by TylerRose.
He opened the door and went in – and was at once fighting an unseen attacker. The lights flickered on with the motion. Osan was there, knife in hand and bringing it down to stab whoever came into the door first. Pisod grabbed Tyler in a bear hug and carried her into his own room, two of the men going with him.
Mankell caught the slashing arm, knocked it the other away and issued a smashing fist to the middle of Osan’s chest. Wind knocked out of him, Osan dropped his arm. Mankell bent it inward, making Osan stab himself in the heart.
The commotion and shouts of the younger men brought others up from the Hall. La’Sek’o came up to see.
“Settles that,” La’Sek’o said. “Drag him back to his brother’s House and drop him on the portico.”
“Clean up the mess,” Mankell said, exiting the room. “Where is she?”
Ch’Wik gestured to Pisod’s door and Mankell knocked on it.
“It is safe now.”
She opened the door.
“He had been waiting for you. Most likely, he teleported from the ship to your room. He could only know this was your room if one of the four had told him.”
“Leave it lay, Kell. If one of them told, then they did it because they had to in order to gain his trust. My orders were to do whatever they had to in order to get the information we needed. They did nothing wrong.”
“You are far too kind,” he scowled.
“And you can sometimes be an ass,” she scowled back in equal measure. “They should be celebrated for the risks they took, not punished. I’ll stay here the night.”
She shut the door. Hard. Mankell sighed a growling sound the men knew all too well. Those who weren’t needed vacated down the nearest stairwell and disappeared into the South House for the night. Clean up of the blood on the floor in her room continued while he and his father went to the Gar suite to report the incident to Que’Fero.
“Let me know when they’re done. I need my bathroom things and night clothes,” she said, kicking her shoes off and curling up in a corner of the sofa.
“I’ll get what you need right now,” Pisod replied, and sent Saber and Ch’Wik into the room to stay with her while he was out.
By now, he knew what she wore and where it was kept. He knew what she used in the toilet room, and grabbed her messenger bag while he was at it. She might want to do some work.
The cleanup was finished before he returned to his own room; but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to be in any hurry to come back with those energies fresh in the room.
She changed and washed up and pulled back into a ball in the corner of the sofa. The hour was growing late. He went about his own nighttime routine. When he came out from the bathroom, he found her leaning into a pillow in the corner of the sofa. He could see in her eyes that she was tired but still terrified. If she’d been first into that room, she’d be dead. There was no doubting it.
Osan wasn’t a horny, obsessed, love-struck rapist who wanted to possess her, like Solomon was. He was an infuriated thief out for blood. She’d not had to deal with a direct attempt on her life before now. She’d really put her foot into the pile of shit on this one and was feeling the full force of what she’d done.
“I have an idea. You and I will sleep in the closet bed. One of the guys will sleep outside the closet door. Another will sleep on the inside of the room door. The other two you don’t know as much will sleep outside in the hallway. Will that make you feel safer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Give me a minute to set it up and we’ll give it a try.”
The two new guys went and got cots out of the nearby closet and were set up within five minutes, happy to be of service. Saber took a cot and placed it so the door would hit the frame of the cot if someone got past those two. Then Pisod moved her into the bed closet and Ch’Wik set up his cot over the bottom step. Someone would have to climb over him and then over Pisod to get to her. Saber was right there, less than ten feet away, as back up.
On her side facing away from the door, so she wouldn’t constantly be watching, and Pisod moved in close behind to pull up the blanket. She was tense, taut as a board. Every sound in the bedroom made her tense up again. Every sound in the hallway outside caused her to freeze solid.
“It’s okay, Femina,” he whispered. “You are protected. No one will come after you here.”
“No one has actually tried to kill me before,” she admitted. “I know you have your crystal in your pocket, but I still hear the energies around the house, around the area.”
“I think I can take care of that.”
He reached into the pocket of his bed shorts to remove one of the crystals and concentrated the two seconds needed to accept the energy into himself. The surge of that energy around her was just how Jerome had felt. Well, almost. This energy had a slightly different taste and smell to it from her perspective.
The energies of the dead ceased their clamor at once. Her world was silent and she relaxed palpably in his arms. He began a gentle massage of the right side of her back, up to the shoulder. More a long, soothing rub, one he kept up while she quietly cried.
Hearing Tyler crying softly, Ch’Wik quietly texted his woman down in the village to tell her he wasn’t going to be there. Not tonight, and probably not until the special diplomat left. He couldn’t explain why, could not explain exactly his work. His heart melted when she sent back a message that she understood and it was fine, and he should do his job. She’d be there when he had time again.
He decided to ask Mankell if he could get married. This was one woman he didn’t ever want to let slip away.
Chapter Fourteen
Tyler had her breakfastwith Mankell. Ch’Wik came shortly after she sat at the table, to ask permission to marry his woman. Mankell told him not to delay in making the arrangements. After that, Mankell was distracted by his own vidpad.
The election to replace Oel’Akier was already underway and he was watching closely this snapshot of the current state of politics on K’Tran. A Gar could not nominate himself but sometimes two would agree to nominate each other. The Rosaas could not nominate anyone.
“Have you nominated someone yet?”
“I was going to nominate Letcalf, but someone already has. I’m going to give it another hour and I’ll toss in my nomination vote.”
“Has someone nominated you?”
“Yes. Oddly enough, the Gar next door whose brother I killed in your bedroom last night.”
“Seriously?”
“He swears he did not know there was any conspiracy between his brother and Oel’Akier. He was interrogated last night. Put on a Sistarian Truth-Seeker machine. It confirms he did not know until the ship landed and the Rosaas was there. Nor did he know his brother was going to steal the ore from the Ercoli shipment.”
He answered his ringing pocket phone. “Morning Greetings, Gar Untrock.” Pause. “I’ve not decided yet. Who are you intending to vote for in the nomination?” Pause. “An hour from now.” Pause. “Very good. See you tonight.”
Call ended, another arriving. This one was from his father, who did most of the talking. Mankell gave one line in response.
“No, I will not be their Seersa.”
That was it. Call ended and he looked to the vidpad to see how nominations were going.
“What is a Seersa?” Tyler asked.
“Some criminals can have their lives spared by asking for someone to take ownership of their soul. They hope to live long enough to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Raas.”
“Who was asking you to do this? Osan’s crew?”
“Yes. They say they did not know they were stealing goods. They insist they were told only that they would be a transport service.”
“What will happen to them now?”
“The Gar next door will be asked next. If no one takes them on, they will likely be executed.”
“For following orders?” she questioned.
“Treason is treason.”
“B
ut they were tricked, right? Accomplices after the fact they may be, but theirs was not a willful crime. It wasn’t their fault that Osan was a traitorous ass. They should die just for being idiots?” She snorted her outrage. “Good thing that’s not on the application for Congressional membership.”
He regarded her with a puzzled expression and picked up his phone. “Father. I have changed my mind. I will take ownership of their souls if the Gar next door doesn’t.”
A moment of La’Sek’o talking and Mankell concluded with “Very well” and hung up.
“The Gar next door will take them.”
“Why do you call him that?” she asked. “Why don’t you use his name?”
“Because he is a disgrace as a Gar and I will not speak his name if I can avoid it.”
“Ah. Is he going to keep his villagers any better?” she asked, meaning the neighboring Gar.
“It has been commanded by the Rosaas. We will see. If he does, I will use his name.”
“Lar Tyler? If you are ready?” came G’Ven’s voice from the doorway of the balcony.
She smiled at the sound of his voice.
“Ready for what?” Mankell asked.
“He’s going to paint me.”
She left it at that and left him sitting there with his nominee updates. G’Ven took her up one more floor and into the center of the House. There was a room over top of the Gar Hall. A press of a button opened a panel on the roof to let in the sun and she saw an easel already set up with a tray of paints and brushes.
“I have an idea,” she started. “Would you mind painting me nude?”
“I generally wear clothes when I paint, but if you’d like.”
“You were quite the scoundrel in your day, weren’t you?” she smirked.
“I have known my fair share of lovely women. I will paint you however you would like to be painted, Lar Tyler. What have you in mind?”
Looking around at the large, very bright space, she decided to bring the white fur rug to herself with a pillow from his bed for contrast. Boots kicked off, they landed however they landed at the edge of the rug near where her feet would be. One fell over and the other remained standing. As she undressed, Pisod got himself a chair, and turned to face away. He would keep his eyes on a book.
The other clothes she tossed away toward Pisod. She put herself in the middle of the rug, leaning on her elbow over the pillow so her hair would be behind her, around that shoulder, and slightly fanned out on the black and red pillow.
She brought her copy of the House Mondragoon to the fur in front of herself, to read it starting somewhere in the middle. A pitcher and goblet appeared, both on the wood floor just beyond the fur. Within easy reach. Last, the little figure of the Tihi birds, which she had attached to a barrette. She slid it into her hair on the left side but high enough it would be prominent.
“Paint away,” she smiled.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be completely still for long.”
“Oh, no. I’m going to lie here and read and you paint what you like for as long as I hold position. But this is mostly going to be it.”
“If I might make a few minor adjustments? Then I can sketch you in quickly before I begin to paint.”
“Depends on the adjustments,” she smiled.
“At the moment, only your ankles and feet. Might you nestle them together somehow?”
She slipped her left foot to fit the soft curve over the heel of her right foot.
“That is good. It creates a very nice, flowing line. Try to be still long enough for me to sketch your outlines,” he said, picking up a pencil.
He worked quickly, ignoring small movements and changes while he captured the static features first. Turning a page was no problem, but the angle of her face changed when reading left or right. He sketched in the shape of the book, its thickness, but left out her hand and face. He outlined her legs, giving more detail to the shape of her feet in the fur. Her toenails were painted red.
The bottom line was going to be fuzzy, for the fur overlapping in front, and he didn’t have to draw it at all. He concentrated on the line where her legs met, the shape of the blonde triangle visible, the curve of hip to waist, her breasts overtop but behind the thick book. He could put in the cup and pitcher anytime, even after the fact. He sketched in the lines of her arm over the pillow, the shape of the pillow, the outline of the fur behind her legs and around the pillow as well, for sizing the scene.
The wall farther back, he swiftly drew in just the bottom squares of the paintings hanging and the chairs behind her, for perspective and the start of the background. He could finish that after he painted her in. Or leave it unfinished, which he thought might actually serve the entire painting better than finishing it to the last detail.
Looking left or right, her hair really didn’t change position much. He drew in the straight vertical lines that would eventually become her flaxen blonde hair behind the arm she was leaning on. She reached to pour the goblet full from the pitcher. Sipping briefly, she put the goblet down but kept her hand on it, a finger snaking up over the rim.
He jumped on it, couldn’t draw that in fast enough, and also drew the pitcher as it partially blocked the book. He drew in the ring on her pinkie finger. It was only a curved shape of silver, the design unseen; but it was the only jewelry she wore other than the barrette.
She turned the page, and held it up to read more easily. He drew the single page lifted from the book, her paused fingertips holding the paper in a delicate, respectful caress. Along with it, he captured the angle of her chin and the features of her face.
Enough sketched in, he chose his colors, mixing peach and white to get close enough to the correct paleness of her skin. He started with her body and very soon lost himself to his task just as she lost herself to the ancient words on the page.
Wisdom of the Gars, as they themselves experienced the lessons they wrote about. Their trials and tribulations, loves and losses, their every emotion infused in the ink as it soaked into the pages. She could feel, as she turned the page, if the words were going to be happy, thoughtful, sad. She had expected the book not to have those emotions attached to it, being a copy of the original. She had somehow brought the energies along, had reproduced them as well as the words on the pages.
Mankell went about other businesson the vidpad to fill the hour until he would put in his nomination vote. Letcalf was a good man, but so was Untrock. He did not look at the updates until the hour was up. In the end, his vote went to Untrock. Since no votes were anonymous, every Gar would know who everyone else had voted for. In his hand was the political pulse of K’Tran.
In the half hour that followed, several others put in their votes for Untrock and several others changed their votes. Votes could be changed as many times as a man wanted to until the deadline at the 20th hour. Who Mankell would give his final vote for office, he did not yet know.
Turning the vidpad off, he went inside to go about other things. Where there should have been a large white Laranki Deer fur under his sofas was instead a bare wood floor.
“Where is my rug?” he demanded of nobody, and saw the pitcher and one goblet were also missing from the shelf.
He went up to the third floor to find Saber and Barad bodily blocking a door to the central room over the Gar Hall.
“Forgive us, Gar Mankell. We have strict orders from Lar Tyler that you are not allowed in until she comes out,” Saber told him.
“I am not allowed in a room of my own House?” he questioned. “I think I can if I choose.”
“Only if you want her to yell at us for being too cowardly to enforce her wish, Gar,” Barad said.
“Personally, I’d rather she not,” Saber continued. “She hits hard.”
Mankell stifled a laugh. She did hit hard. He would know.
“Is my white fur rug in there?” he asked instead.
“We would not know, Gar. She went in and we have seen nothing since.”
He looked from one to the
other. “I am your Gar, yet you show a deeper loyalty to this female offworlder. Why do you so easily follow her?”
“It’s not about following, Gar,” Saber began. “First, she accepted and trusted us to watch over her person. She, who wants the help of no one. Second, would it not be a great interplanetary incident if she was to die on your own property? Assassinated by some lowlife because we who were assigned to guard her were not diligent enough?”
“Is that all?” Mankell interrupted.
Saber paused with the word “all,” and his voice dropped to a plain hush.
“Father, is it not enough? You know yourself that she is no ordinary female. She has the power of the Raas. If we allowed her to be harmed, if we allow her to be angry at us for not doing as she says, would not the Raas themselves call us to account for disobeying and angering one of their own?”
Barad nodded in solemn agreement when Mankell looked to him. There was nothing more to be said. They had been touched by the Raas and saw those gods in her eyes. Mankell walked to the corner stairs and jogged down to other matters, respecting her privacy.
With G’Ven occupied, he had to deal with more of the little things through the day, including the backed up ditch pipe. Again. This time, he sent one team to clear it out and another to ride the length of the ditch and find out who was throwing their unwanted things into the water, scold that person on his behalf, and inform them a bill for the man hours of clearing the pipe would be forthcoming.
“There’s another matter, Father,” Kellina said. “The harvester will cost 3000 Kartara to fix or we can buy a new one—“
“Take care of it,” he said, blunt and impatient with the tedium of minor problems of the House. “You are Houseman enough to decide. When G’Ven passes, the job will be yours.”
He left her standing there with her mouth hanging open. No female had ever been Houseman in the history of K’Tran. Her first decision was to buy a new harvester and sell the old one for parts. She got 3000 out of the old one within an hour of putting up the listing, money that went directly toward the new one. So the new one cost the House 4000 Kartara.
