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When the great houses of Linnet wished to smear their rivals, they executed with ruthless, treacherous precision. When they wished to meet in secret to tamp down the ensuing flames and to established renewed detente, lesser heads rolled in the gutters to silence wagging tongues. On this very day, when the meeting was to occur, at least one shocked, frozen face lay ignobly separated from its body in a smelly back alley.
It had taken a week of careful diplomacy, involving intermediaries at several levels of the sides’ respective oligarchal and industrial hierarchies, as well as stops and starts, recriminations and retreats. Troy’s had let the early-morning crowd (including Vasily, briefly and oblivious) bleed away, then pinged a terse notice across the co-op net that its boiler had gone down. This provided the necessary excuse to close the doors and pull down the shades.
Two high-grooms in subdued livery, one in Alexseyev buff, the other in Chernow moss-green, flanked the entry door to Troy’s, occasionally stiff-arming some desperate patron hoping for an exemption from the blackout. The grooms’ glares told the whole story, and the poor stim-seekers would stammer then hasten away. One unhappy elderly gentleman, too world-wise for his own good, had curiously looked towards the rooftops to spot the marksmen, resulting in a memory-stunning zap-gun burst to the torso by some other guard concealed nearby. The old gent would wake up in a few hours, face-down in an alley, wondering what had happened, but he would otherwise be fine. By then, the meeting would be over.
By agreement, Mrs. Chernow arrived first in her personal lev-car, which was a surprisingly modest (but entirely custom) affair. Her own high-groom escorted her down and led her ceremoniously to the Alexseyev groom in buff. She wore a simple v-waist dress with a brilliantly-colored skirt, most flattering to her small, slender frame and foreign, pale skin. She resembled a small, quick bird. It was said she had begun life as a common dancer in Archipelago District before being groomed by the Chernows, who famously out-bred every other generation. She had a reputation for quiet, thoughtful, murderous deliberation. Some claimed her to be a generous, charitable sort on the sly.
Buff bowed low and recited the form apology for the assault upon the dignity of her esteemed personage. She nodded acquiescence, whereupon her groom stepped back two paces to permit Buff to pat-down the enemy matriarch. All heads (save those of the marksmen stationed in positions surrounding the building) turned their heads away politely. The marksmen, far from pretending modest respect, had their charge-rifles trained upon Buff, ready to shoot him dead at the slightest mis-step or inscrutable twitch.
The more-than-pro-forma, less-than-thorough body search concluded with Buff taking a decisive, dramatic step backwards and calling “Heigh-O!” The marksmen lowered their sights. Mrs. Chernow coughed elegantly, smoothed her dress, and entered the café door that Moss held for her.
As the Chernow car turned a corner, Mrs. Alexseyev’s antique hover-car rattled into place. The stern, severe woman, in stiff attire and bound hair, looked straight in front of her while Buff escorted her down. The ignoble search — this time, by Moss — was suffered, and Mrs. Alexseyev, having never deigned the slightest look left or right, marched into Troy’s.
The booths and banquettes stood upright and empty along one wall and at the back. The main floor gleamed. All the café tables had been cleared save one, with two chairs placed on opposing sides. Mrs. Chernow rose as Mrs. Alexseyev approached. Buff and Moss took positions well away and in separate corners. Each pretended to be turned away disinterested (though in fact, the words exchanged at this meeting would become whispered legend).
“Allegra, dear,” Mrs. Alexseyev said, holding out a limp wrist. “It is lovely to see you.”
The women had never met face-to-face.
Mrs. Chernow nodded appreciatively, her impressive, thick wedge of grey-flecked hair moving in perfect synchrony. “Vasylvia, I have heard so much about you. I see it is all true.”
Mrs. Alexseyev cocked an eyebrow. “One tries not to bother with what others say,” she said. “Or else I shouldn’t make any friends. Won’t you sit and take refreshment with me?”
At the cue, two crisp white serving girls appeared (one appearing to falter from a stern push from behind the kitchen door). The great ladies watched the girls and pretended not to eye each other. Mrs. Alexseyev noticed very particularly one of the serving girls, a sprite who instantly turned to blushes as the great gaze fell upon her.
“Look up, girl,” Mrs. Alexseyev said. She appraised the pretty girl and seemed to sigh slightly. She turned to Mrs. Chernow. “A flower, wouldn’t you say, Allegra? Very fair, much like yourself. She was found floating on an island, no doubt, and rescued.”
“Archipelago maidens would be much prized in such a place,” said Mrs. Chernow. “Foul airs need fair skin.”
The serving girl awkwardly clanged a spoon, blushed even more furiously, and retreated three paces. She stood hanging her head. The other girl hastened back into the kitchen.
“Yet may suffer the splotches, as well, I fear,” Mrs. Alexseyev said. “The swarthy, tough skin we western folk bear suffers the rigors of industrial life with dignity. Dark skin has been earned over many generations of hard work in the manufactories.”
“There is a happy middle ground in all things,” said the graceful woman. “Perhaps a brighter future awaits the offspring of the fair and the fouled.”
Mrs. Alexseyev eyed the woman keenly. “You are one of us, inside where it matters. As is your daughter — even more so. I am come for the sake of all of us, and the world we have made for ourselves. I would not have it fall into ruin, even for the sake of just vengeance.”
“I had nothing to do with your husband’s death.”
“You are not Chernow by blood, but blood runs from your pipes.”
Mrs. Chernow shrugged and looked away, for the first time displaying a touch of embarrassment. She composed herself and looked at Mrs. Alexseyev archly. “You want mine, ours.”
“I want grandchildren. And you do too, or you would not be here.”
“This is the question, is it not? There is an issue of equipment, of endowment. We are led to understand that the boy is diminutive, and a talker rather than a taker. Overfond of ideas, reluctant in action.”
Mrs. Alexseyev went rigid but did not speak. Her eyes involuntarily darted to the young serving girl, standing with arms behind her back and head bowed. Had the girl tittered slightly? Mrs. Alexseyev couldn’t be sure.
“There must be some assurances, some diagnostics,” Mrs. Chernow went on. “It is simply accomplished, after all. You invoked this arcane procedure. We are naturally worried from that fact alone.”
Vasily’s mother blinked. She sat quietly for a long moment.
“I will see to it,” she finally acquiesced.
“My personal physician. Yours may be in attendance.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Alexseyev capitulated.
“And after the rites are complete, samples must be banked and spun, in case mechanical insemination is required.”
“Our own infirmary can handle that. It’s as good as any hospital. Nothing is wanting there as regards devices and equipment, nor even the ultimate excision or delivery. Thus, she will live in our house, under our conditions, and we will monitor the relevant matters closely. Chernow family visitations will be off-site. She is to be our property. The children shall be Alexseyevs, with no argument.”
“I should think, madam, that you would be more willing to compromise on these things, since blood ties would serve to protect them even more than you can do on your own.” Mrs. Chernow added amendments: “They shall take Chernow as a middle name. It is not unknown. Also, they shall be permitted to stay over with us on holidays and special occasions. We have greater skill in the defensive arts than you — than anyone. They shall learn self-protection and not be over-reliant on technical devices and fancy gadgetry. A quick hand may save or kill as fast as any shield or plugger. With our help, any children of the union may l
ive to carry your name — and ours.”
“Your girl is pliable in the domestic setting?”
“Who can say? I would not have come if I did not command her obedience. And yet, she is no fool, I can tell you. The daughter of my body is no fool. She has a will. I have mastered her enough, but not overmuch. You, Mrs. Alexseyev, must appreciate this. You who run the great Alexseyev Works. Who can say but what the daughter I am giving you might not do the same, some day?”
It took a moment for the meaning of this last remark to sink in. Mrs. Alexseyev looked glum for a moment, then reflected on her own pride of accomplishment. She hadn’t wanted Arseny dead, to be sure, but following his death, she had discovered reserves of strength and wisdom within herself. She, alone, had managed Alexseyev Works, while Vasily dawdled.
Mrs. Chernow seemed to read her thoughts. The fair woman had a knowing gleam in her eye.
“What has your position entailed?” Mrs. Alexseyev asked. “You have been permitted . . .?”
“No. Nor have I presumed to ask.”
“Yet you think your daughter shall?”
“In my lifetime, I shall have gone from naif upon the sands, to matriarch, to seeing a child of my own fair bloodline placed at the top of old, industrialized Linnet, with every advantage and opportunity I could never have gained. It is not nothing.”
“You have what you seek already, in your son.”
“Who attains it all by right, not by desserts.”
Mrs. Alexseyev stiffened and rose. The grooms assumed ‘ready’ positions.
“You assert my Vasily has not the skill? That he is a mere inheritor? We run a great manufactory, not a trading stall.”
Mrs. Chernow’s eyes shone, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She waved her groom off.
“Credit is credit, after all, gaining no luster from rubbing and scraping. In any event, I was speaking merely of contingencies, madam — contingencies that have placed you at the top of Linnet society and industry — in fact if not officially. You do not need a title, Mrs. Alexseyev. You have power. It is all that matters. Power to control your destiny, and the destiny of your offspring. You do not need a man — nor a son. You need a good daughter. I have one to let.”
Mrs. Alexseyev remained standing. Everything the rude foreigner said concealed cutting insult behind vaguest flattery. The stolid regent of the works remembered what her husband had once said about the factor business — about the Chernows, in fact: “They move goods, things forged from the sweat of others’ brows. But what they sell is words.”
Mrs. Alexseyev wanted no more words.
“Bring her in two months’ time with her trousseau,” she commanded. “If she speaks to me with a wily trader’s tongue, I will send her back with nothing. We will suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. We are not above protecting ourselves. If she is obedient, and as good to my Vasily as he deserves, I will make sure she has no motivation to murder him in his sleep. I shall make her as my own daughter, never to be conveyed from my house, never to suffer privation, never to be taken lightly by any man.”
With these words, she turned, snapped her fingers at her groom, and strode from the room. Her iron hem cut a wake as she went, riding an inch above the ground as her feet pumped like pistons within. The groom rushed to gain the door and signal the marksmen the all-clear, all the while punching codes into his tablet comm.
Mrs. Chernow cocked an eyebrow and watched the exit interestedly. Whether she had won or no; whether she had bargained well or ill; whether she had meant the half what she may have insinuated, was impossible to judge. She never spoke of the meeting to another living soul — even the pretty young girl, formerly a low serving girl, who would begin a new life that day in personal and confidential service (bedside, closet, and stool) to a once-free spirit of the archipelago.
Whether Allegra Chernow’s high groom were similarly discreet, only history knew.
Vasily & The Works (Tales from the Middle Empires Vol III) Page 4
