The Sixth Discipline

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  ***

  Francesca smoothed the folds of her long red gown and studied herself in the mirror. Ran-Del’s concern had led to a radical shift in her wardrobe. At least the Sansoussy didn’t find showing a little leg to be provocative so she could get away with a long slit up the side of the skirt.

  “You’re wearing that?” Ran-Del sounded stern.

  Francesca turned, exasperated. “How can you disapprove? I’m hardly showing any cleavage and the bodice is positively loose.”

  He stood looking her up and down. “But it’s red!”

  She rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with red?”

  “It’s a wedding.”

  She held up her hands in a question. “So?”

  “How can you wear red to someone else’s wedding?”

  Understanding dawned as she remembered the red betrothal dress his grandmother had loaned her. “Julie won’t be wearing red. Her gown will be all white.”

  His eyebrows squeezed together in a confused frown. “Is she mourning someone?”

  “No, no. Black is mourning, white is for brides.”

  “Oh.”

  He still sounded distressed whenever she corrected him. She gave him a quick scrutiny. He looked good in a formal jacket. Too bad he refused to wear a sash instead of a belt. “Don’t forget to take the knife off here. If you wear it to the Wah compound, their guards will take it away and you might not get it back.”

  He got his stubborn look. “I’ll take it off in the skimmer.”

  She decided to let it go. “All right then, we’re ready.”

  They rode in silence, Marina Quinn in the front seat, with Merced beside her, Francesca and Ran-Del in the middle, and two more guards in the back seat.

  “Tell me who is in the Wah family,” Ran-Del said after a while.

  Francesca smiled to herself. Family obligation was one thing he understood well. He hadn’t even tried to beg off from this party. “Julie Wah and her two sisters and one brother are my first cousins. Their father is my mother’s brother. He’ll be there of course, but not Julie’s mother, his ex-wife, because she opted out of the House of Wah after the divorce. Julie’s Grandfather and Grandmother Wah—also my grandparents—died in a failed hostile takeover several years ago, but her great-grandmother, my great-great-aunt, is still alive. She’s ninety-nine and speaks her mind, so try not to look shocked if she says something offensive.”

  Ran-Del digested this. Or perhaps he was committing it to memory. “Who is to be your cousin’s husband?”

  Francesca tried not to feel smug. He might know the names of his ancestors for four generations, but she knew who was who in Shangri-La. “She’s marrying an Omalley—David Omalley. His older brother Dieter is the heir of House Omalley.”

  Ran-Del frowned as if he found this objectionable. “Did you not tell me that Dieter Omalley’s mother kept his siblings locked in an asylum?”

  Well, perhaps he would catch up sooner than she had expected. “Yes, I did. Part of the marriage deal is that David gets to marry Julie and get out of the lockup only if he opts out of House Omalley and into the House of Wah. He’s even taking the Wah name.”

  Ran-Del’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Why?”

  She chuckled. “Because once he’s in the House of Wah, he’s no threat to anyone. He’s not in line for the Wah succession, and he won’t be able to support his brother’s effort to unseat his mother in House Omalley.”

  Ran-Del glanced over his shoulder at the guards in the back seat, then gave her a questioning look.

  Francesca chuckled and patted his knee. “It’s not a secret. Everyone knows.”

  “We’re here,” Marina Quinn said, grabbing a stanchion as the skimmer made the turn to get in line at the gate to the Wah compound.

  Ran-Del looked out the window at the line of waiting skimmers. “There will be a lot of people at this wedding.”

  Francesca picked up the shawl she had brought in case it got chilly in the evening. “I expect the wedding part is over by now. Only Wahs and Omalleys were here for that. The rest of us are here for the party.”

  She had to smile at the look of grim resolution on Ran-Del’s face. Pop would have said he looked like a Sansoussy doing his duty.

  The thought of her father brought a quick rush of grief. Ran-Del turned his head to give her a worried look. She smiled to reassure him, then glanced pointedly at the dirk on his belt.

  He looked glum, but he removed his belt to slide the sheath from it, then handed the weapon to Quinn. “Will you take care of this for me, please?”

  She turned in her seat to accept the sheathed dirk. “Certainly, citizen.”

  Ran-Del replaced his belt and stood up when the skimmer sank to the ground with a whoosh of hydraulics as the ramp was lowered.

  Quinn stood up and got in his way. “If you two will wait just a moment, Merced and I will check things out.”

  Ran-Del stayed on his feet while the two of them left the vehicle. “What are they doing?”

  Francesca realized this was his first trip to another Great House. They had never made it to Julie’s engagement party and she hadn’t felt up to attending any of the many social events since then. “Quinn is just making sure everything is set up. A party at a Great House is always conducted under a flag of truce. She’ll make sure the white flag is flying and everything looks as it should.”

  A look of disgust came across Ran-Del’s face, but he didn’t say anything.

  A few minutes later, the skimmer door opened and Quinn stuck her head in. “Everything’s set. Come ahead, please, Baroness.”

  Francesca led the way, with Ran-Del a little behind. The Wah compound was larger than her own, but almost as familiar. The weapons scan was set up right at the front entrance to the main house, so they didn’t have far to walk. As they approached the end of the line, Francesca saw a tall, slightly portly figure in a green jacket. A shock of black hair rose above a bald patch at the back of his head. Sujit Garcia would be ahead of them. His guards had already peeled away to take their places with the multi-hued host of security staff from almost every Great House in the city. The Wahs had set up a tent for them, but if it got chilly, the guards would all be wishing for better shelter before the night was out.

  Francesca slowed her pace to take Ran-Del by the arm. “Don’t forget,” she whispered. “Be on the alert for anything that could give us a clue as to who killed Pop.”

  He nodded.

  Francesca turned back to take her place in line while Quinn led their escort to join the other guards.

  Sujit turned his head to see who was behind him and smiled when he saw her. “Hello, Francesca.” He turned and offered his hand.

  Francesca decided it would be safest to prompt Ran-Del. “You remember Baron Garcia, Ran-Del,” she said as she released the cartel leader’s hand.

  Ran-Del murmured a greeting as he shook hands with a reasonable grace.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the memorial service for your father,” Sujit said. “Stefan was a good man. I would have liked to have been there.”

  “Thank you.” Francesca thought frantically for an opening that would allow Ran-Del to assess Sujit’s guilt or innocence without being rude. “I miss him a lot. We’re still trying to track down whoever sabotaged our system.”

  Sujit shook his head. “You might never find out. Sometimes it’s best just to move on.”

  Stung, Francesca lashed out without considering whether her reply would help Ran-Del’s efforts. “Would you give up if someone killed your family?”

  “No.” Sujit said the one word with finality, then smiled a sympathetic smile. “It’s always easier to give advice than to take it.” He gave Francesca an appraising glance. “You know, in eight seasons when your contract with Leong-Norwalk is up, you should come talk to me. I would give you a better deal than most.”

  He turned back to go through the weapons scan before Francesca could answer.

  Francesca and Ran-Del got throug
h the scan with no problems and followed the shifting mass of guests into the huge ground floor ballroom. Julie and her new husband waited at the door to greet each guest.

  Julie looked lovely in a long, white, full-skirted gown that set off her black hair and ivory complexion. David stood beside her wearing a formal green jacket with a sash of bright blue and gold, Wah colors.

  Julie kissed Francesca’s cheek but gave her an anxious look. “Thanks for coming. Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Francesca said, offering her hand to David. “I’m happy to congratulate the new Mr. Wah.”

  David grinned as he shook her hand. “It sill sounds strange.” He slipped an arm around Julie’s waist. “But it was worth changing Houses.”

  “When did your mother let you out?” Francesca asked.

  “This morning.” David grinned. “The wedding night will be something special. Julie and I haven’t been alone in almost a season.”

  Francesca became aware of movement behind her as other guests pressed forward. She took Ran-Del’s arm. “We’ll talk more later. Congratulations again.”

  As they moved away, Ran-Del let out a strange noise, half a snort, half a grunt.

  “What?” Francesca asked.

  “How can people in this city call the Sansoussy barbarians?” He sounded almost petulant.

  Francesca tightened her grip on his left arm. She could feel ropes of scar tissue under his sleeve. “No one burned either of them with a white hot rod to get them to agree. David and Julie wanted to marry, and doing it this way allowed them to have what they wanted.”

  He didn’t answer but instead surveyed the room.

  Francesca looked around, trying to see it as a stranger would. The ballroom was large and open. She and Julie had roller skated in it as children, until Old Lady Wah chased them out. Under the myriad faceted overhead lights, two hundred people milled about drinking, eating, talking. Their clothes made a rainbow of colors, flashes of red, blue, purple, yellow, with here and there a splash of black where an older man insisted on wearing more traditional clothes.

  “I couldn’t tell anything,” Ran-Del said in a low voice.

  “What?” Francesca said. “Couldn’t tell about what?”

  “Baron Garcia,” Ran-Del said. “He spoke truthfully, but it didn’t help because he didn’t say anything about the crime itself.”

  So Sujit Garcia truly thought he could offer her a better deal in eight seasons, when her contract with Leong-Norwalk was up. Francesca searched the crowd, found Freddie first. Even in profile, she could tell he was high. He stood with one arm thrown around a woman whose back was to Francesca, smiling at her with that charming smile Francesca had once known so well. Elena stood nearby, frowning at Freddie but saying nothing. She had Hans at her side. She always made him stand in for his imprisoned father as her escort at social occasions.

  If House Leong wasn’t behind Pop’s murder—and Ran-Del had been certain that Elena knew nothing about it—then it had to be someone else. Francesca raked through the wedding guests with her eyes. Who could it be? House Garcia was still a possibility, or even House Anchiro. And then there were the Quaiffes. She wouldn’t put anything past them.

  The band struck up a tune and David led Julie into the middle of the floor for a dance. Everyone pulled back to form a circle around them. Old Lady Wah hobbled forward to the edge of the crowd, her white hair sparkling with diamond hair pins as she smiled with approval on her great-granddaughter.

  Could it have been the Wahs? Francesca hated to think so. She had always felt tied to her mother’s former House. When the House of Wah had joined the Omalley-Chang cartel, her father had insisted she decrease her visits lest she give the Wahs encouragement to press for an advantage he wasn’t willing to give.

  Pop was gone now. Francesca studied the faces lining the circle. Somewhere in that crowd was almost certainly the person who had arranged Pop’s murder.

  But how was she going to find out who?

  “Hello, Francesca.”

  Francesca jumped and looked down to find Old Lady Wah at her elbow. “Hello, Aunt Wah.”

  The old woman tugged on Francesca’s arm. “I have to sit down now. Come talk to me.” She glanced at Ran-Del. “And bring that good looking husband of yours.”

  Immediately Ran-Del offered his arm. The old woman took it and hobbled to a chair. Francesca trailed behind them and watched while Ran-Del helped her great-great-aunt to sit down in one of the chairs against the wall.

  “How are you doing, Francesca?” the old woman said once she was settled. “It was a terrible shame about your father. He was a sweet boy and always had something pleasant to say.”

  “I’m all right,” Francesca said. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Talking about Pop still made her want to cry.

  “Well, at least you have a husband for consolation.” Old Lady Wah looked Ran-Del up and down. “A Sansoussy, too.” She cackled a laugh. “You look like you know how to provide distraction, young man.”

  Ran-Del’s shocked expression made Francesca suddenly glad she had come after all. He stood next to the old woman’s chair with the same deferential pose he had always shown his grandparents, but his jaw had dropped at Old Lady Wah’s words.

  He swallowed and gave Francesca a look that said plainly he wished himself elsewhere.

  “Ran-Del is an expert at distraction,” Francesca murmured.

  Old Lady Wah shook her head sagely. “Your wife looks a little run down, young man. Be sure to take her home and put a smile on her face tonight.”

  Francesca had to bite her lip not to laugh. Ran-Del had gone rigid with embarrassment.

  Old Lady Wah gave another cackle, reached over, and patted Ran-Del’s buttocks. “Now every woman in the room will be jealous of me as well as you, Francesca.”

  Francesca opened her eyes wide. This was too much to forgive, even for a ninety-nine year old.

  “Run along,” the old woman said, waving her hand. “Have a few drinks, but not so many you can’t enjoy yourself later.”

  “It was nice to see you again,” Francesca said, pulling Ran-Del away before he could explode with outrage.

  “Your great-great-aunt may be elderly,” Ran-Del said under his breath, “but she has no manners.”

  Francesca empathized, but felt compelled to defend city ways. “At least she doesn’t poke around in other people’s thoughts, like your great-grandfather.”

  Ran-Del didn’t say anything, but she could tell he wasn’t happy. He glanced around the room. “I wish Great-grandfather were here. He could find out who killed your father very easily.”

  Francesca’s smile slipped as she studied the crowd of increasingly tipsy wedding guests. She needed to know who had killed Pop.

  And once she knew, she needed to take action.