate. Elegant and sophisticated Jordana regarded airy, wild Saskia with sisterly affection, but no more than that.
Saskia’s rage melted into resignation. “Goodbye, Jordana.” She was gone.
“You’re just going to let her go?” How could they do that? “You should shower Saskia with gratitude.” Mal had to run to catch up with her in the corridor.
“What do you want?”
“I want to thank you.” Thank her. “I know it’s not enough. It’s not anything. But I do thank you. I think you’re the bravest person I ever met. You’re . . .” Great Asherah, she must sound like an idiot.
“I’m what?” Saskia continued toward the lift.
Mal followed her like an eager dog. “You’re alone. You have no support. Yet you put yourself in danger to do the right thing.”
“Don’t be such a romantic. I didn’t go to Garrick or testify at the tribunal to do the right thing. I did it to buy my freedom from Red City. I told you.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“That’s my business.” Saskia stepped inside the lift. “Be careful, bleeder. Garrick likes to win. This isn’t over for you.”
At opening time the next morning, the arcade was empty. Red City had celebrated the verdict rather enthusiastically last night, and as Mal hoped, no one was yet out and about. The clang of metal echoed through the arcade as the storefront gate to The Tat Man slid open.
Quidel, the six-foot-four tattoo artist, walked out of his shop along with an ancient and gnome-like old man five foot tall at the most. They held identical coffee mugs, too small in one man’s hand and too large in the other’s.
Quidel had run the shop since last year when his father died of an aortic dissection. He was only nineteen, but he’d trained since he could hold a pencil. It was said only the gods could create body art more magnificent. He was dark and muscle-bound and gorgeous.
He was also obnoxious and on the road to sanctions for disrespect.
Gerhold, the blade master, was old and ugly and mysterious and knowing, and the hubbies were awestruck. Except Roh.
“Good morning, Gerhold.” She walked right up to him and gave a brief, respectful bow, as if she were greeting her sensei on the mat. He grunted and returned the gesture. As he turned away, he held up briefly to look at Mal.
She blushed and avoided his gaze. He had surely been expecting her to order a blade for Garrick’s counselor. In the normal course of events, she would do just that. Events, unfortunately, were nowhere near normal.
Thank the gods, the blade master moved on, presumably to his dungeon below the arcade.
Roh pointed to the totem on her left shoulder, a red eight-pointed chaos star. “Gerhold’s blades are exquisite.” She had already sent out her first dagger. “Though the hilt didn’t do Quidel’s totem justice.”
“This is what I don’t understand, Roh.” Mal admired the bold red totem, striking against Roh’s dark skin. Quidel might cross a boundary or two when he gave them their tats, but you could not deny his artistry. “Why is your totem a chaos star when you do everything according to custom and practice?”
Roh just laughed as if she’d said something hilarious.
“Give me another dose of laudanum, Quidel.” Mal was glad the hubbies were with her. Quidel always gave her the creeps. “In absinthe.”
“Absinthe for everyone!” Nin said.
Quidel put the black raptor talon low and medial on her right butt cheek, close to her anus.
“Take a picture and put it on the gridcom,” Nin said.
“Yeah.” Roh broke up laughing. “Let the world know: whenever she shits, she shits on Garrick.”
The laudanum and absinthe had dulled Mal’s pain and also her judgment. She laughed as much as anybody when they uploaded the picture of her hind quarters at the tat parlor’s kiosk. They walked out of The Tat Man arm-in-arm, giggling like silly bleeders.
And ran into Harriet. “You’ve confounded Durga, Mallory. You have a bid, from Allel.”
They shrieked with laughter.
“Take it!” Nin howled.
“Quick,” Kairo sputtered, “before they see your picture.”
Part 3 – Dragon & Phoenix
Another World
Edmund sent the Golden Wasp to carry Mal to Allel. The week’s voyage alone was a gift. Floating under the immense and dazzling blanket of the night sky purged a great deal of the world’s complications and conflict out of her consciousness.
The final evening, Captain Serna brought out the last of the Pomerol, a gift from the Angel’s Harp. There were sterling forks and spoons engraved with GW and Taos plates rimmed with gold.
She held the garnet-colored wine up to the light in a crystal goblet etched with honeybees. “Captain Serna, this journey has been a tonic to my soul. I didn’t expect such an elegant table at sea.”
“My lady, you deserve no less.” He offered a toast to King Harold for the wine. The first officer followed with a toast to King Edmund, heartily joined by the others.
She was the only woman at the table.
The abundance of men in the world was always a surprise. True, plenty of men worked the settlement fields, and in Garrick they dominated the government. But Red City was a place of women and girls, and after seven years she had come to think of men as – not superfluous.
Ornamental? Secondary?
Just business.
The men rose as she stood up to leave. “My lady, won’t you stay for coffee?” When she’d come aboard, she had presented the captain with two hundred pounds of Tanzania peaberry beans, along with a roaster. It seems she’d made a friend for life.
“Thank you, Captain Serna, but I should get some rest before we reach Allel.”
Normally, she would invite one or two of the men to her cabin to play, but she was in quarantine so she went below alone.
A few hours later, the steam engine came on and woke her. She sat up in the swinging hammock suspended from the ceiling by chains and ropes. “Beastie!”
She still expected to hear the click-click-click of his toes on the wood floor and his slobbering snorts as he jumped up to kiss her. An ache clamped down on her heart.
She got out of bed and went to the stern gallery windows. For a while, she watched the moonlight dance on the ship’s wake. The silvery trail led to a black emptiness at the horizon and above it a carpet of stars.
This mood would not do. She put on her overcoat and went up on deck.
The coat was a gift from Counselor to keep her warm on her voyage, an ankle-length duster lined with fur. She wasn’t in Allel yet, and this contract in treatment was already pleasant beyond comparison to Garrick, even setting aside the plot-to-kill-her part.
Funny, both Allel and Hibernia were considered poor contracts no one wanted a bid from, yet Kairo had been utterly enchanted by Harold and his “country,” and the Allels were proving to be the most gracious of hosts.
As there was no wind, the sails were tied down, and the on-deck view of the night sky was fantastical. Captain Serna joined her from the quarterdeck. “We’re coming into port, my lady.” He brought her to the foredeck to watch their entrance to the bay.
“The king has ordered the lights on to welcome you.” Allel was like a diamond bracelet on the horizon. It was stunning, but her heart sank a little. She remembered old King Garrick showing off his wealth because he could.
“Ready, captain?” A young crewman, no more than a boy, glanced at her surreptitiously as if he didn’t expect a chalice to look quite human.
“Bellow away,” Serna answered.
“Bellow away!” the boy shouted.
A low vibrating blast sounded, and then another. The ship’s steam-powered fog horn announced their arrival. The vibration rolled through Mal’s body, and she laughed with delight. Then a crack, crack-crack-crack.
The sky over Allel exploded with fireworks.
The explosions of light and color intensified until the Golden Wasp dropped anchor. Coming down the gangway, a damp breeze chilled her. It was nothing compared to the cold of Garrick, but she was glad for her coat.
Two Ladies of the Hours waited beside a powered carriage whose driver sat on a raised bench at the front. This was exciting; she’d never ridden in a powered land vehicle. But she missed the beautiful palomino horses that had pulled the coaches the last time she was here.
One of the ladies opened the door for her. They all took their places inside, and she slipped into the mental state of being in service. While in the world, she was not a person but an object, no matter how much praised and petted.
She was a chalice, a living incubator, precious for that function alone. The contract city had the right – the obligation, really – to watch over her. She had the obligation to submit, within reason, to their care.
Everyone in the queue accepted this, even as they complained or joked about their LOTHs or pretended the constant surveillance did not exist. It didn’t last long; a month of quarantine, a few meetings with the king, then back to Red City for gestation.
In a way, it felt good to slip into this routine where nothing was a surprise. Maybe she was going to have a normal career after all.
The wonderful contraption was more comfortable than she’d expected. The ride was as smooth as if the carriage was floating. It was heated inside. Nin had told her about the Team of Inquiry’s findings, the electrified raptor cages on the wall, the powered street cars, and the remarkable stability of the hospital’s power.
Little-known fact: Allel now had the highest percentage of successful hospital gestations of all Concord Cities.
The city had gone dark for the fireworks, but when the carriage turned onto the boulevard, gas lights came on in tall lampposts that lined both sides of the wide avenue, and there were countless colored paper lanterns held by street vendors.
The hour was late, but citadellers lined the route to get a glimpse of their brood queen, and vendors hawked food on sticks or funny hats and white shirts printed with some indiscernible design.
She saw many goofy-looking Matriarch wigs, and the citadellers who wore them had stick-on daggers over their eyes – pictures of her tribunal had gone out over the gridcom. Such free expression was shocking. Garrick would have had them all arrested. Durga would have an apoplexy. Mal smiled at the thought.
Great gods! The gridcom. Had everyone seen her talon tat?
Yes, from the grins her ladies didn’t hide very well.
When she got out of the carriage at the citadel steps, a gang of adolescents stood at attention and dramatically saluted her. They wore the white shirts she’d seen in the crowd, and they were close enough that she could see the imprinted picture of her hindquarters and the black talon in all its glory.
Above the picture were the words: I shit on Garrick.
Her LOTHs tried hard to not laugh. And failed. Was it possible to die of embarrassment before so many people?
The young men cried in unison, “The brood queen!”
The citadellers answered in one voice, “Rah!”
Counselor descended the steps to greet her. Mal gasped. Counselor was beautiful!
She was still thin, but she’d filled out as aristocrats usually did. Her skin was pale but smooth as porcelain and accented by rosy cheeks and full, red lips. Her lashes and eyebrows were as dark as the curls piled on her head, enhancing her deep blue eyes. Her smile was full of kindness, and that made her beauty exquisite.
She almost hugged Mal as if they were old friends, but appeared to remember protocol at the last minute. She waved at the crowd instead.
“Our people are a bit enthusiastic.”
Counselor nodded toward the shirt-boys, but Mal couldn’t take her eyes off the dagger that hung from a satin cord around her waist. She hadn’t realized; it was exactly like Garrick’s dagger. Of course. Counselor, Garrick, and Edmund all had the same breeder – the regent.
She always chooses Allel. Was Garrick jealous of Allel – of Edmund?
“Please know it’s all meant kindly. We are so happy to welcome you.”
Happy to welcome her. Not to reject her for lack of decorum and general tacky behavior. Apparently in Allel, the disastrous end to her contract with Garrick was a bonus – they loved her for it.
The volume of crowd noise surged. People who had things on sticks waved them – streamers, flags, pieces of meat. The shirt-boys yelled, “King Edmund!” and the people responded with a delirious “Rah!”
He was above them, on the steps behind Counselor.
In the golden light of the boulevard globes, and with the citadel proper rising behind him, he was the picture of the ideal king. He wore black boots over dark brown pants that didn’t hide the well-developed muscles of his thighs. His tunic was the rich, forest green associated with Allel, and instead of a coronet, he wore a simple gold circlet that accented his strong forehead and kept his dark hair off his face.
Rah, indeed. More like, as Roh would say, Rowr!
He played along with the citadellers’ fun, giving the shirt-boys a pseudo-exasperated shake of his head. As when she had come to Allel years ago, he shared a look of warm affection with Counselor.
She had been wrong at the Rites of May: Edmund’s luminescence had been obliterated by Garrick’s solar brilliance.
And hadn’t they always been warned to keep the sun out of their eyes?
He smiled at her, and a thrill shot through her body. She imagined a flash of the same desire she’d seen in the Empani on Corcovado. She remembered his weight on her and his scent, her fingers playing with his hair, and his hand on her breast as he fell asleep.
But here was no obliging shapeshifter. This was the real man. If he remembered her at all with any pleasure, he was probably thinking of his tryst in the hydroponics garden during the Rites. And that Empani had had the cloth, taking Mal’s shape for its own reasons, not in response to any desire on Edmund’s part.
What disorientation. She felt completely at ease with him, yet they didn’t really know each other.
He and Counselor waved to the citadellers. Mal felt the expectation in the crowd. They wanted something from her too. When she tentatively raised her hand, they went wild with cheers. A wave of collective goodwill washed over her.
The lights and the fireworks were not out of braggadocio or to impress. This was all a bona fide celebration. They were, as Counselor said, so happy to welcome her.
From the moment Garrick had casually predicted her death, she hadn’t felt safe. Now the fear in her body drained away. She’d been trained to deal with being admired and envied, but not to feel cherished, and by so many people.
Forget decorum and ceremony and good form. She wanted to be cherished by Edmund too, to be in arms, to feel his strength surround and protect her.
Ack! The Triune Contract – the very thing which brought them together – would keep them apart for another month. There was the quarantine to get through.
Quarantine
Mal couldn’t explore Edmund, but exploring Allel was a different matter. She went out with Counselor on tours of the city and province and saw beehives and vineyards and a massive lilac grove at the ashram where prie
sts of Asherah lived and made beeswax candles.
They rode in the powered carriage. The weather had been cold and foggy, but on the last day of Mal’s quarantine the fog burned off early and the sky was clear. They decided to go to the vineyards and then to Lighthouse Inn for lunch.
“Let’s have the top down,” Counselor said.
The driver pulled a lever, and the carriage top folded in on itself like a fan and swung down into a compartment beneath his bench. Jannes, the guard who always accompanied them, pulled out a crossbow from another storage bin.
“Raptors?” Mal said. Her ladies, seated up with the driver, scooted closer together and looked at the sky. “I was told Allel’s raptor attacks have plummeted in the last few years.”
Jannes said, “It’s merely a precaution, my lady.” He set the crossbow in a mount on the side of the carriage. “I doubt I’ll need it.” He took his usual place in the carriage beside Mal, the weapon within easy reach.
According to Counselor, Jannes was Edmund’s most trusted lieutenant. He always seemed to be thinking several steps ahead, but he kept those thoughts to himself. He wore his dark hair in braids threaded with beads and charms like Pala; and like Pala, he had a brilliant, disarming smile.
Unlike Pala, a smile from Jannes was a rare event.
Allel’s air was clean, and the rush of wind in the eucalyptus trees and the cries of seagulls from the bay fed Mal’s soul. At Lighthouse Inn they had fresh strawberries and salmon and chardonnay. Returning to the carriage, Mal didn’t mind the bickering between the Days as they maneuvered for the outside position on the driver’s bench.
They started back to the citadel just as Edmund came out of the stables riding a golden palomino. It was a warm day. He wore leather pants and boots, but his sleeveless tunic exposed his shoulders and arms. Tomorrow night, she’d be wrapped in those arms.
“Edmund!” Counselor stood up and waved.
The driver braked, and Counselor lost her balance. Jannes grabbed her hips to steady her, and she leaned against his shoulders. Mal hid a smile, watching the two of them pretend they didn’t care about each other.
