by E G Manetti
Sevenday 146, Day 1
I am the sum of my ancestors. Eighth bell is but moments away and yet the chimes refuse to sound.
The scarlet door recesses, revealing milord, his expression dark. She knew he would not be pleased by the events of the day gone. I am the foundation of my family. He will be even less pleased when she voices what she withheld from Seigneur Trevelyan.
At milord’s gesture, she joins him on the scarlet couch.
His hands grasp her shoulders, turning her to search her face. One hand comes up and the thumb traces the dark circle under one eye. Evidence of her sleepless night. “Mrs. Zdenka’s death is regrettable, but it was her duty.”
Honor is my blade and shield. “Milord, there is something you would know.”
Milord’s hand drops away, his lips quirk. “If you are concerned about Virgil’s complaint, it is naught.”
Honor knows not fear. It is no surprise that Socraide’s Keeper complained he found her clinging to the base of a pear tree purging a belly that was all but empty, having not yet taken a morning meal. Adelaide’s grace, if only that were the worst of it. She swore to milord that did Gariten’s evil seed bear fruit, she would voice it. Turning her gaze from milord to the dark reviewer, Lilian reveals what she would prefer to hide.
Lilian races to the dark mound, finding Mrs. Zdenka collapsed at an angle, her face sideways in the loam under the tree, her back a smoldering ruin. Crouching next to the fallen woman, Lilian searches for any hint of a pulse. The black eyes open, and a ragged breath leaves blood-spotted lips.
Horrified that another has died to protect her, Lilian offers an anguished apology. “Forgive me. I thought the shadows would protect you.”
A smile flickers, the taciturn guard’s reply naught but a whisper. “No regret, Monsignor. It is my honor.”
Choking, Lilian strokes the dying woman’s forehead with a finger. “Not Monsignor. Lilian.”
“Monsignor Remus’ heir.” The woman’s breath rattles. “For all his evil . . . fair with my kin . . . sworn for three . . . generations.”
Lilian clenches her teeth against her roiling innards. I must not be ill on milord’s rug. “It was the lottery.” Dropping her gaze to the inferior weave of her skirt, she explains. “It is the one aspect of Gariten’s foul dealings I had not fathomed. On several occasions, he paid the prize to random commoners. Without those payments, it would have been fraud, not a lottery.”
True lotteries are the substance of anarchy. That no fewer than three families of the common order reside in unearned estate is such an offense to order, it would have sealed his fate without the evidence of decadents dealing and illegal servitude trafficking.
Honor endures. “The lottery rewards Gariten distributed were but a tenth of his income from the endeavors. The first award trebled subscriptions. The second award increased the subscriptions tenfold. Until Mrs. Zdenka’s revelation, I thought it naught but another pyramid scheme. It never occurred to me to seek out those he awarded.”
Honor acts as duty commands. The woman offered her milord’s title. It is beyond ill, it is sacrilege. That none but Lilian heard the militia guard give it voice is unimportant. Without another word, Lilian slips from her chair to kneel at milord’s feet. Head bowed, she can do naught but offer contrition. “I beg milord’s pardon. It was not of my design or voice.”
Demon shit. Lucius pulls Lilian from her knees and into his arms, the tense form trembling. “Peace, woman, you are not at fault.”
Had he the ability, he would slay Gariten again. For all their care that there be no cause to challenge her trial proof, they could never have anticipated such an occurrence. Had Virgil heard Zdenka utter words suggesting Lilian seeks to reclaim warrior status and her sire’s cartouche, naught would have spared her the Final Draught. “You voiced naught of this to Trevelyan?”
“No, milord,” Lilian whispers into his neck.
“He must know, but no others. Not even the Lord Prelates.” Lilian’s bond has less than a month before it proves. Once her bond is proved, if this should this come to light, it will cause difficulty, but Lucius will be able to manage it.
»◊«
Trevelyan accepts tea and waits until Marieth departs. He holds no doubt that she is aware of the recent attack on Lilian. The militia report made the media streams. As soon as the door seals, he says, “Socraide’s militia is meager. Virgil should be replaced.”
“I have no love for Virgil, but what concerns you?”
Trevelyan sets aside his tea. “When Katleen called me to her house after the attack, Lilian was withdrawn and distressed. It was not from fear, but the death of Zdenka. Who need not have died. The guards heard the fireburst well before the women broke from cover. Had they emerged sooner, they could have driven off the assassins before aught befell Zdenka.”
Lucius frowns. “From the report, I thought Lilian’s maneuver well considered, the guard’s death the misfortune of combat. Did you voice to Lilian the fault was with Socraide’s guards?”
“I did.” Trevelyan sighs. “It did not appear to move her.”
Wondering how his spymaster will react, Lucius reveals the true source of Lilian’s distress.
“Universe scatter it.” Trevelyan reaches for his slate. “Will that man’s evil never fade?”
“What do you?” Lucius asks as Trevelyan works his slate.
Without glancing up, the spymaster replies, “Three generations? Three awards. I would know the size of the voluntary militia Gariten assembled.”
Socraide’s sword. Lucius was distracted by his concern for Lilian and failed to comprehend the full extent of Gariten’s plot. Commerce interests, shrines, and governors are licensed for militia under the governing protocols, and cartouches are permitted private security forces. Strictures regulate the number of retainers that may be armed and the nature of the weapons. Lucius’ household guard is limited in number and permitted pistols in equal numbers to the guards, but only a tenth the number in rifles. The greater the cartouche, the larger the permitted force.
Trevelyan makes a satisfied sound. “Their identities are in the records of the protocol review. Both the original and the ones purchased after the awards.”
Now that Trevelyan voices it, Lucius recalls that the lottery crimes had remained hidden until Gariten’s protocol review by the simple subterfuge of creating counterfeit identities for the winners, so their sudden wealth would not be questioned.
Trevelyan’s fingers fly over his slate, seeking the size of Gariten’s private army.
Did Lucius will it, through black commerce dealings, he could obtain fire-rifles to arm every member of the Blooded Dagger Militia and his household retainers. To do so would be to set Blooded Dagger against the Governing Council, an act of anarchy.
The lottery families were not of Gariten’s cartouche, nor were they retainers. Did they arm themselves to support Gariten’s will, it would not be visible to the Governing Council. The man was as devious as he was evil.
“Near to one hundred of majority age.” Trevelyan looks up. It is half the size of Lucius’ household guard. “Are they all as devoted as Zdenka, Gariten had the beginnings of a sizable private militia.”
“In three generations, it could be as many as five times that number,” Lucius replies. “What of Zdenka? How did she manage to find her way into Lilian’s guard?”
Returning to his slate, Trevelyan taps out a few commands. “She qualified for the militia in the usual manner. She appears to be the grandniece of one of the lottery winners, but her history is without taint.” A few more taps. “She was one of four female militia that Joyce chose of the ten considered. This is interesting.” Another tap. Trevelyan looks up, “She was sixth of the ten. Two ahead of her in consideration dropped out. One suffered a broken leg in a transit accident, the other was hired away by Zdenka’s family.”
“Do you suppose someone from her family caused the traffic accident?”
“It does seem probable, as Lilian woul
d say.”
“That type of dedication can be dangerous.”
“His lottery operations were but five seasons in play before he was discovered. What if he had had years? Or decades?” Trevelyan puts aside his slate. “The more we discover about that shadeless scum, the more pleased I am that he is an anonymous scattering among the stars.”
“For all his grandiose schemes, he was betrayed by one of his black commerce partners,” Lucius says. “The Five Warriors enjoy symmetry.”
With a grim smile, Trevelyan replies, “The Universe strives for balance.”
»◊«
“Double encoding?” Master Simon says in a blend of admiration and amusement. “Master Aidan is as fanciful as our chemist.”
Looking up from his instrument panel, Master Magnus scowls. “Technologistics. No magic. Clever man.”
“Is it possible?” Lilian asks, her fingers tapping out instructions. “It would reduce the number of spares needed.”
After seasons of experimentation, they have not succeeded in creating flexible Vistrite larger than a grape. Of the five unique forms Aidan desires for the Nightingale propulsion engines, the blue Mercium can support two rectangles, and flexible Vistrite a two-inch Vistrite rod and a one-inch disk. Working with the Iron Hammer engineer assigned to Fortuna, Aidan selected a grape meant to serve as a rod and had it set as a disk. The crystal functioned for but a few minutes before the conflict between its encoding and the controller design resulted in the crystal shattering. The accident inspired Aidan to suggest the incomprehensible notion of double-encoding the crystals so they could be used in either controller.
Simon examines his reviewer, tapping out commands. “Mayhap. It has never been done, but I find naught that suggests it is impossible.”
Lilian leans in. Simon’s lips twitch into a smile. “Naught to suggest it is possible either. Will Monsignor finance the research?”
Vistrite controllers are designed to support specific purposes, the encoded crystals sealed into the controller units. Should either the crystal or the controller fail, the entire unit must be replaced. The same technology is used with Mercium, controller fabrication centers co-located with the Mercium facilities in the Western Continent and on Troy. Master Aidan’s suggestion not only alters centuries of Vistrite protocols, but those of the controllers as well. Turning to Fletcher, she asks, “What of the controllers, will they accept double encoding?”
Fletcher shakes his head. “Standard controllers cannot support dual functions. But Seigneur Kemeha’s design for the flexible Vistrite controllers is unique. It might be possible to alter them to accept dual functions, but it will require research if Monsignor Lucius agrees.”
Lilian glances over at Chrys and finds his eyes as bright as Simon’s. While aught that might benefit Bright Star is at the forefront of Serengeti research and development funding, they lack data to justify significant investment. Tapping her slate to mask her thoughts, she calculates risk and return, juggling her duties to discover the periods she requires. “Master Simon, will you permit me two sevendays, I will evaluate the archives and discover if there is aught to support or refute Master Aidan’s design.”
At Simon’s nod, Fletcher and Chrys grin, and Master Magnus chuckles.
»◊«
Tiger kicks the collapsed heap that was once a prize hunter. “Dead.”
“Self-slaughter,” Spider says through tight lips. “Someone warned them.”
The Refinery District guesthouse is favored by gray and black commerce raiders for its tight security-privilege and discretion. Spider did not get the location of the dead hunters from the management, but one of her local sources who noted the prize hunter’s arrival after the Garden Center attack. Dangerous predators are common in the district, but dangerous predators with foliage-damaged and stained garments are not.
At the sound of footsteps, Tiger whirls. Rodolfo and Joyce stand in the door, pistols pointed at Spider, who has her weapon pointed at the door.
Shaking his head, Tiger says, “Put it away, Spider. They aren’t going to shoot us.”
“Confident of that?” Trevelyan says, stepping past his operatives, two Serengeti Militia guards behind him. “You are certain these are the assassins?”
“Prize hunters,” Tiger replies. “Not of the guild. Mercenaries lured by a seven million prize.”
“Seven? I thought it five.”
Tiger shrugs. “It’s gone up since the Five Warriors’ Festival. Time is running out.”
“Enough that you are losing control of your territory,” Trevelyan says. “Does aught befall Mistress Lilian, you will suffer for it.”
“Demon shit.” Tiger kicks the nearest corpse in annoyance at having his affairs once again interrupted by Mercio’s demands. “You expect too much. These are from the Eighth System. I cannot monitor every arrival to the Third System. If Monsignor Lucius wishes to keep his apprentice alive, he should lock her away in his penthouse.”
Ignoring Tiger’s complaint, Trevelyan scowls. “We wanted to interrogate these three. Why are they dead?”
“Not my doing. Self-slaughter when they learned they were trapped. Word’s out what I’ll to any who go after that prize.”
Trevelyan nudges a corpse with his foot, rolling the woman onto her back. Blue lips testify to poison. “What of the contract? Have you discovered aught?”
“Blind contract out of the Hebrides, closed out after these three failed.”
“How did word reach the Tenth System so quickly?” Rodolfo asks. “It has only been a day.”
Tiger snorts. Trevelyan’s operatives are declining. “The buyer is watching her. Fireburst in the Garden Center and she’s alive at midday? They don’t need to know who failed, only that someone did. The contract will reemerge in another blind account by nightfall. If it hasn’t already.”
Resigned, Trevelyan turns to leave. “See that the governor’s militia knows where to find the bodies. Do what you can to make it appear they suffered before dying.”
Biting his tongue, Tiger controls the urge to tell Trevelyan to perform his own dirty work. As much as he desires to be rid of Mercio’s leash, he cannot let ire interfere with commerce. He has threatened dark deeds against any who attempt to claim the prize for Lilian’s life. It will be well to demonstrate that it is not an idle threat.
18. Advanc
ement
If the apprentice is to be offered an associate contract upon bond proof, terms should be provided to the apprentice no fewer than two sevendays prior to bond proof. There is to be no negotiation. The apprentice accepts or does not. The early presentation allows the bonded the opportunity to make personal commerce arrangements so that the transition to free associate happens expeditiously.
If the bondholder finds the apprentice’s bond performance is exemplary, the bondholder may petition the governing monsignors on the bonded’s behalf for the honor of the name Serengeti. The evidence must be unequivocal, the apprentice’s tally exceeding contract terms by a least one fifth to ensure that only those of exceptional capability carry the name of the cartel. ~ excerpt from Apprentice Governance, Serengeti Archives.
Sevenday 148, Day 2
Lilian opens her eyes to the diffuse pink glow that indicates sunrise is near, the early light flowing through the courtyard and warming the balcony. It has been three years since she sealed her bond, and it is but three sevendays before it completes. The temptation to imagine what her next birth anniversary may hold is severe. She does not dare.
This day I live. Rising from her bed, she reaches for her training trousers.
I am bonded. The gold warbelt settles on her hips.
There is only this day. She pulls on her ankle boots.
I will not fail. Shrugging into her tunic, she closes its fastenings.
I will not fall. She gathers her hair, binding it in a tail.
There is only this day. The thorn settles in its sheath as she strides to the door.
This day I live. She starts do
wn the stairs.
For three years she has risen to what she mentally terms the trial litany, a reminder that it is dangerous to dwell on the circumstances of her life before her trial or consider too specifically what may come after. The distraction of those thoughts could lead her to error and then into failure.
Lilian’s feet hit the entryway and Maman rushes at her with a fierce cry. The duel of thorn to short sword courses through the empty reception salons into the courtyard, out into the garden, and back again. The militia guard leaps to avoid a strike as she follows the women to the back garden, only to find them flying back into the courtyard.
Neither woman prevails. Both end the bout laughing with delight.
Removing her mask, Helena says, “It is good to live, Daughter.”
»◊«
A militiawoman stands by the transport, pistol drawn while Mr. Stefan escorts Lilian from the house. In moments she is secure within the transport. Larger than the one used before Mrs. Zdenka’s murder, it has the superior armor of one of milord’s transports. Leaving her slate within the satchel, Lilian drinks in the sight of the elegant neighborhood and the lush Garden Center before the transport turns for the Commerce District. Other than to transit between the cartel and Katleen’s house or milord’s penthouse, Lilian is never out of doors. Until her bond is proved and the threat past, she is confined.
I am the sum of my ancestors. The high green season is the loveliest season in Crevasse City. She knows the few sevendays of restrictions are a small price for her survival, but after two sevendays, confinement grates. She is even forbidden the alcove. To her dismay, Apollo supported milord, insisting the shrines are too public, and used his spiritual authority to enforce her obedience.
