by E G Manetti
Lucius has since learned that it was the enclave’s devotional center. Surrounding the central chamber are others that served as quarters for their prelates. The only structure to survive the attack, it will provide housing until arrangements can be made for the children. The urns of the dead will remain in place until they are claimed by kin.
The mournful tune ends, and the children are shepherded toward the shelter for an evening meal and then slumber.
Breaking off from his people, Trevelyan turns toward Lucius. The gray tunic and trousers are clean, the man’s features unmarred by blood or dirt. That will soon change. The captured pirates have been moved to Lucius’ flagship for interrogation.
Reaching them, Trevelyan says, “I am ready.”
“Are you?” Thorvald challenges. “You may have battled pirates, but interrogation is another matter. I doubt a Universalist has the stomach for it.”
With a feral smile, Trevelyan fingers the hilt of a dagger no doubt pulled from one of the dead pirates, along with all else of value. “If it will reveal Sadico’s location, I have the stomach to carve out their livers and consume them before their eyes.”
In the end it did not come to that, but two of the four pirates died of the interrogation and the others went to their execution blind, lame, scarred, branded, and glad to be free of torment.
Lucius claps Trevelyan on the shoulder. “Those dark days haunt me of late as well. They are but memories. The future is in the Thirteenth System.”
»◊«
Micah presses the accelerator and the speeder flies forward, chasing Elysia along the parkland trails of the Mercio estate at a breakneck pace. Late-afternoon sun catches the glint of gold hair streaming below headgear. Micah has raced Raphael often, but it is soon clear that Elysia is far more practiced on the route than he, fearless to the point of recklessness as she careens around a bend and narrowly misses the hedges. The first to make it back to the transport lodge wins a forfeit, and Micah is motivated, pushing his speeder into greater velocity.
It is not enough. Elysia skids to a stop at the entrance of the transport lodge three yards in the lead. Placed off a corner of the mansion, the structure that stores transports and speeders is hidden from sight by hedges and trees, making it ideal for stealing a kiss. Even without the forfeit, he has every intention of fulfilling that goal.
Pulling her headgear free, Elysia dismounts, smiling with triumph. Halting next to her, Micah removes his headgear and returns the engaging smile, curious as to what the adventurous young woman will wish for a forfeit.
“I would experience The Blade’s Point this Sixth Eve after the cotillion.”
“Elysia, you cannot. I dare not.” The young woman has no notion of what she is suggesting. “Ask what else you will of me.”
At Micah’s words the triumph fades from Elysia, replaced by dismay. “Micah, you promised. Would you be foresworn?”
“Would you see me severed from Blooded Dagger?” Micah returns. The thought of Monsignor Lucius’ reaction should he escort Elysia into such a place at such a bell chills his blood.
“Oh please, now you are being dramatic.” Elysia tosses her head, leaning back against the speeder. “Father is not as harsh as you suggest.”
“Elysia.” He closes with the young blonde. Unable to resist, he runs a hand along one of her arms. “Were I your father, I would be exceedingly harsh in such circumstances.”
She tilts her head to meet his gaze, her eyes soft and her lips parted. She wishes to be kissed. As he leans in, she pulls away, crossing her arms. “You are overcareful. It cannot be as you voice. Jenica has been and no ill has come of it.”
Socraide’s sword, she is difficult to turn from her purpose. As much as he wishes to please her, in this he does not dare. “You have no notion of the level of decadence that pervades that establishment after dark of night.” Closing with her, he touches her shoulder. To his relief, she does not shrug away. “Jenica is a year your senior and entered at ninth bell for a light meal and to enjoy a musical performance. It is not the same.”
“No, it is worse,” Elysia says, refusing to let tears take her. “She is going again, after the cotillion. Her last adventure took all the attention away from my cotillion. Now she wishes to diminish my success at Socraide’s Cotillion with an even greater adventure.” Unable to hold back, she leans into him, her breasts but a hairsbreadth from his chest. “She is always one step ahead. I cannot bear it.”
Micah’s eyes are warm with sympathy, but he refuses to yield. “I am not Jenica’s escort. Nor am I answerable to her family. Ask what else you will.”
“Another eve then, before dark of night,” Elysia negotiates. She does not wish to quarrel with Micah. Does she continue, the time will be done, and he will not have kissed her. Does Jenica succeed in her adventure without ill result, Elysia will make a further request.
“Would the coming Third Day please you?” Micah lifts his hands to her waist. “There is a match at eighth bell that you might enjoy, and that early in the evening there is naught that would concern Monsignor.”
“Yes, Micah, it will please me,” Elysia murmurs, raising her face and slipping her arms around Micah. His kissing is excellent.
»◊«
The night sky is clear, a black expanse awash with bright points of light that drop to meet the lights of the Crevasse, creating the illusion of an abyss. A sight that normally chills Lilian, tonight it does not trouble her, relaxed and pleasantly sore, nestled against milord’s dozing warmth.
Tenth bell chimes and milord rises to a seated position, pulling her with him so he can view the vast, sparkling expanse. “What think you?”
Resting her head against milord’s shoulder, she says, “My thoughts are scattered and without cohesion, milord. They are centered in the Eleventh System.”
Milord’s fingers trace her ribs. “Do you consider the coming trap for the black raiders?”
“Not specifically. I was thinking about the maneuverability of Deacon Raleigh’s transports. They are not as rapid or agile as Master Fletcher’s race flyer, but they are more so than a militia transport of the same purpose. It is technology unique to the Eleventh System, as is the potion that saved Rhyliss’ life.”
Milord’s arms settle about her waist. “Are you wondering how to exploit such advances?”
“I am wondering why Matahorn does not or cannot.” She traces the muscled forearms with her fingers. “It is not lost on me that the deacon used commercial transport rather than one of his own vessels for the transit to Metricelli Prime. Either he cannot or will not pay the export commission to carry such technology beyond the boundaries of Eleventh System commerce.”
“Interesting thought.” Milord’s lips feather along her neck. “Have you a conclusion?”
“None as yet. Although, I do wonder if there is aught of use to Bright Star and the Thirteenth System in this.”
“The Governing Council will have no voice in the Thirteenth System. Those who discovered the system will also develop it.”
Matahorn did not discover the Eleventh or the Twelfth Systems. Both locations were mapped by Rimon’s and Sinead’s lines, respectively. The Ninth and Tenth Systems proved more accessible, so it was there expansion continued. The Damaris Collective and the Mitchell Cooperative had the courage and wit to pursue the ancient discoveries, but they lacked the financial resources to complete settlement. It required the intervention of the Governing Council to force a contract between the two cooperative societies and the Matahorn financiers. It was not happenstance that gave Serengeti control of Bright Star, but milord’s careful manipulation and the reward from his defeat of the pirates. Shaking her head, Lilian says, “I was not thinking of the Governing Council or the free-trader charters. Only that those are our most recent systems and may hold lessons for the Thirteenth.”
Milord’s lips explore her shoulder. “Is it Matahorn that concerns you?”
Lilian’s experience with the Matahorn Alliance is uniformly unp
leasant. The Bright Fire Cartouche was home to the goad who tormented her during her protocol review and threatened her mother and sister with destitution. Damien St. Gervais, protégé to Horatio Margovian, intrigued for Lilian’s death. Fenrir of Dark Axe kidnapped her and proved partner to Remus Gariten’s black commerce. Milord’s concern is well founded, but unnecessary. “No, milord. It is the stunted promise of the Eleventh System. Without the repressive agreement with Matahorn, would the Damaris Collective have proven so creative? Is it well for the Order of the Twelve Systems that such advances be repressed? Truly, I know not, milord. I do but ponder.”
Milord turns her onto her back, his eyes hot with desire. “Ponder as you will. Inform me does a pattern form.” His head lowers, his lips find hers, and she loses all interest in the fate of free-trader societies.
Sevenday 142, Day 1
“Rats.” Helena swings the short sword at Lilian’s midsection. Lilian dodges and pivots, swinging around Helena’s back for an assault.
“Too many rats,” Helena insists, dodging Lilian’s attack. “You must deal with the rats.”
Moving low, Lilian attempts to sweep her mother and finds empty air. A quick roll avoids what would have been a painful blow to her solar plexus. Righting herself, Lilian charges her mother. Thorn and short sword engage and hold. Helena’s face is but inches away as she insists, “Gather the birds. Destroy the rats.”
Lilian heaves free of the seer and then attempts to toss her mother into a pillar. Helena tucks and rolls. She is not quite quick enough. Her rise is caught by the thorn against her throat. Lilian has won.
Sheathing her blade, Lilian reaches to remove her mask. Helena sets aside the short sword but not her insistence. “You must destroy the rats before they swarm.”
“Maman, be at peace,” Lilian gasps as she replies. That Helena is seeing pirates does not surprise her with black raiders disrupting the Mercium flow into the Eleventh System. “Seigneur Trevelyan has it well in hand. The rats will not continue for long.”
At the spymaster’s name, Helena beams. “You must not tarry. It will not serve to be late to the cartel.”
Climbing the stairs, Lilian turns for her mother’s chamber. Despite the pressure of time, her mother’s obsession with rats has her concerned. Within the chamber the Lilian and Lucius murals are unaltered from the past Seventh Day. For the first time, the night sky surrounding the entrance, which for seasons had been naught but a wash of midnight blue and a scattering of stars, has a pale green sphere dominating the corner closest to the ceiling. The random scattering of stars has expanded and there are hints of constellations. It is an entrancing sight but does not have enough detail to identify the system. Whatever troubles her mother, it is not reflected in the panels.
It is likely what she surmised, Maman is but concerned with the Mercium raids. Entering her own chamber, she finds the bed made and Flavia waiting. Resigned to the woman’s attentions, Lilian strips and hands the soiled training garb to her shadow. Racing through her shower, she is in her lingerie, binding her hair when the door opens.
“Black-hearted sea-demons.” It is not Flavia but Maman yet in training garb. “Mind the tree-trolls.”
Five Warriors take it. She has no time for this. “I will mind the tree-trolls.”
Pushing past her mother, Lilian hurries to her closet, grabbing a silk top.
Helena purses her lips, insisting, “Harken to the ravens.”
“Chrys and Rebecca, yes, Maman.” Lilian pulls on her skirt.
“Protect the brilliant light.”
Lilian shrugs on her jacket. “We will all protect Bright Star.”
“Hold fast to the thorn.”
Where is Flavia when needed? Twisting milord’s gold warbelt into position, Lilian drapes the jacket to hide the thorn. Patting the slight bulge, she says, “I will hold on to the thorn. I have it here.”
Eyes on the bulge, Helena calms. “Keep it close. It scores.”
»◊«
This day. I am the sum of my ancestors. Crossing the scarlet threshold at eighth bell, Lilian holds fast to her discipline. She spent the transit to the cartel deliberating on her mother’s words and the utility of reporting them to milord.
Late on Sixth Day, both the Mercium shipment to the Eleventh System and the decoy entered the beaconed expanse. It is too soon to know aught. If the pirates attack, it will be at least another three days. Today, Monsignor Horatio and his nearest kin arrive and will remain through the Five Warriors’ Festival to perform their ritual observance at the seat of the Fourth Warrior’s sect. As the Lord Patron of Jonathan Metricelli’s sect, it is Monsignor Horatio’s duty to celebrate the festival at Jonathan’s primary shrine every few years. It is an overdue observance, but Lilian dislikes that it coincides with the deacon’s arrival and her mother’s obsession with pirates.
Lucius cares not for the aspect of the woman awaiting his attention. Gone is the serenity of Fifth Day night and the bright energy of Sixth Day. Lilian is pale, her expression blank. Something is amiss. There is a great deal in play in the next two sevendays, all of which require his apprentice’s sharp intellect. “What distresses you?”
Her shoulders are square, her eyes are on the enamel of Socraide behind him. “The seer is voicing pirates, milord.”
His skepticism of the seer’s visions is tempered by experience that has proven they should not be entirely discounted. He knows his apprentice’s skepticism exceeds his own. That she is overset gives weight to the seer. Sharpening his tone to call her gaze, he asks, “Does Lady Helena signal defeat in the Eleventh System?”
“I do not believe so, milord,” Lilian replies. “I am unable to discern the source of the seer’s concern. But I think it is here in Crevasse City.”
He likes not the direction of Helena’s visions. “Why think you this?”
“The seer instructs me to hold fast to my thorn. Were the danger distant, such an instruction would be unnecessary.” I am the sum of my family. It is beyond embarrassing. Her mother’s mad ravings are unreliable. It is ill that milord is distracted by such capricious intelligence.
“Lilian, did you not voice that when Remus Gariten threatened you and then your sister, Lady Helena voiced it as a pirate threat?” Lucius’ brilliant mind connects the random intelligence. At Lilian’s confirmation, Lucius ponders for another moment. Lilian is threatened by assassins. The cartel security that is her best defense is distracted by Raleigh’s black raiders, the Bright Star command crew, and the arrival of the Matahorn contingent.
“I concur with Lady Helena. This once, Lilian, you will heed your mother.” Lilian’s eyes widen at his reminder of another occasion when Lilian would have done well to heed Helena. “Hold fast to your thorn.”
»◊«
Stretching out his legs, Lucius ignores the traffic clogging the transitway to his mansion and reaches for his slate. He finds what he expected: Horatio has sent a polite refusal of his offers to provide access to Serengeti transports and facilities while resident in Crevasse City. They are courtesies Lucius has offered Horatio every few years for the past decade when spiritual observance brought the Matahorn preeminence to Jonathan’s seat. It is a courtesy that Horatio has returned when Lucius’ faith periodically requires he offer fealty at Socraide’s seat on Socraide Prime, and which Lucius has been just as courteous in refusing.
With cotillion season in full flow and the Five Warriors’ Festival approaching, Lucius is not required to arrange special entertainment for the Matahorn contingent, only ensure they have invitations to all the events. With the command crew in training at Serengeti, it is expected that Horatio and William will wish to review progress. It is not scheduled until the forty-third sevenday, the timing orchestrated by Lucius to occur after the Eleventh System pirates have been captured. Dealings with Horatio early the following sevenday will prove interesting.
Until then, Lucius must make certain that the deacon and his companions do not encounter Horatio. Knowing Horatio, it will not be
as readily accomplished as keeping the free-traders separated from the command crew.
»◊«
From the third-storey balcony of his townhouse, Horatio Margovian admires the lush splendor of the Garden Center at the height of the green season. Sixth bell after midday is chiming as the afternoon light softens, heralding the approaching sunset.
William and his family arrived with Horatio and Horatio’s youngest daughter. On the coming Fifth Day, Horatio’s spouse will arrive in time to attend the Governor’s Cotillion. Until then, he and his heir will attend to local commerce and await developments. He wonders what new intrigue will develop around Lucius’ apprentice. The woman attracts anarchy in the manner a sweets tray attracts insects.
As for Lucius, Horatio knows that Deacon Raleigh is in Crevasse City. He has evidence that the Mercium agent has indictable ties to pharmaceutical smugglers. He has not yet determined how to use the situation to his best advantage. Using it to gain a position in the Mercium trade is the most obvious play. There may be others. Sipping single malt, Horatio is content. This trip is already proving advantageous. Dealings with Lucius early the following sevenday will prove interesting.
9.
Wayward Kin
The timing of cotillion season varies within the Twelve Systems and its habitable worlds, although more than half follow Metricelli Prime in holding the season near or around the Five Warriors’ Festival. The Metricelli Prime season begins with Sinead’s Cotillion, held on sevenday 36, day 6, at the beginning of the green season. Each of the warrior sects holds a subscription cotillion that collects funds to support shrine activities, of which Socraide’s and Jonathan’s are the most prestigious. Of the secular events, the Vistrite Cotillion that ends the season is second only to the Governor’s Cotillion in prestige. Conducted throughout the scheduled cotillions are numerous private recognition cotillions for female warriors reaching the age of consent. ~ excerpt from The Third System, a visitor’s guide.
