by E G Manetti
With a sigh, Katleen rises and puts aside her slate. Wrapping an arm around Katleen, Rebecca says, “Look not so glum. Clarice and I will tend the kitchen. It is a bright day and the garden will be pleasant.”
»◊«
The garden is pleasant. The sky is a bright, clear blue, the air warm but not hot. In a sleeveless tunic and her racing shorts, Lilian turns the soil, her muscles warmed from the exertion. Bits of rags stuffed into the fingertips of the worn garden gloves limit her dexterity but keep the soil from penetrating.
Raking fertilizer into the prepared area, Katleen hums a tune, enjoying the day of liberty from her studies. A shadow cuts across the newly turned soil and Verity asks, “How can I assist? I know naught of gardens.”
Leaning on the spade, Lilian shakes her head. “My thanks, but you did not bring a change of garb and what you wear will get filthy.”
Glancing down at her pale blue tunic and trousers, Verity shrugs. “They can be cleansed. It is not as if I must appear at the cartel.”
Lilian would find it unpleasant to spend the day in dirty garb, but as Verity does not appear troubled by it, she is glad for the aid. By the time Rebecca and Clarice emerge from the kitchen, Verity has new plantings in a third of the garden and all the soil is prepared. Refusing to risk her manicure, Rebecca promises to tend the kitchen after the midday meal while Clarice finds the hose to water the new plants, the garden’s irrigation system as unreliable as the ancient drains.
They are finished well before midday, allowing Lilian ample time to shower and change into her faded training garb before Mr. Hidaka arrives with the midday meal. While Lilian scans the meal with the pink wand, Katleen engages one of the shrine guards in animated chatter. Allowing the guards to take their meal first, Lilian joins Rebecca at the front entry while Tabitha and Verity take the upper-storey windows overlooking the gardens. Clarice and Katleen are left to patrol the empty chambers of the house. The sight of Katleen holstering a fire-pistol gives Lilian pause, but she trusts Seigneur Trevelyan’s training. The spymaster has insisted that as long as there are fireburst weapons in the house, they will all have the knowledge to handle them properly.
As first bell chimes, Maman and Waiman descend the stairs and the guards return to their posts, freeing Lilian and Rebecca to find their meal and view the moon race. In the kitchen, Clarice and Katleen have plates before them, their slates propped for viewing.
“It is beginning,” Katleen says.
Setting her slate in its stand, Lilian finds the race feed, dividing her attention between the flyers sweeping past the most distant moon and filling a plate. Verity and Tabitha arrive as she picks up her fork. As they fill plates, she says, “Fletcher is in sixth position and the formation has reached the farthest moon.”
Little more is said as plates are filled and meals consumed. Even Maman and Waiman are fixated on their slates.
As Fletcher claims fifth position, a tug on her tunic sleeve pulls her attention to Katleen. Her sister jerks her head toward the garden, her expression worried. Something is amiss. Leaving her slate to continue its display, Lilian follows Katleen into the garden. Maman glances up but says naught while the others remain riveted to the race.
Guiding Katleen to a garden bench, Lilian notes a flare of iridescent blue as Gloribelle leaps from a shrub to the wall that leads to the ornamental gardens and disappears. As the weather has warmed, the little tree wombat spends her days in those gardens, emerging only at mealtimes. Settling on the bench, Lilian takes her sister’s hand. She expected that Katleen would need reassurance. “Monsignor Lucius is but cautious. The presence of so many guards is a show of force to discourage any who might be foolish enough to attempt the house. We are in no true danger.”
Katleen’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “That is not it. I am not frightened. It is Mistress Elysia.”
What says she? “What does Mistress Elysia fear?”
“Fear? No, that is not what I meant. There is dark comment in the shrines. It is said she is wayward and confined to the Mercio estate lest she give rise to scandal.”
Adelaide’s thorn. What new ill is this? “Who speaks so? You know Mistress Elysia was injured in a speeder incident.”
“I had thought it but acolyte chatter, but even the shrine guards have the tale. It is said the injury is but a convenient means to justify the confinement.” Katleen stares down at their clasped hands. “I do not intend to spread false accusations, but I thought you should know. They say she engaged in vulgar behavior in a notorious indulgence and that although she has not the tattoo she indulged in erotic play with Solomon’s heir and offered herself to Monsignor’s protégé.”
Lilian knows that there is a kernel of truth to the tale of the indulgence, but she will not voice it to Katleen. Raising her eyes, Katleen says, “I do not wish to believe it. We spoke but a few words after the Inversion melee, but she was all that was warrior courtesy and restraint. But she is not in the observatory for the race. It is naught but a fractured shin. Why would she not attend unless it is true Mistress Elysia is confined?”
How? Who? The free-traders would reveal naught of Monsignor Gertrude’s scandalous history. Trevelyan would slay to keep the matter unknown. “It is vile slander based on fantasy and envy. Know you the source?”
“It is much discussed among the acolytes,” Katleen says. “According those who attend Crossed Sabers, it is whispered there. None who spoke of it thought they lied.”
“Colors and music?” She does not understand her sister’s odd perception, but it is proving as reliable as Rebecca’s.
“All as they should be,” Katleen replies. “I thought it naught but a fable. A mean-spirited play taken as truth. Then Mistress Elysia failed to attend the moon races.”
“It is naught but a fable,” Lilian states. “It may do much harm to Monsignor’s child. Are you able to discern the source of this maliciousness, I would know of it.”
Katleen nods. “I will discover what I may.”
“Fletcher is in fourth position,” Rebecca calls from the kitchen entrance.
“They have Mr. Hidaka,” Stefan says from the walkway.
»◊«
From the second storey, Lilian assesses the street before Katleen’s house. With the city focused on the moon race, it is empty but for the four prize hunters and the diminutive café owner held on his knees. The hunters know their trade. They are positioned at the entrance to the mews across the way, sheltered by the walls of the houses on either side and three paces beyond fire-rifle range.
Somehow, they know they are watched. One of the hunters slams a fist into Hidaka’s face, the blood splatter visible even at this distance as the elderly man slumps in their grip.
Her eyes on Hidaka, she asks, “Stefan, how long?”
“Ten minutes for the local militia, twenty minutes for Serengeti.”
Turning from the window, she says, “The local militia will be delayed. The hunters would not attempt this were they not certain.”
“Certain of what?” Katleen asks, attempting to peer past Lilian into the street.
“That they have time to lure me forth,” Lilian replies, placing her hands on Katleen’s shoulders to urge her to the staircase. “They intend to torture Mr. Hidaka until I do so. They must know it will take some time to so persuade me.”
“Why do they not threaten to slay him?” Clarice asks as they descend. “Pressure you to act hastily?”
“As much as it would grieve me to see Mr. Hidaka slain, I would not defy Monsignor to spare him a clean death,” Lilian responds. “In this they have judged ill. I will not defy Monsignor to spare Mr. Hidaka torment either.”
At the bottom of the staircase, Katleen grabs her arm. “Can you not preserve Mr. Hidaka without defying Monsignor?”
Helena turns from the door monitor where she and Waiman have been watching the hunters. “Time favors them not.”
It is not the first occasion Lilian has heard those words, or ones very similar. It
may be possible to buy Mr. Hidaka time while obeying milord. “Katleen, gather my Adelaide’s Thorn garb and bring it here.”
By the door monitor, Rebecca gasps. “Whatever your play, we must hasten. I believe they intend to flay Mr. Hidaka.”
Five Warriors protect him. The door monitor is outdated, the visual grainy but more than sufficient to reveal the horrifying image of Mr. Hidaka bared to the waist, two hunters holding him while a third readies a dagger. Twice the length of Lilian’s thorn, the single-edged blade glints with evil promise.
Naught else moves on the thoroughfare. Even with the moon race, there should be some activity, its absence confirming Lilian’s suspicion that the local militia will be delayed.
Lilian points at one of Sinead’s guards. “I require your armor.”
As the woman begins to remove her protective gear, Lilian turns to Stefan. “I suspect a sniper. When Katleen returns, you and Tabitha must take the fire-rifles and two others of your choice to the second storey. If the sniper has the house in range, the sniper will be in range of the house.”
Handing a fire-rifle to Tabitha, Stefan asks, “How will we know when to engage?”
“You will know,” Lilian assures him, accepting armor and her Adelaide’s Thorn garb. “Katleen, go with Mr. Stefan and fetch him aught he may require.”
It is a transparent effort to put Katleen far from harm, but this once her sister does not argue.
“Verity, let the guards at the back of the house know what goes forward. They should remain at their post. There may be others.”
Retreating into the courtyard, she shifts her garb, putting the body armor close to her skin, the black tunic and trousers over it. It is overly snug, but she does not intend to engage in battle. Adding the black mask, she returns to the entryway. “Rebecca, how fares Mr. Hidaka?”
“He bleeds.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. “Everyone but Rebecca must move into the courtyard.”
Eyes wide, Clarice says, “You cannot intend to go without.”
I am the foundation of my family. “Monsignor has bidden me to remain within. Unless Katleen’s house burns, I will obey.” Turning to Rebecca, she motions her friend to the door controls. “Rebecca, you must be beyond quick. The doors must close almost as soon as they recess. This chamber will soon know fireburst.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrow even as she moves into position. “A diversion? Are you deranged?”
Shepherding the others toward the courtyard, Lady Helena replies, “Lilian is rarely confused.”
Before Rebecca can respond to the seer, Lilian signals, the single word echoing in the silence. “Serengeti.”
Honor is my blade and shield. Bright sunlight strikes the raised thorn as the door opens. The hunters cease their abuse of the elderly man. Fireburst shatters the quiet, as not one but three rifles seek Lilian’s black form, vivid in the sunshine.
»◊«
Cesare leaps to his feet in excitement as Fletcher moves into fourth position. Those of Serengeti shout along with him as others groan at the shift in race fortunes. Lucius is as pleased as his heir but finds he cannot concentrate on the event as he has other years. Elysia chafes under her confinement, taunted by alerts from Jenica filled with all that Elysia is missing. Although, this day, his daughter displayed warrior valor, expressing pleasure that her injury provided an excuse for Estella to remain home and not undergo the rigors of the observatory transit. It will not be much longer before such excuses no longer serve and Estella’s illness becomes public knowledge.
Although he has not voiced it, he believes much of Elysia’s wayward behavior has its source in her grief at the imminent loss of her mother.
“Monsignor.” Trevelyan’s voice is pitched low beneath the sound of the cheering crowd. “Katleen’s house is beset with prize hunters. Serengeti Militia has been deployed.”
Demon shit. Lucius’ heart seizes. “Thorvald?”
“He leads the militia.”
The militia and training seigneur willingly forwent the observatory to be available if aught went ill at Katleen’s house. When it comes to battle, there is none other than Trevelyan Lucius trusts more. Knowing there is naught he can do, Lucius nods at his spymaster and friend, knowing the man is concerned for Helena’s and Katleen’s safety as well as Lilian’s. “Keep me informed.”
»◊«
Rebecca hits the door controls as the first fireburst scars the marble floor. It is answered by those on the second storey as Lilian staggers back, two more bursts making it through the door before it seals. Flinging herself at the crumpled, unmoving form, Rebecca seeks and finds a pulse. The seer appears at her side, tipping Lilian onto her back. Pulling the black mask free, the seer murmurs, “Clever child, recall how to breathe.”
Lilian’s eyes are wide, her mouth open.
Helena’s fingers stroke Lilian’s throat and a harsh gasp signals lungs filling.
“Clever child,” Helena murmurs again, reaching for the closures on Lilian’s tunic. At her touch, it separates in a ragged line, the armor beneath dented and melted. One of the bursts struck true and well. They must have been close, fifteen paces, no more. Farther away and the burst would have staggered Lilian, not felled her. Closer in, the armor would have split.
Lilian gasps again, struggling for air. Helena tugs at the armor, attempting to pull it free.
Sliding an arm under Lilian, Rebecca struggles to lift her friend and is joined by Clarice. Together they raise her torso so that the armor can be dragged free.
With a harsh sound, Lilian tips forward, bracing on hands and knees as she struggles to gather the breath knocked from her by the fireburst assault.
She breathes. Yield some space. Daughter, can you hear me?
Honor endures. This day I live. Oxygen reaching her brain, Lilian’s mind expands beyond the motion of her lungs. Katleen’s house. Moon race. Prize hunters. Mr. Hidaka. At the last thought, Lilian is fully alert. Her ribs throbbing, kneeling, Lilian considers her state. Naught else appears to be amiss.
“Only one hit true,” Clarice says.
“One stuck the doorframe, the other the floor,” Rebecca replies. “Lilian was already throwing herself backward when the first burst struck her.”
Rising to her knees, Lilian asks, “What goes forward?”
“Mr. Stefan and Tabitha have taken the snipers,” Katleen says from the base of the stairs.
Clarice peers at the monitor. “The others retain Mr. Hidaka.”
“How long?”
A shrine guard offers Lilian her hands to rise. “It has been over twenty minutes since Stefan alerted the militia and Serengeti.”
Lilian is proven correct. The local militia is delayed. That there is neither sight nor sound of Serengeti is disquieting.
“They are preparing to offer further harm to Mr. Hidaka,” Katleen says from the monitor. “What do they wish? They must have seen you fall.”
“Evidence of my death,” Lilian replies, gaining her feet.
“Lilian, what will you?” Rebecca asks.
Pressing a hand against her aching ribs, Lilian peers at the monitor. “I know not. They will not fall to the same device twice. Serengeti will come, but it may be too late for Mr. Hidaka.”
The shrine guard that gave up her armor loosens her pistol belt. “Adelaide’s Thorn, yield me your garb.”
Another decoy. “They will slay you.”
“Mayhap, mayhap not. It will be as Sinead wills.” The woman pulls off her tunic. “I am sworn to the Order of the Twelve Systems. I will not flinch from the forces of anarchy.”
“Find her armor that suffices,” Lilian says, once again retreating to the courtyard. Once again in faded training garb, she returns to the entryway, where the guard waits in naught but a thong and body armor that is imperfectly sized to her torso. Without a word, Lilian hands her damaged black-and-crimson clothing to the woman.
While the shrine attendant dresses, Lilian steps up to the monitor. She will not look away f
rom Hidaka’s suffering. The elderly man is limp between his captors, blood running down his torso from a series of cuts.
“A slow progress will breed impatience,” Maman says, peering over her shoulder. “The distance is not as long as it appears.”
Gauging the distance from the steps to the hunters, Lilian nods. “Katleen, please have Stefan and Tabitha join us with their rifles.”
When Stefan and Tabitha reach the entryway, they find Lilian adjusting the black mask over the guard’s face, then resettling the warbelt, a training thorn in the crimson sheath. Satisfied, Lilian steps back. “Sinead’s chosen will exit slowly, drawing the hunters’ attention. We will be in the mews, where you will have the range to fire on the hunters.”
The mews that border the east side of Katleen’s house are a private accessway that Lilian sealed when she sealed the entire first storey against the assaults of her neighbors. They have not been open in three years. “We hope that if the shrine guard is slow, the hunters will be lured closer, making a killing shot more probable.”
In the monitor, Hidaka jerks under the knife of the prize hunter, his mouth open in an agonized scream Lilian is grateful she cannot hear. “Katleen, when I signal your slate, open the door.”
»◊«
In a daring maneuver, Fletcher dives into third position and the observatory erupts in excitement. Standing with the others, Lucius seeks Trevelyan. Lilian should be safe by now. Why is there no word?
Trevelyan materializes at the edge of the Serengeti section, slate in hand, a frown creasing his brow. Working his way to Lucius’ position, Trevelyan scans his slate, the frown deepening.
By the time he reaches Lucius, fear has turned to anger. If Lilian is harmed, those who authored it will long for Rimon’s dungeons before he is done.
“All within Katleen’s house are safe,” Trevelyan says. “But access to the neighborhood is blocked by a transport accident that spilled toxic waste on the main thoroughfare and clogged the side streets with traffic. Thorvald has diverted through the River Quarter and will be another quarter period.”
