by Kai Butler
The ticketmaster looked between them and raised an eyebrow. Zev grinned rakishly and drew Tiral closer. “While our spouses are away, we should enjoy ourselves, shouldn’t we?”
With a deep sigh, the woman handed over two tickets and a small pad for him to press his fob to. He did, and the name Uli Partic came up, with his face. Squeezing Tiral tightly, he took the two passes and joined the line to get on the station’s shuttle.
It was the sort of shuttle that was usually used for expensive cruises. Events that circled the ice rings of Pori or the twin moons of Unvil. Zev had never seen one used for a short half-hour flight into orbit.
For such a short ride, it seemed that the satellite had spared no expense, as though they wanted to give the impression of absolute luxury before clients even got to the station. It didn’t quite align with his understanding of the station, but perhaps that was part of the appeal for the wealthy: they were allowed to travel in comfort to their tawdry pastimes.
Aboard the ship, a steward guided them to their cabin, and Zev pulled Tiral close again, feeling him stiffen, then relax against him. As soon as the steward left, Zev released Tiral, allowing him to put a more appropriate amount of space between them.
Staring at the floor, Tiral said, “I’m so sorry about my actions at the house. It was inappropriate. You’ve made your feelings clear —”
“I care for you,” Zev interrupted. “I want you, I don’t think I’ve made any move to hide that, but I cannot marry you.”
“I’ve given up on marriage,” Tiral said, a slight smile pulling up on one side of his mouth. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but paused before speaking. The moment felt like agony for Zev. He knew that Tiral deserved more than he could give. Tiral deserved love, marriage, and the safety that both together provided.
“I thought, if you were amenable, we might at least enjoy my last moments as an earl,” Tiral said, finally.
“Surely you won’t lose the title,” Zev said, his brows drawing together.
“I imagine we might try to transfer it, see if we can’t get a little bit more money out of the sale,” Tiral said. His mouth wore that same half-smile again, as though he were saying something practical instead of heartbreaking.
“No,” Zev said, shaking his head. “That would be —”
“Liberating, I expect,” Tiral said, gallant as ever. “A fresh start. I could go back to being an anonymous professor —”
“As though you were ever that,” Zev interrupted.
“And no one would need to know that I’d ever been anything else,” Tiral said.
“You don’t strike me as the sort to give up,” Zev said. “You haven’t lost yet.”
“I am being as practical and graceful as I know how,” Tiral said. His mouth firmed into an unhappy line. “I cannot marry one I do not love. It’s not… it’s not in me, Zev.”
The use of his name nearly broke him. He drew Tiral towards him, arm tight around his waist. “Then let’s enjoy the time we have left, Earl of Gret.”
“Thank you,” Tiral said, burying his face in Zev’s collar.
They stayed like that longer than Zev thought would be comfortable, but every time he moved to pull away, Tiral’s fingers gripped tighter. He was breathing warm against Zev’s neckcloth and Zev should have enjoyed the sensation, but all he experienced was a sinking, unhappy feeling in his stomach. Guilt, perhaps. He had the means to help and was doing nothing. He couldn’t even bring himself to admit his true feelings for Tiral.
“I think we might be docking soon,” he said eventually. “We must at least present the face of two who are in love.”
“A rather convincing cover,” Tiral said.
Smiling wryly, Zev offered his arm when he felt the slight bump as the ship came in contact with the station. “My lord.”
They exited to find the steward waiting for them, leaning against the wall. He snapped to attention quickly enough and led them out to the station. With a brief introduction to the amenities available, he showed them how to use the map screens lining the walls.
“I could show you to your destination, sirs,” the steward offered with a saccharine sweet smile. “Or lead you to your game of choice. Cards, sir? Or perhaps a carnal form of entertainment? Would that be what you’re looking for while your spouses are away?”
Tiral waved the man off and passed over a tip. They watched him leave before consulting the map in earnest.
“I rather thought we might be forced to come up with an excuse to lose him,” Tiral muttered. “Sycophantic young man, isn’t he?”
“He does bear resemblance to a mushroom,” Zev said. “Perhaps he was hoping to be offered a position in one of our houses?”
“Given that we are ostensibly having a rather tawdry affair, a servant who knows my worst-kept secret is the last person I should hire,” Tiral said drily. “It seems in rather poor judgment.”
“Oh, I don’t know, the blackmail that ensues might at least be entertaining,” Zev said. “I would have to act very shocked to find out that the snake I’d brought home bit me.”
“Such a shock,” Tiral agreed. “After all, he did seem to be such a cloying young man. Who knew he actually desired to exploit you?”
“I imagine many of the other servants,” Zev said. “They’re quite good at noticing such weaknesses.”
“Good household staff,” Tiral said, nodding. “Worth more than they’re too often paid.”
“I see that I have a revolutionary on my hands,” Zev said with a grin. “You overpay yours?”
He began guiding them towards the bar that they’d been instructed to meet Rea Dintro at.
“Well,” Tiral huffed. “Not recently, for obvious reasons.”
“It’s a poor revolutionary who blames his own pockets for not paying more than servants are worth,” Zev said.
“And it’d be even poorer of me to run out of money to pay them before we’re able to sell,” Tiral said. “Can you imagine the state of our household, if it was just me and Edah to clean it?”
“Dust everywhere,” Zev agreed.
“Vines growing in through the windows,” Tiral said. “Quite the mess.”
They were heading into an area that Zev assumed most of the well-heeled guests rarely saw. There was no way that anyone from their class would feel comfortable watching men urinating onto walls or such desperate prostitution. With a shake of his head to wave off a hopeful abbess, he drew Tiral closer to him, glad that both of them had chosen clothes that were less fashionable than he preferred.
The black suits likely still screamed their wealth to anyone with a discerning eye, but there were few of those, judging by the state of inebriation under which most of the men and women seemed to be operating. Finally, they reached the bar at the far edge of the station, in an area appropriately called Brown Sector. The exterior boasted a broken sign of a bull, with half the letters missing from the words The Cock and Bull Story.
Tiral had gone quiet, his usually animated face growing pale. Zev paused and said, “Would you like to leave?”
“No,” Tiral said quickly. “It’s simply that, for all his faults, I did not ever wish something as terrible as murder to happen to Lecc and I’d hate to find out that’s how his life ended.”
“You don’t have to find out. I can go in your stead,” Zev offered.
“How gallant,” Tiral said, his voice a mild imitation of its usual warmth. “No, I would be a poor heir to not do my best by him.”
Zev nodded and pushed open the door, ushering Tiral in before him. The room was dark and filled with smoke that smelled sweet and drugged. Zev was not eager to stay long in the establishment. He looked around, searching the dimly lit room for any hint of Dintro.
The man saved him the trouble by waving a tankard at him from the far corner of the room. Next to the exit, Zev noted. He nudged Tiral in that direction and they both took chairs opposite Dintro. Zev didn’t like having his own back to the crowd, but he’d be able to get some
warning of anyone coming at him from the dirty mirror that hung over Dintro’s head.
The pirate was dressed in work clothes, his white shirt tucked into snug pants and a matching jacket was hanging over the back of his chair. He was attractive, but looked rough with a few day’s stubble on his cheeks and hair that had been pulled back with a leather strap.
“Before you say anything,” Dintro began, “I’ll have you know that this is what we like to call a sticky situation. See, if my employer had paid me what he promised, my loyalty would still be with him. But as he did not fulfill his end of our gentlemen’s agreement, by rights, my loyalty is to my crew. Who remain unpaid.” The pirate smiled at them as though this convoluted speech made his turncoat status logical, even commendable. “Are we understandin’ each other?”
Tiral nodded slowly and Zev offered his own confused smile in agreement.
“You the Earl, then? You look a lot like your brother,” Dintro said to Tiral. His accent was rough and indicated a childhood in the outer colonies, but his eyes were sharp, assessing both of them. He looked at Zev and raised an eyebrow until Zev passed over a chip containing the agreed-upon credits. Tiral shot Zev a searching look, but said nothing, his frown voicing his own unhappiness.
Dintro slid the chip into his fob and his mouth twitched into a smile. As he transferred the money, he spread his hands and said, “Call me grass. What can I illuminate for you gents?”
“Did you kill my brother?” Tiral asked immediately, his voice low.
With a guffaw, Dintro shook his head. “Naw, the previous earl was long cold by the time I got to him.”
“Do you know who did kill him?” Tiral asked. “Why did they kill him?”
“That I do know, but before I tell you, understand that you can’t unlearn the information and it’ll likely get you both killed,” Dintro said. “If I could’ve met you anywhere else I would’ve, for my own safety as well, but I ain’t welcome on Lus and I had no desire to give my confession from the gaol.”
“So you led us into danger instead,” Zev assessed.
“Well, ain’t ‘xactly like I’m safe here, neither. The man you’re looking for goes by the name Vee Ollir, but if that’s his real name, I’m your maiden aunt,” Dintro said. “He owns this place and probably a few others on Lus.”
“The bar?” Zev asked, quickly glancing around.
“The station,” Dintro corrected. “He can’t have none of his cameras in here, though. The smoke messes them up good.”
“Why did he kill my brother?” Tiral asked, urgently.
“My understanding was that Ollir fleeced him of a good bit of money. More than your brother could afford and when he came looking to get it back, he mayhap made some threats that smarter men wouldn’t make with Ollir.” Dintro leaned back in his chair. “This is practically a public service, me telling you. I wanted to make sure that the next earl didn’t end up the way of his very stiff predecessor.”
“And how did you come into this intelligence?” Zev asked acerbically.
“Well, I got rid of the body, you see,” Dintro said. “And got less than half the credits I was owed for it, too. I told him at the time. I told him that it ain’t half hard to make a gunshot look like an accidental death. You either have to blow up the whole body so that there’s nothing left, or get in there yourself and make the wound big enough and filled with enough shrapnel so that it looks like a converter exploded right in front of him.”
“And you did the latter,” Tiral said, his face pale.
“Man has to take pride in his work,” Dintro said. “Me and mine, we’re good at our jobs and it didn’t hurt no one. He was already singing with the angels… er, or was already in his next reincarnation. Not sure how you all worship.”
Dintro looked uncomfortable and then waved his hand. “Now, the hard part was making sure he was found in a way that made an accident the best story. That’s why we chose that moon. The coppers on there couldn’t figure it was a murder if someone was stabbed to death in front of them.”
“How competent of you,” Zev noted drily.
“Thank you!” Dintro said, his own expression showing he knew the joke Zev was making and thought it amusing himself. “There are some out there who just don’t take care in their work none. It’s a shame to see someone caught because of their cleanup man. Really reflects poorly on the profession. Makes us all look like amateurs.”
“Which you aren’t,” Zev said, still showing his own amusement.
“Right tradesman I am,” Dintro agreed.
“Aside from the pirating?” Zev said.
“Well, that’s a whole different business, and I wouldn’t say pirating so much as acquiring goods which someone else might have claim to,” Dintro said. “Much more like privateering… or even salvage, you see. Difference is in how you phrase it.”
“Of course,” Zev said. “My mistake.”
“I always say that a man who can note his own failings is a smart man. It’s how you grow as a person,” Dintro said.
“So it was all over money,” Tiral said. Zev glanced over and realized that Tiral looked terrible. His expression was drawn, mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy line. He looked as though he was sick.
“Afraid so, m’lord. That’s how it so often is, no matter what class you hail from,” Dintro said. He offered over his half full tankard. “Bit of stiff for you?”
Tiral waved it off and took a long breath. “Do you think that Ollir will pay you what you’re owed?”
“Naw.” Dintro shook his head. “Tightfist like him? I just came to rattle his cage a bit, let him know that he can’t leave good craftsmen unpaid or there’ll be consequences.”
“Is there anything else you know?” Zev asked. He glanced at Tiral again and was eager to get them both off the station as quickly as possible.
“I know that you’d best be careful. Ollir’s convinced you have some intelligence or recordings of him. He’s been asking about for some good housebreakers,” Dintro said. “I’d be careful because after housebreakers usually comes those who have no problem with kidnapping and a bit of light torture.”
“Torture?” Tiral exhaled, his face horrified.
“Light torture,” Dintro said reassuringly. He patted Tiral’s arm. “And we’re likely a bit away from that, but it never hurts to be prepared.”
“Prepared for light torture,” Tiral said, again, his voice wavering between horror and amusement.
“Exactly,” Dintro said. He stood and drank the last of his ale in a long swallow. “I’ll be heading out now, but take care. You seem like a right’un. I’d hate to have to take care of two earls from the same family. Bad business.”
He swept out of the room, his disappearance unnoticed by anyone else there. Tiral and Zev sat a moment in silence before glancing at each other.
“Well…” Tiral said, seemingly unsure how to end that sentence.
“He seemed competent?” Zev offered.
“And rather proud of his work,” Tiral said. “One could do worse for a… cleanup man, did he call it?”
“Perhaps we should discuss it later,” Zev said. “Down on Lus where Ovi can peck us over like the good mother hen she pretends not to be.”
“Of course,” Tiral said. He stood, straightening his coat, and allowed Zev to lead them out of the bar and straight into the group of men waiting outside.
“Earl. M’lord,” the greasy man, who appeared to be the leader, said. “If you’ll come this way.”
They were led to a well-appointed room, decorated with the most modern furniture and art. The men left, closing the door politely behind them, with a quick warning that there'd be “consequences” if they caused any trouble. Zev waited a few moments, glancing at Tiral uncertainly before he tried the door and made a face when he discovered it had been locked.
Tiral seemed to have already realized that they were in more than a small fix. “I suppose this is what your secretary worried about.”
“Ovi worrie
s about everything,” Zev muttered, aware that she might be currently listening. “This she was convinced would happen.”
“I’m surprised she let you go at all, then.”
“I am as well, but we’ve had quite a few discussions about who is the employer and who is employed,” Zev said. “Although I’m afraid that this will only serve to encourage her. Which I will not let it.”
He could see Ovi rolling her eyes at his comment when she heard the recording.
“Good help —” Tiral started.
“Oh, no,” Zev said. “You’ll not tease me out of this mood. Why aren’t you more worried?”
“To be frank, I am quite worried. But I’m more aware than you, perhaps, of the situation we find ourselves in. After all, I know now that he’s already killed one Earl of Gret. I imagine he sees two as no more than a nuisance.” Tiral laced his fingers together and watched as Zev tried to force the door open with a fire poker from the set next to the fireplace. “Let's at least see what they have planned for us before we start panicking. I imagine it's much easier to have murdered us where we stood and chalked it up to overzealous thieves skulking amongst gentry who were too assured of their own safety.”
“What are you on about?” Zev exploded. “We are about to be murdered and you’re carrying on as though this is a garden party with unexpected rain!”
“To be frank, I think I’m rather tired of all of it,” Tiral said. He sank into a chair and rubbed at his forehead as though trying to wipe away a headache. “In a few short weeks, I’ve lost my brother, been pinned with an earldom I had no desire for, and lost it because I cannot stomach marrying someone for anything less than love. I’ve ruined my mother, sister, and myself, and lost an estate that has been our family's for generations. Moreover, I’ve lost my heart to you. And you are the second man who’s shown me that my love is not enough. It’s never enough. I must, therefore, assume that the common denominator is myself.”
