House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  "What do you mean?" Caught by her casual reference to Burin's death, Jordan could not stop the small tremor in his voice. Lilth laughed, her look portraying coquettish suspicion. He understood her well enough however to know that she had few, if any, doubts.

  "Did you have anything to do with this ‘accident,’ Jordan?"

  Jordan gave a short gasp. She was testing him, though the realization did not reassure him. He needed to know why, aware that Lilth generally held Family as sacred. In fact, despite her theatrical performance, she was probably in her own secret mourning for Burin even now.

  "After all," Lilth continued, "with Burin and his only child out of the way, the crown will be that much closer, if the unthinkable happens and Seffan is convicted."

  "Are you not forgetting Derrick?" Jordan asked. Despite his efforts, the calmness of his voice was betrayed by the tiny beads of sweat forming along the sides of his face.

  Shifting comfortably on Lilth’s shoulders, the snake moved his head forward as it observed Jordan intensely.

  "Do not tell me you have not thought about this, Jordan," Lilth groaned mockingly.

  “Forethought and faithlessness share a thin border where loyalty is concerned,” Jordan replied. “You taught me that, Lilth.”

  “Yes,” Lilth replied. “I wonder though which one prompted you to order that research report from Archives?"

  Jordan felt her words like a hammer. She knew about the report, and his reaction had just confirmed his involvement. "How did you—?"

  "You know the obscure rule as well as I." Lilth gave her brother a smile that fully exposed her teeth. "With poor Uncle Seo a hapless old addict, and his sons both technically the products of incest, you would be the next logical choice for the throne."

  Jordan became rigid. He knew her play of eager complicity was now a taunt. To the Viscountess, betrayal negated all considerations usually reserved for family. If she truly thought that he had done anything to betray Seffan or to get Burin wrongfully killed....

  "Seffan gave the order," he said hurriedly, desperate to salvage the situation. "He named them all traitors, knowing he could not openly try them for treason with his own trial at hand."

  Lilth said nothing.

  "Maybe Burin did more than just stand by and protect her,” Jordan offered. “Maybe he was getting information too."

  The Viscountess lifted a finely plucked eyebrow. “Listen to me, Jordy,” she said softly. “If I find out that Burin was innocent….”

  “It was Seffan, Lilth,” Jordan pleaded. “Maybe he—”

  “Maybe? Seffan kills his brother and all the reasons you have for it are predicated with a ‘maybe?’” The Viscountess and the snake looked at each other, both unconvinced. “Only love could have made Burin so stupid,” she muttered. “Besides, Jordy, he had no better access to sensitive government documents than his social-climbing cur.”

  “Well if the information was stolen—”

  “By her?” Lilth asked as the blood rose beneath her pale skin. “No, Jordy. Someone else was selling Seffan to the Imperials as well.” Lilth nodded to herself and turned to her brother, having come to a decision. "Seffan killed the Whore too soon. If he did not secure any tactical advantage for the trial, her death gained him less than nothing!"

  With the press of a button, Lilth's recliner raised itself from the floor, making it easier for her to stand. Slipping down from her chair, with the snake still straddling her shoulders, Lilth Morays waddled to a patio door. Jordan could see that she was getting angrier by the second.

  "Damn all to Hell!" Lilth waved an accusatory arm at Jordan, her entire body jiggling. "She could have been watched! Who knows where this leak may surface next?”

  Taking his cue, Jordan let shocked realization spread over his face. Lilth only grunted.

  Knowing he was expected to say something, and not sure if his sister was buying his act, Jordan risked stating the obvious. “So we need to know who was feeding the information to Josephine.”

  Lilth exhaled through her teeth, prompting him to smile inwardly. His sister’s exasperation was far better than her suspicion.

  "Go, Jordan. Find out where those documents came from. And remember, this unnamed traitor can damage not only Seffan, but you as well—and ‘your’ precious throne."

  As Lilth left her brother with his instructions, the snake poked its head out from behind her, giving him one final, concurring glare.

  ---

  "And so," Kamarin concluded, without enthusiasm, "the Assembly wants us to suspend operations indefinitely."

  "But Pablen called it an accident," someone replied. "Why does the Assembly think Seffan will blame us?"

  "Because he probably already does," another woman said, the oldest among their remaining number besides Steuben. "They’re only calling it an accident for now to avoid a violation of the Emperor's Peace. Most likely, once they quietly capture those they hold responsible, they’ll announce that it really was murder."

  "But why pin it on us?" the man insisted. "Wouldn't they want to find the real killers?"

  "Undoubtedly," Steuben remarked, having resumed his habit of sitting in an old large, black chair. For whatever their reasons, no one sat next to him. "And who were those killers exactly, Lenalt?"

  Depré turned on the Colonel as if ready to physically lash out at him. "Say what you mean, Steuben," the man said icily.

  "I think you take my meaning," Steuben responded evenly, no longer singling out Depré for criticism. "You and Taniell withheld details about the Galleston mission until it was about to be initiated. And Taniell just withheld the real reason why the Assembly told us to stay quiet."

  Taniell silently sat back in her chair with only mild surprise.

  "It's not that we need time to weather this assassination and make new plans," Steuben continued. "The Assembly just buckled under NDB demands, the NDB so upset by this killing that they’ve threatened to withdraw their support. The moratorium on us might even last until an inquiry of some kind has been made."

  Steuben sat forward in his chair, ready for an argument that he did not expect to materialize. He was not proved wrong, although he did wonder why Depré failed to ask him how he obtained his information. "Would it be so shocking then," he continued, "if you killed Burin, and are only waiting to gauge our reaction before taking any credit?"

  Depré laughed. The effort sounded forced. "You flatter me, Colonel," he said finally. "I didn't think you thought so highly of my abilities. Assassinate members of the Noble Family!"

  "Just answer one question for us," Steuben replied, granting the smiling Depré a small, unamused grin in return. "You told us to try to secure strategic employment within the government. Do you or Taniell have any operatives at the Palace?"

  "I don't have to tell you anything," Depré snarled. "And I don't care what Wyren says. I still don't trust you."

  "You must not trust him then either," Steuben breathed, "but in truth, you don't have to tell me, Lenalt. You and Kamarin can just call another meeting without me and tell the rest of our unit. If nothing comes of it, I'll assume your explanation was satisfactory."

  Kamarin was about to speak but the Colonel cut her off. "While you're thinking over your response, Lenalt," Steuben said, suppressing a smile, "let me remind you that you still haven't denied killing Duke Burin and his family."

  "I didn't kill them!" Depré yelled, looking each of the rebels at the table in the eye to assure them of the truth.

  Steuben of course knew who had planted the explosive on the traitorous Duke's shuttle, but pity for the young boy prevented him from enjoying his victory over the rebel leader.

  Damn Henely for not telling me the son would be on board, the Colonel cursed, feeling nothing for the scheming parents. Damn him by all that is holy. An image of the dead Rachel Wehring slowly shaking her shrouded head at him briefly passed through his thoughts.

  "Your operatives?" Steuben pressed, emoting suspicion in case anyone was watching.

/>   "I don't have anyone there," said Depré, shooting quick glances at a few of his comrades.

  "Really?" Steuben commented, folding his arms in front of him.

  "He told you he doesn't have anyone," said Kamarin. "And neither do I."

  The Colonel faced her, wondering how often she had wished that she had not overruled Lenalt in accepting him into the unit. "I heard him," Steuben replied dryly, noting that her anger in no way diminished her attractiveness. "Just as I hear you."

  Lenalt Depré looked up at Steuben, his dark eyes blazing as sweat collected beneath the two large locks covering the sides of his forehead. "You better watch yourself, Henrald," the rebel spat, his long, thin left arm twitching. "I may not have enough to expose you as an infiltrator yet, but when I do, I'll kill you with my own hands."

  Kamarin shook her head as gasps escaped around the room. Lenalt endured the questions and chastisement unflinchingly.

  His teeth fully exposed by his smile, Steuben grunted a laugh. "You can only try," he replied slowly.

  "Is there any other business to discuss?" Kamarin suddenly asked, forestalling any further exchanges between Depré and Steuben. Steuben smiled at her as Depré glowered. "Very well then," she concluded. "This meeting is adjourned." Without another word Kamarin stood and exited the room, not waiting for anyone to follow her.

  Lenalt has no self-control, Taniell thought, walking toward the stairwell that would lead her to the elevators and the surface beyond. And Steuben...he thinks he’s going to take us over.

  She reached the elevator.

  The Colonel was right of course about the NDB's threat. What he did not know was that Depré had another financial source to keep the unit operational, one that had granted him a substantial sum just prior to the assassination.

  At least that secret's safe. Kamarin pressed in her code and floor destination on the elevator’s control panel. As is our plan to extract our own revenge for Galleston....

  Despite the risks that Lenalt would be taking in implementing his plan, Taniell smiled inwardly as the elevator rose. Burin and his family may have been principal members of the Noble House, but she and Depré would claim their own target as repayment for lost blood. To them the choice was obvious, regardless of the "orders" they received from Depré's new benefactor within the DuCideon Brotherhood.

  ---

  XIV

  Advisor Biam stood near a window, looking out at the snow-covered landscape of fields and rolling hills. In the distance, he could just make out a flat and even clearing he knew to be a small lake, frozen over in an unusually harsh season. Winter had been his favorite time of year as a boy, his carefree days occupied with sledding, skiing and other cold weather sports. Having lived so long in the capital however, Biam had lost his tolerance for lower temperatures.

  Either I am getting old, he thought, or it is freezing in here.

  Studying the strange circular configurations formed by the leafless winding branches of the trees outside, Biam wondered why he had been summoned all the way to Faredin. The death of Burin and his family was certainly ruinous in terms of their plans, but instructions on how to deal with the fallout could have been transmitted through the normal channels at the Palace.

  Unless he would now have some input in deciding what to do.

  Biam hoped he was correct, even as he felt a tinge of resentment. He was a senior advisor to the Count-Grandee of Legan, a position equal to the rank of cabinet minister in most planetary governments within the Empire. Still, he had little say in the local activities of the DuCideon Brotherhood. Sometimes it seemed that he was no more than a chess piece to them, a high-level government contact for them to use and direct.

  And sacrifice, Biam reminded himself bitterly, carrying the analogy to its logical end. Yet did he not have his own pieces to play? Biam fleetingly thought of his order to kill the recently named rebel leaders, wondering if the order had already been carried out, and whose chess pieces they might be.

  "Brother Ketrick will see you now," an aide said as he stepped forward, showing Biam to a large hallway with a gesture of his hand.

  "Thank you," the Advisor replied, thinking he had seen the aide somewhere before. Dismissing the thought, Biam briskly strode past him, as if to suggest that it was he who had business with the man who had ordered his attendance, instead of the other way around.

  If Ethes Anni took note of Biam's purposeful gait, he gave no indication of it.

  The room at the end of the hallway was decorated and equipped as a fully functional executive suite, although its dimensions and formal design suggested that it also served as an audience chamber for its self-absorbed occupant. Biam suppressed a shiver, realizing that this room was even colder than the one before. Is your air-control system working here, Vaid?

  Only then did the Advisor notice that there was no place for him to sit.

  "I trust your trip from the capital was pleasant, Brother Biam," Vaid Ketrick said, leaning back in his large overstuffed chair.

  Biam scowled. Ketrick wore a thin dark tunic, little protection against the room's frigid air. The way he insouciantly lounged in his over-embellished throne, and the deep, easy tone of his voice, were also at odds with Biam’s growing chill. Never having mastered the Discipline to adjust his body temperature himself, he concluded that Ketrick was employing area-heaters to ensure his own comfort. And the reason he was being made to stand in the cold?

  "Yes, it was, Brother Ketrick," Biam replied. He blames me for Burin's death.

  "It was without...incident?" Ketrick smiled humorlessly.

  Biam was in no mood for the man’s toying. "It accomplishes little to start finger-pointing now," he charged. "We still must deal with the consequences of losing Lord Burin."

  "If we do not know where the blame lies, Allenford," Ketrick smiled again, "how can we guard against future setbacks?"

  The Advisor bit down hard. DuCideon protocol allowed senior brothers to address their juniors by their first names whenever they wished. To Biam, it was a reminder that despite his standing in the outside world, his position within the Brotherhood was a modest one.

  "Then blame the amateur analyst who concluded that denying Lord Burin the Crown was only an NDB preference, and not an objective."

  Ketrick flushed.

  Yes, go back to your spy reports and data sheets, Vaid! Biam thought. Leave the Real Here and Now to those whose knowledge of it is first hand.

  "Why did the New Dawn Believers think that Burin would continue House Possór's dealings with the Consortium?" Ketrick demanded.

  "I’m not sure they did," Biam replied calmly. "What do our NDB Brothers say?"

  "That is not very amusing, Allenford."

  No, it is not, Biam thought. But do you see the true threat of the NDB infiltrating us—beyond that which fuels your jealous hatred? Knowing that their existence would depend on the NDB Church's continued involvement in the economic underworld, Biam loathed the idea of being reduced to a subsidiary of the “True Church.” Subsidiaries could be folded up and closed.

  “If you think the NDB eliminated Burin because he favored the Consortium over us,” Biam responded finally, ignoring Ketrick’s look of impatience, “the better question would be why they would risk crossing the Consortium like that, and being stuck with the incorruptible Derrick, who would just as likely shut both our operations down.”

  "Derrick is not the last of the potential claimants to the throne. The NDB play a double-game. For now, they are leveraging the Consortium against us in their continued bid to take us over. In the long-run however, it will either be us or the Consortium supplying House Possór with its covert income stream. Killing Burin is a long-run move."

  "Are you afraid that the NDB may be cutting a deal with the Consortium? The deaths of those four Imperial agents were made to look like Consortium hits on purpose, remember? Let’s not fool ourselves. House Possór has no choice but to sever its ties. Why do you assume that the NDB were alone in maneuvering Seffan to h
ave Burin killed?"

  "If the Consortium wanted Burin dead, why bother manipulating Seffan into murdering him? They could have just seen to the deed themselves.”

  "Josephine may have made it easy for them both," suggested Biam. "They could have used her, and then left her to her fate, all without risking retaliation by Seffan.” Seeing Ketrick squinch his lips together, Biam sighed at being forced to explain. “And she disliked the NDB even more than the Mirans. Moreover, we both know the extent of her influence on Burin—"

  "Yes, yes," Ketrick said impatiently. Josephine’s influence was one reason the DuCideons had preferred Burin to Derrick. The late Duchess was very close to her father, and he was a sworn member of the Brotherhood. It was an indirect lever, but it was not one to disregard completely. It was also better than anything they had over Derrick.

  “So you think the Consortium and the NDBs were in accord on this?”

  The Advisor lifted an eyebrow. "Why not? They knew we preferred Burin on the throne. Claiming responsibility later would also be a powerful message to Derrick, assuming the emotional cripple starts thinking about things like self-preservation again."

  "Then why waste the chance of having Burin’s son around as a potential puppet?” Ketrick asked doubtfully. “Surely he would be better than Derrick the Anti-Smuggler."

  "Yes," said Biam, allowing a thin smile to form. "Well, the kid was a throw-away. The bottom line is that as lucrative as the Consortium contracts would be to our pious NDB friends, they would curtail both the Consortium and us if it meant securing themselves on Legan. Besides, the NDB can afford to take a hit to their revenues. More, aside from their savings in souls, they have too much capital invested here to allow themselves to be simply kicked out."

  "So does the Consortium," Ketrick said pointedly.