by E G Manetti
“Since then—” Chrys halts to swallow and then continues. “Since then, the man and his friends have changed their diatribes to attacks on the city folk destroying the fisheries way of life.”
“There are any among the fisheries folk suspicious of the new venture,” Lilian remarks.
“And some resent that supervision has gone to the northerners,” Chrys huffs.
“It was not unexpected,” Lilian admits. “Although the fisheries chief and the facility master agree that two more seasons of the increased commerce from Mercium will reduce both distrust and resentment. Nor will the supervisory posts be limited to imported labor for long. Master Vishnu has accepted a half dozen candidates from Chief Diana to train as supervisors. It is well known, so I am surprised this Olaf is able to garner much support.”
“Lilian, the fisheries folk have lived an almost unaltered existence for centuries. A change like this is unsettling,” Chrys explains with a blend of exasperation and sympathy. “It would be the same on Genji. Olaf may be roundly disliked, but he was born and raised in the port. They know what to expect from him. They do not know the Mercium folk or what to expect. It makes for suspicion, justified or not.”
“Fair enough,” Lilian concedes. “But how is it that Olaf dragged you into a brawl that included Master Raphael? You have ever been the model of diplomacy.”
“Well there was this girl.” Chrys grins.
The weather in the port was beastly. A series of seasonal storms kept the fleet in port for most of a sevenday and grounded the high altitude transports, or HATs. At liberty for the evening, Chrys and Master Simon elected to brave the weather to walk the short distance from the guesthouse to their favorite tavern.
They found it packed with boat hands and line workers who lacked occupation until the next catch. When Chrys and Simon arrived, Olaf and five of his friends were at the far end of the tavern, already loudly drunk. Knowing that Olaf despised Simon for blocking his chance at Mercium work, the two technologists gravitated to the other end of the tavern where a fish darting competition was forming. The popular game uses small sharp throwing spears, known as darts, to target moving replicas of fish. Skilled with an agrarian version, Chrys quickly mastered the game. Invited to join a team, Chrys left Simon to acquire tumblers of the local brew and a quiet corner.
Neither man noticed Master Raphael sitting near the bar with a young woman. The tavern owner’s daughter occasionally worked the line when they needed an extra hand. There, she had encountered Raphael and teased the young warrior when his martial skills with a blade had not translated into gutting fish. She also demonstrated the proper technique, so that for the first time in five days Raphael achieved a minimum quota. Three sevendays later, he was a regular at the tavern when his shifts permitted.
Leaving Chrys to fish darting, Simon responded to a hail by one of the plant workers. The local woman had abandoned ten generations of boat building and repair to train for the plant maintenance staff and an opportunity for advancement. She discovered she preferred the formal courtesy of Simon’s manner to the rougher ways of her people. She was always happy to favor the gangly technologist when he visited the port.
As it happened, Olaf fancied the maintenance worker, who in turn had made her distaste for the lout plain. Discovering the woman cozy with Master Simon, Olaf had an excuse to go after the associate. Unarmed fights over desirable sex partners are common and overlooked by the authorities.
Finishing his round of fish darting, Chrys discovered a circle of spectators closed around Master Simon and Olaf. Pushing to the front, Chrys waited for the outcome of the fight. As the first blows started to fly, Raphael’s worried voice came from Chrys’ left. “Master Chrys, should you not assist Master Simon? The fisheries man has at least three stone on him.”
Although Chrys and Raphael had not met, he was not surprised that Raphael would recognize Seigneur Rachelle’s Mercium associate and apprentice.
“It will not be necessary, Master Raphael. Observe,” Chrys reassured. For all Simon’s spindly appearance, the man did not fail in regular attendance to the Serengeti training chambers. “Olaf is not significantly larger than the Troy Mercium supervisor Simon trounced during the rainy season.”
The matter might have ended as Chrys predicted but for the contended woman, who loudly cried out her support for Simon. In retaliation, one of Olaf’s friends punctuated his cry of ‘disloyal doxy’ with a backhanded blow that knocked her into a nearby table. Before the lout could follow up with another blow to the dazed woman, Chrys laid into her attacker. Turning from the felled man, Chrys discovered Raphael sweeping another who had been coming at Chrys’ back with a barstool.
Within moments, Simon, Chrys, and Raphael were facing Olaf and his friends, three of whom pulled knives. Bouncing up from the table, Simon’s woman grabbed a metal serving tray and joined his side. The battle was brief and only mildly bloody.
By the time the militia arrived, alerted by the tavern owner’s daughter, none of the combatants were armed. Olaf was unconscious, and two of his friends had fled. One was dazedly trying to stay on his feet as Master Raphael danced around him. The last was huddled in a ball attempting to fend off the blows of a viciously wielded serving tray.
Lilian’s face is devoid of expression. Chrys is certain he has failed her by involving Monsignor’s son in a tavern brawl. “Think you Monsignor is very angered?”
Unable to repress her emotions, Lilian’s face reddens. “A serving tray, Chrys? She beat the man into the floor with a serving tray?”
Bright laughter rings out as Lilian gives vent to her mirth. Gasping for breath, she comments, “They do grow them fierce in the Western Continent Fisheries.”
“ ‘Passionate’ was Master Simon’s word.” Chrys grins with relief.
Taking a deep breath to contain her laughter, Lilian continues, “I cannot imagine Monsignor is angered by this. Master Raphael did naught amiss to aid Master Simon and you in a brawl not of your making.”
Reassured by Lilian’s mirth as much as her words, Chrys comments, “Chief Diana seemed well pleased for some reason.”
“As well she might be. It was not certain from the reports, but with your tale, it is confirmed.” Lilian’s shoulders shudder as she tries to control another bout of laughter. Taking a sip of water, she is able to enlighten Chrys. “Chief Diana has done all she can to contain those louts. She has separated shifts, putting some on the line and some in the boats. She has not been able to dismiss them without a strong cause. Their families have been of the fisheries for countless generations.”
“Olaf and the other two who drew knives can be dismissed.” Chrys nods.
“They drew weapons on Monsignor’s son,” Lilian says coldly. “Milord will have them indicted and sent into a Crevasse.”
“And the other two as well?” Chrys wonders. “I had not thought it, but they assaulted Monsignor’s son.”
“No.” Lilian shakes her head. “Brawls are common enough, and Master Raphael was not targeted. Without blades, they are subject to naught more than fines and the cost of repairs.”
“Seeing Olaf and the others condemned to the Crevasse will keep the others in line,” Chrys remarks. “It is no wonder Chief Diana was so pleased.”
Lips twitching with returning amusement, Lilian suggests, “If it were not defiance of Monsignor’s will, Chief Diana would likely assign Master Raphael only the lightest and most pleasant of tasks as a reward for ridding her of those troublemakers.”
“Worry not about Master Raphael’s reward in this,” Chrys laughs. “The tavern owner’s daughter has seen to the matter, and is likely to continue to do so.”
“Chrys, please assure me this girl is past the age of consent,” Lilian entreats with sudden concern. Raphael is but seventeen, and fifteen might not seem over young to him. While there is some leniency for violations of the age of consent strictures for those close in age, Raphael already treads the edge of the Crevasse.
“Lilian, she i
s a lovely twenty-two-year-old,” Chrys hastens to explain. “And Raphael is truly smitten.”
Returning Chrys’ laugh with a smile, Lilian mentally notes that like his father, Raphael seems to prefer older women.
19. The Tale of the Elf King and Queen
Before agreeing to the Code of Engagement, Rimon Ben Claude demanded that additional provisions be included for the resolution of disputes and consistent penalties for serious crimes. While specifics are not known, the historical record suggests that for each stricture adopted in the original governing protocols, several were rejected as local taboos and not violations of Order. Of the thirteen original governing protocols, only one addresses sexual practices by forbidding forced carnal knowledge or carnal relations with those under sixteen years of age.
As the Three Systems’ communications, transportation, and governance infrastructure was reconstructed, some taboos spread and became a matter of custom while others faded into obscurity. Among sexual practices, ancient First System restrictions on carnal activity outside of wedlock were abandoned, while Third System restrictions on carnal activity among close kin were uniformly accepted and have since expanded to include certain categories of commerce kin. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 99, Day 7
Checking her appearance in a shop window, Rebecca decides that the floppy-brimmed hat gives her an air of mystery and becomingly accents her ice-blue dress. She is elegant enough to meet Seigneur Trevelyan’s standards while the clingy silk shows her figure to perfection. Not that Rebecca intends to flirt, but she learned a decade gone that a pretty face and form could ease her through any number of difficulties. Of course, the purpose of the hat is to hide her pretty face. Lilian did not ask that Rebecca conform to the camouflage that Lilian and Katleen will employ, only that she not attract undue attention.
Following a family group around the corner, Rebecca is not surprised to see them enter the art museum courtyard. It is the final sevenday of the free puppet performance of The Elf King and Queen. Katleen insisted that they wait for Lilian’s return, even after Tabitha attended with Master Simon and extolled the entertainment. At the thought of Tabitha and Simon, Rebecca’s lips curve. The courtly and restrained attentions of the stork are exactly what Tabitha needs to aid her recovery from Sebastian Mehta’s abuse.
The courtyard is bright and warm in the after-midday sun, the benches half circling the stage by the fountain but half full. The classical entertainment, with its quaint toys, minimal staging, and dependency on story line rather than sensationalism, does not hold wide appeal. With a practiced eye, Rebecca assesses the crowd—well educated and reasonably affluent.
A pleasant breeze ruffles Rebecca’s nape as she scans the area for Lilian and Katleen. Skipping over the front rows, where the parents and siblings with younger children have congregated, Rebecca spots her quarry halfway back. Although anyone searching for them would find the sisters, a casual glance from a stranger will not reveal them. Both are dressed in lightweight trousers and tunics appropriate to the season, Katleen’s in pale blue, Lilian’s in gray. Both have covered their hair. Katleen wears a soft-brimmed hat that partially shades her features. The purple scarf that turbans Lilian’s hair also serves to turn her skin sallow while her loose, unfastened shirt conceals her thorn.
Raising her hand in an attempt to catch Lilian’s attention, Rebecca maneuvers through the milling crowd to what she recognizes is a strategically chosen location: on an aisle for good viewing and far enough back for a hasty exit. Reaching the pair, Rebecca announces, “Hold the bench, and I will provide refreshment. What pleases you?”
The sparse crowd makes for a short wait at the vendor stalls and Rebecca is gone but moments. Rising to take the refreshments from Rebecca, Lilian insists that the blonde takes the centermost seat. “Rebecca, Katleen and I have enjoyed the play many times. This is your first. You must have the best view.”
“Yes, Mistress Rebecca, please take the seat,” Katleen seconds. “If we were not so tall that we would hamper the children, I would sit up at the front so you could see all the details. The puppets are very elaborate.”
Introduced to all manner of feminine secrets by the apprentice spy, Katleen is eager to return the favor. She is still grappling with the idea that one could have a childhood devoid of childish entertainment.
“My thanks.” Rebecca eagerly moves into the offered space. “I admit, I’m eager to view an elf king and queen.”
While Rebecca will not voice it, she would very much like to be in the front rows with the youngest members of the audience. Rebecca’s two sevendays in Katleen’s house were a revelation. The starkness of the life did not trouble her. She has known worse. The gracious style of the house and the manners of the women who reside there were completely new experiences, however. This was not the formality of Cartel discipline or the carefully correct interactions of the educational elite. They treated each other, and her, with the same quiet courtesy as Seigneur Trevelyan showed to all. Katleen was shocked to discover that Rebecca’s childhood had been devoid of childish entertainments. When the opportunity to embrace this archaic entertainment presented itself, Rebecca leapt at it, eager to know more of the way these women lived. Or, more accurately, once had lived.
Compounding Rebecca’s interest is that at one time, dazed by Master Chin’s potions, Lilian confused Rebecca with the elf queen. Rebecca is intrigued to learn the nature of the fable. At the sound of cymbals, the crowd quiets and the tale unfolds.
The noble elf queen and king rule over their prosperous kingdom wisely and well. Their success incites envy in the demons that dwell in the deep sea at the border of the kingdom. The demons corrupt the weak among the royal couple’s retainers, gaining entrance to the castle with the traitors’ help.
Caught up in the enchantment of the entertainment, Rebecca joins the younger children in their vocal appreciation. She sighs over the noble elf queen and king. She boos the demons and the traitors.
Although the program is short, there is an interlude immediately after the sly entrance of the demons into the castle. What income there will be from this entertainment comes from the vendors. Content with what they have already, Lilian, Katleen, and Rebecca remain in their places.
“This is wondrous.” Rebecca does not attempt to contain her delight. She had no idea such a tame amusement could be so riveting. “The demons do not win, do they? They are slain by the elf king and queen?”
“We will not give it away,” Katleen refuses. “You must wait to discover it. Although, I am a little disappointed, Lilian’s elf king and queen were grander.”
“You have an excellent eye,” Lilian agrees. “These are lovely, but our elf queen was lovelier than this one and better constructed. As you may recall, she bore a strong resemblance to our exquisite Rebecca.”
“Puppets, Lilian? You owned puppets?” Rebecca is amazed at the idea that a person would own such a remarkable object.
“Lilian’s stories were always better, too,” Katleen insists.
“You only think so because the elf queen was always named Katleen,” Lilian teases.
As Chrys did almost two years gone, Rebecca catches a brief glimpse into the shuttered garden that was once Lilian’s life. Fabulous toys and time to entertain a younger sibling with made-up fancies. Enthralled, Rebecca asks, “Have you them still? The puppets?”
With her question, the door closes. Lilian’s quiet smile disappears. “They are mostly gone now, Rebecca. They were but a child’s toys.”
Pillaged or sold like almost all the household’s furnishings, Rebecca astutely guesses. Lilian’s chamber is all but bare of ornaments. With sudden recognition, Rebecca places the ugly doll that resides in the chamber. “You have the tree-troll yet. It guards your chamber balcony.”
“It is modern and poorly made, but it was the first.” Lilian’s expression softens, although the smile does not return.
“We are starting again,” Katleen ex
claims. Initially too dignified in her new womanhood to indulge in cheering and boos, Katleen abandons her reserve in the presence of Rebecca’s enthusiasm. She is eager for the rest of the play, even though she knows its end.
Warned by a lowly but loyal retainer, a tree-troll, the king and queen are able to repel the invaders, save their kingdom, and exact retribution from their enemies. The tree-troll dies a noble death and is given a hero’s farewell.
Rebecca and Katleen wholeheartedly cheer the triumphant royals, gloat over the retribution visited upon the sea-demons, and weep for the fallen tree-troll.
“That was marvelous, although I do regret the death of the tree-troll,” Rebecca says with a small sniffle.
“It made me so sad, Lilian altered the outcome for me,” Katleen replies. “In Lilian’s version, Sinead is so impressed by the tree-troll’s gallantry that she restores him to life and he becomes the queen’s champion.”
“Sinead?” Rebecca inquires. The Fifth Warrior is not customarily associated with magnanimity. Nor can Rebecca quite reconcile her pragmatic friend with such a fantastical notion.
“Katleen was but five, and Maman’s effigy of Sinead near to hand,” Lilian responds. “Truly, I had often longed for a different outcome.”
The crowd is thinning. The trio rises and begins to work their way to the exit.
“Once I began martial arts training, Lilian refused to alter the outcome,” Katleen volunteers. “Stories must be appreciated for what they are. Longing for altered outcomes changes naught.”
Depositing the detritus of their refreshments in the recycler, the three walk to the transport station, where they part ways, Rebecca to return to the nearby Serengeti Associates’ Quarters while Lilian and Katleen return to the Garden Center District.
Despite Lilian’s precautions, they did not go unnoticed.
Cesare Mercio deeply regretted promising to escort Elysia and one of her silly friends to a puppet play. The prospect of the bland entertainment was not nearly as painful as their incessant and inane chatter. Depositing them in a central bench midway back from the puppet pavilion, Cesare embraced the opportunity for silence provided by obtaining refreshment. Scanning the queues, he selected the one holding a perfectly proportioned young woman in a wide-brimmed hat. At the vision, Cesare decided that there might be more to amuse him in the audience than among the puppets.