Fortuna

by E G Manetti

  A sorry tale to be sure, but something is not quite right. Absently stroking Lilian from hip to ribcage, Lucius notes, “A contract made under duress is easily broken.”

  “My mother appealed to Sinead’s Shrine.” Lilian arches pleasantly under his hand. “Cajoling and manipulation do not meet the standard of duress. Did they, half the contracts in the Twelve Systems could be void. Maman could honor the contract or be foresworn.”

  Foresworn, Helena would have had no credit, no warrior status, and no honor. For a warrior, it is the same as having no future. Lucius nods, cupping a silk-encased breast. “It does explain how one of Lady Helena’s abilities and ancient lineage accepted an alliance with Gariten. Certainly, he would not have scrupled at committing his daughter to a similar fate.”

  “As milord voices,” Lilian agrees, her body becoming nicely pliant under his touch.

  There is naught Lucius can do to erase her evil history with Gariten. There is much he can do to please them both. Lucius reaches for her blouse fasteners.

  “That corrupt man did not fully succeed.” Lilian’s comment halts Lucius mid-motion. Raising his eyes from her breasts to her face, Lucius finds the quiet serenity Lilian presents when pleased. “The contract specified an heir, milord, not a male heir.”

  “Your mother managed to thwart his ambition and retain her honor.” Lucius smiles at the thought. Lilian’s mother demonstrates the cunning for which Sinead’s line is renowned. His fingers finish working the fasteners. “How fares the Matahorn trustee?”

  “She fell into scandal a few years after my mother passed her majority.” Lilian returns his smile as he pushes the blouse from her shoulders. “She was found guilty of receiving bribes to betray her trusts. I believe she continues to labor at debt collection in the Tenth System.”

  Delighted by the seer’s vengeance and Lilian’s smile, Lucius dismisses all thoughts of Gariten’s fell schemes and captures Lilian’s mouth with his.

  Sevenday 102, Day 6

  “I would never have suspected Fenrir of such foul dealings.” Seigneur Marco stares at the evidence displayed on his slate. “Appalling, truly appalling.”

  At milord’s gesture, Lilian deftly refreshes Seigneur Marco’s tea, then Trevelyan’s, and finally milord’s. Placing the pot on its stand, Lilian returns to stand behind milord’s left shoulder. It did not take long for Trevelyan’s operatives to act on the information from Lilian’s two-year-old record strip. All three enterprises ceased to exist within a year of Remus Gariten’s Final Draught. The transaction trail for two of the enterprises grew cold and dead-ended, at least to the extent that Trevelyan’s resources could provide aid. Bribery and coercion require an active enterprise with active participants.

  Only one enterprise, the last to be dissolved, left a trail that could still be traced to a fourth enterprise. In this, the Shade of the First once again favored milord; the fourth enterprise dissolved but three months gone. Trevelyan had little difficulty tracing the benefit of dissolution to Seigneur Fenrir and a master scholar of legalistics at the university on Rimon Prime. Building an indictment for Seigneur Fenrir moved much more quickly than Lilian could have hoped.

  Picking up his tea, Marco shoots a sympathetic glance at Lilian. She cannot find reminders of sire’s black commerce pleasant. “A protocol review would unearth the principals of the other two enterprises. I take it that Monsignor has no intention of turning this information over to the Governing Council?”

  “As much as it would please me to hunt down Gariten’s associates, it is too dangerous.” Milord frowns. “I do not wish to explain to a protocol review how we came to know of these enterprises.”

  “They would not stop with Mistress Lilian,” Marco acknowledges. “Serengeti leadership is an infinitely more lucrative target than an apprentice. Mayhap an anonymous tip?”

  “Any Governing Council investigation into Gariten could turn attention to Lilian.” Milord’s frown turns to a scowl. “Nor do I wish the scandal of having a seigneur associated with Bright Star indicted for involvement with Gariten’s crimes. This will remain sealed in Matahorn and Serengeti security-privilege.”

  “You wish me to present this to Monsignor Horatio.” Marco nods.

  “I doubt it will take more than a day to convince Horatio that he must eliminate his corrupt seigneur,” milord replies. “But take several days. I am sure there is sufficient commerce for both Serengeti and Bright Star to justify the journey.”

  It is the obvious tactic. The round-trip requires nearly two sevendays, and they must remain at least a sevenday on Socraide Prime to justify the journey. If milord were to be absent for three sevendays, having recently met with Matahorn, it would cause far too much comment.

  “What of the legalistics master scholar?” Trevelyan asks.

  “Assassination should be avoided,” milord responds. “The scholar is well connected, and it might draw too much attention. While you are in the First System, pay a call on Dean Joseph. The evidence was discovered in Mulan’s University—he should be able to act without endangering Lilian.”

  Sevenday 102, Day 7

  The river breeze whispers against Lilian’s damp skin, pleasantly cool under the hot sun. With an experienced eye, Lilian notes that the lush grass of the riverfront park has begun to fade. Within a month, it will be brittle and brown. Along the river, the seasonal pavilions are fewer and the crowds thin. By the end of the month, only a handful of permanent cafés and stalls will dot the riverbanks.

  The sparse crowd suits Lilian’s purposes; the lightweight tunics Katleen and she pull over their racing garb barely disguise their dishevelment. A month gone, in this level of disarray, they would not have been admitted to the modest pavilion where Tabitha holds a table. Striding alongside them, Mr. Stefan does not bother to fasten his tunic, only draping it so the fireburst pistol is not obvious. Although Mr. Stefan maintains the exceptional fitness required of Serengeti Militia, race training is not his favorite activity. Trailing Lilian in the Garden Center and now Lilian and Katleen in the River Quarter has left the guard hot and scowling. The pavilion’s hostess does not attempt an argument when he commandeers a four-person table next to Tabitha’s.

  Next to Tabitha, Seigneur Marco’s new apprentice rises. Blythe’s braided crown of strawberry-blonde hair shines in the shady pavilion. The emerald-green wrap dress displays a figure every bit as formidable and voluptuous as that of the Shimmering Horizon’s Hannah. The vivid color complements the bright hair and the milky, freckle-dusted complexion. At Lilian’s hail, a round, sweet face with wary blue eyes turns to her, and Blythe scrambles to her feet. “Mistress Lilian, well met.”

  In addition to Hannah’s build, Seigneur Marco’s apprentice shares the free boxer’s height. Lilian cannot help but imagine the lovely woman coupled with the dark and stocky Seigneur Marco. Forcing aside the improper thought, Lilian replies, “Well met, indeed. Allow me to make my sister, Katleen, known to you.”

  Embarrassment and speculation flicker across Blythe’s face, revealing her discomfort with Katleen’s presence at this sensitive discussion. With an inward sigh, Lilian settles into the seat next to Tabitha. Rebecca was correct; the new apprentice is ill trained and will struggle without their aid. More than aught else, Blythe must learn to control her expression. Every thought displays, and some of those reactions could see the young woman belted for effrontery. Not that Lilian believes that Seigneur Marco is cruel or unreasonable, but does Blythe betray her thoughts in public, the seigneur may have no choice.

  As Katleen and Tabitha debate the merits of peach ice and chocolate shortbread, Lilian mentally reviews what she has learned of Blythe’s history. Blythe entered the university on Socraide Deuce through a combination of scholar awards and a small estate left by a maternal uncle. Four years into her eight-year course of study, her family fell into difficulty and required the funds to feed and house her other siblings. She had the choice of entering into a bond or returning home to labor in the personal transport works of
Rimon Deuce’s smallest continent.

  The master scholar who took her bond had been well into his nineties. He took her as an apprentice as much to save himself from the effort of training another research assistant as a desire to benefit from her bond placement. A well-regarded expert in his field, the master scholar spent his days developing new models and publishing complex treatises on complexity theory and risk management. Lilian employed one of his models in developing her SEV1 decision trials.

  An honorable man, the scholar provided Blythe with the basic instruction required for an apprentice position in a commerce enterprise. He held little interest in nuance, however. As a result, her training has gaps. Rigorous control of her demeanor is one. Knowing how to recognize and dodge the intrigue and malicious games that are part of cartel life is another.

  “Peach ice, if you please,” Katleen instructs the servitor, her decision made. Lilian asks for iced green tea, Tabitha and Blythe for sparkling citrus. To reach the minimum order requirement, they add a plate of sliced fruit.

  As the servitor disappears to place their order, Lilian turns to Blythe. “I have only recently returned from stellar travel with Monsignor Lucius, it is not as complex as you fear.”

  “You resided with the scholar,” Tabitha adds. “Custom and protocol are similar for travel.”

  “Except it is not.” Blythe’s lips tremble. “The master scholar cared little for custom or protocol, only that I that I be available night and day to aid him with his research. There was naught of Cartel formality.”

  “Formality?” Lilian echoes. “I do not understand.”

  Squaring her should, Blythe rushes out, “I served Seigneur Marco tea and did not know to put a plate under the cup. Or that I should serve his guests first, and by rank.”

  “Difficult,” Lilian admits. “You cannot know what you do not know. Surely Seigneur Marco understands this?”

  “Yes, no,” Blythe stumbles. “That is not the worst of it.”

  “Tell us the worst,” Tabitha encourages. “We cannot aid you if we do not know.”

  “With the master scholar, I could sit when and where I wished. We often had meals together.” Blythe knots her fingers in her napkin. “If I required aught, I was free to tend to it. The scholar did not wish to be disturbed by constant requests for respite or supplies. Of course, my work was to be error free and completed on time, but that was true of all the scholar’s students and assistants.”

  “Five Warriors defend us.” Tabitha’s hushed tone holds a wealth of horror at the implications of Blythe’s confession.

  Dreading the response, Lilian asks, “Did you sit without Seigneur Marco’s permission?”

  Eyes welling with tears, face flushing, Blythe mumbles, “Only once. The seigneur was very angry.”

  Lilian represses a shudder at the notion of milord’s reaction to such effrontery. For all her limited apprentice training, Lilian’s warrior upbringing left her well versed in the formal manners of the warriors. Even Nickolas does not sit without milord’s permission. Nor is Blythe completely ignorant. “Blythe, how could you err so? Even if not fully trained, you demonstrate knowledge of rank courtesy. Yesterday in the Archives, you knew to rise when Master Liger entered.”

  “Of course, it was a public forum,” Blythe replies.

  “Public?” Tabitha struggles to understand. “The Archives?”

  “Exactly.” Blythe nods. “The master scholar insisted on public courtesy. It was a matter of prestige.”

  “So you know how to conduct yourself when in a conference, but not when alone?” Lilian is beginning to understand.

  “In public, yes. But otherwise, the scholar cared not.” Blythe nods. “At the time, I was grateful. Now, I feel the lack.”

  For all that Seigneur Marco may appear more approachable than milord, Lilian knows he will expect strict adherence to the apprentice protocol. “Teacups and saucers are embarrassing, but not a violation of the strictures. Seigneur Marco may be annoyed, but he will not be angered. It is the apprentice protocol where you must focus. I suggest that you act as formally as if in a conference even when alone. If Seigneur Marco wishes other, he will instruct you. That will keep you from defiance.”

  Confusion, shame, and resolve play out on Blythe’s features, ending with a nod. “My thanks, I should have realized. It was all so confusing, trying to separate the stricture violations from the others. But, what of the teacups? Seigneur Marco was displeased.”

  “I have little to offer,” Lilian admits to Blythe’s visible disappointment. “Mistress Rebecca may be more aid. She was compelled to learn on her own and may have some suggestions.”

  “Learn what on my own?” Rebecca alights on an empty chair.

  “Decorum,” Katleen volunteers, her eyes on the peach ice being placed before her.

  “Decorum?” Rebecca echoes, gazing around the table. “Why are we discussing decorum lessons?”

  “Mistress Blythe needs them,” Katleen explains, digging into the ice. “She must travel to the First System with Seigneur Marco, and she does not know how to pour tea.”

  “I have mastered tea,” Blythe protests. “It is what I do not know that will place me on the wrong side of Seigneur’s will.”

  “It always is.” Rebecca gestures for the servitor’s attention. “No one is truly prepared for a cartel apprenticeship. That is why we will help you.”

  25. A Wolf’s Head

  The savagery of combat during the Anarchy often resulted in horrendous wounds that left the afflicted unable to engage in battle or even to tend to personal needs. As resources dwindled, few were willing to spend any on those who could not fight or work, abandoning them to slow death in the wastelands. All the canons confirm that the Five Warriors rejected the practice, insisting that honorable battle companions and innocent civilians be dispatched quickly and mercifully. By the time the Code of Engagement was ratified, the practice was expanded to permit those who failed in their duty or betrayed their honor to redeem themselves through self-sacrifice or self-slaughter.

  The remnants of these traditions continue in the modern chalice as administered by the Shrines. Those enfeebled by age or illness may appeal to the Shrines for the rite of the chalice. The chalice can also serve as the ultimate shrine discipline, the penalty for a complete loss of honor. ~ excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.

  Sevenday 106, Day 2

  The Serengeti lobby buzzes with excited chatter as Lilian makes her ways to the risers and eighth-bell attendance. Had she any doubt that the Cartel had heard the news, Mistress Marieth’s bright smile and happy ‘well met’ dispelled it. The commerce-rocking confirmation of Serengeti Group as third among the cartels flooded the morning media streams. Milord has been elevated from Socraide’s Third System Lord Patron to Lord Patron of Socraide’s Sect. The licenses for his household guard, Blooded Dagger, and Serengeti Militia have all increased, as have the seats Serengeti controls on the Governing Council. There are but six warriors in the Twelve Systems that hold higher rank than milord’s.

  Stepping across the scarlet threshold, Lilian reflects that it is well that milord has cause to be pleased. He will not care for what she must report. In this, she is not mistaken. Milord’s pleasant expression darkens to a scowl as she finishes her report. “The Socraide Deuce scholar is refusing to aid you?” Milord snaps. “What of the license fees Serengeti pays the man?”

  The master scholar on Socraide Deuce who developed one of the models she used in the Bright Star decision trial models has coldly rebuffed her overtures. The man’s current research assistant dismissed her on the pretext that her scholarship credentials were insufficient to warrant the scholar’s time and attention. It matters not that Lilian succeeded at the mastery trials in analytics and problematics; Mulan’s Temple does not award master credentials to discredited, tainted doxies. Nor is there aught Lilian can do about it. “The fees do not include consultation on the application of the models, milord. Legalistics confir
m it.”

  “You believe Mistress Blythe can take the place of a master scholar?” milord challenges. “She has yet to complete her Serengeti training. Are there no others?”

  “There are several of Serengeti with acceptable scholarship credentials.” Lilian passes her slate across the desk to milord. “None are familiar with the scholar’s model. I could formulate the questions, and they could make the inquiries, but it would be cumbersome and prone to error.”

  “These are senior associates, one is a seigneur.” Milord scowls at the list. “None are readily pulled from their current duties.”

  “Yes, milord,” Lilian agrees. “It is why I suggested Mistress Blythe. She was seven years as research assistant to the scholar who devised the model. Other than the scholar himself, she is one of the few with sufficient knowledge of the model to make a determination. With the scholar refusing to engage with me directly, this is the most expedient path.”

  “As Marco’s apprentice, she is bound for Bright Star.” Milord mulls over the notion as he returns Lilian’s slate. “If she asked, think you the scholar would respond to Mistress Blythe’s queries?”

  “But what about the apprentice protocol, milord?” Under the strictures, Blythe may no more contact her academic master than Lilian may contact Dean Joseph.

  “A limited waiver could be arranged.” Milord dismisses the concern.

  A waiver. Lilian opens her mouth to ask and quickly closes it. Blythe is not under indictment. Lilian’s isolation from Dean Joseph is as much due to her Trial by Ordeal as it is to the apprentice stricture.