Transgressions

by E G Manetti

  Lilian has not confessed she is sealed into the belt to any. On the day she received it, Rebecca discovered Lilian doubled in mirth at milord’s bizarre humor and her revelations about the nature of the man who owns her. Once Lilian gained control of her amusement, she swore Rebecca to secrecy. She turned Maman’s and Katleen’s inquiries about its presence during training with the same excuse she gave Master Medic Chin: “It is the monsignor’s will.”

  Milord’s broadening smile is not reassuring. This day. I am the sum of my ancestors.

  The wicked gleam in milord’s eyes flickers briefly. Milord is laughing at me.

  I am the foundation of my family. Lilian straightens her spine and braces for what may come.

  Lucius can barely contain his amusement. It is so difficult to overset the tightly contained woman. This next will prove entertaining and, with the Luck of the First, enlightening. “What think you of Master Fletcher’s chances today?”

  What? Wait. Milord is defying his edict and the twenty-fourth stricture that prohibits apprentices from wagering? It is not a moral restriction; wagering is a well-regarded pastime in the Twelve Systems. The restriction is to instill discipline and ensure that the bonded remains financially dependent. Given Lilian’s extraordinary abilities with analytics and complexity analysis, even a general discussion of Moon Race odds could put her on the wrong side of stricture. With Moon Race fever gripping the Cartel, Lilian has been hard-pressed to guard her speech and will be pleased when it is over and other topics capture the collective consciousness of Serengeti.

  As Lilian struggles to marshal a response, Lucius forces back his desire to laugh. He cannot help but enjoy confounding his often-confounding apprentice.

  Milord’s amusement is unnerving. Honor is my blade and shield. With a controlled exhale, Lilian replies carefully, “I have no notion, milord. Truly, I have made a discipline of not considering them.”

  So determinedly obedient. Lucius’ gratification at the knowledge Lilian has upheld his will beyond stricture and custom is tempered by mild regret. He did not miss Lilian’s straightening spine. More than once he has unwittingly teased her to the point of misery; he will not err again. It is time to cease his game. “Very well done of you.”

  At the telltale softening of Lilian’s shoulders, Lucius smiles and says, “Nonetheless, the event is today. I would know your estimate.”

  Mulan confound him! Do Not. This day. Taking comfort from milord’s approving “very well done,” Lilian blinks away her surprise at milord’s latest shift in direction. “As milord wills. I require a few moments for analysis. May I use the reviewer?”

  At milord’s concurring wave, Lilian walks over to the reviewer and accesses Odds Manager reports, sports commentary, and a variety of race reviews. Her regard moving between reviewer and slate, her flying fingers tap out commands.

  “Lilian, you may sit.” Milord’s voice comes from behind her.

  “My thanks, milord.” Eyes fixed on the reviewer, Lilian settles onto the couch, her fingers continuing to tap.

  Ten minutes pass. Lilian is speaking quietly. This is what Lucius wished. A suspicion that has been months forming is about to be tested. Rising, Lucius moves quietly to stand behind the scarlet couch. Though he cannot see Lilian’s face, he is certain the gray eyes have gone clear as water. This is not Lilian in deep thought. It is something else, something more. She is present and not present.

  “This is not right. It cannot be. Where is the flaw?” Lilian rapidly taps her slate, sending the configuration on the reviewer spinning.

  Lucius quietly moves around the side of the couch where he can have a partial view of Lilian’s face and the gray eyes gone oddly pale. He will not risk interrupting by moving between Lilian and the reviewer. Does Lilian stiffen, go silent, or lose color, you must compel her to cease, Chin’s warning echoes as Lucius keeps his focus on Lilian. She is well. Her soft and lilting voice is almost a litany, as it has been on several other occasions. Whatever is occurring, it is beyond Lilian’s customary intense analytics.

  “Not Fletcher. Mayhap the others? Yes, that is it. I see it now.” With a shift in energy that is almost audible, Lilian’s tapping ceases, and she turns, expecting to find milord at his desk.

  “Lilian.” Milord is directly in front of her.

  Scrambling to her feet, Lilian raises her face to meet his gaze. “Seventh or eighth position, milord. I cannot say which.”

  “Top half of the field, Lilian? Are you certain?” Lucius searches Lilian’s upturned face, her eyes returned to bright gray. Interesting. “This is Fletcher’s first Final Moon Trial. To finish anywhere above the tenth position will be a significant triumph.”

  “Certain, milord? No.” Lilian’s brow furrows in concentration. “Moon Race Odds Management is inexact. There are too many variables, too few constants. The probability that Fletcher will finish in either the seventh or eighth position is no greater than seventy-four point seven three six percent. It is the most likely case, not a certain one.”

  “Seventy-five percent?” Lucius ignores the Shade tingle along the back of his neck to pursue his agenda. Lucius does not doubt Lilian’s conclusion, but he is curious as to the source of the difference. The Odds Managers place Fletcher between tenth and twelfth position. “How is it that your analysis differs so significantly from that of the Odds Managers?”

  “They do not know Master Fletcher.”

  At milord’s quizzical look, Lilian waves a hand at the reviewer. “It is the contenders favored for the second and third positions. Both have the skills and experience to be first, but they are focused on defeating each other, not the field as a whole. Their behavior increases the randomness and distracts the less experienced contenders. Master Fletcher will not be distracted. He will contend the field as a whole.”

  “Compelled to choose, which would it be, seventh or eighth position?” Milord is smiling again.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. She must not mislead milord. “Seventh, milord, but it is based on hope for Master Fletcher’s success, nothing empirical. Truly, to choose between seventh and eighth position, one may as well flip a token. It will be as accurate as any other predictor.”

  Lucius’ apprentice has an unmistakable talent for Odds Management. “Does it distress you? To be forbidden wagering in this?”

  Lilian shakes her head. “The race itself will be exciting. Were it not forbidden, I would not wager even a modest sum on the Moon Races. There is too much random chance.”

  Lucius nods his understanding. Lilian is living one of the highest-stakes wagers he has ever encountered. He has no difficulty comprehending how wagering as entertainment would hold no appeal for the young woman.

  »◊«

  Following the stream of excited associates, Lilian rapidly scans the tiered rows of the Associates’ Hall, searching for her friends. Rebecca’s platinum blonde hair, shining above the crowd in the farthest row, catches Lilian’s attention before the hails from Chrys and Douglas, who are seated with Rebecca. A few rows below the trio, Clarice is snaking her way up the stairs and through the crowd. Lithely dodging the milling associates, Lilian quickly follows Clarice up the stairs, eager to make it to the top before first bell and the start of the race. Halfway to her goal, Lilian is blocked by several associates who are waiting for those seated at the end of the row to let them into the interior seats.

  An insincere “oops” accompanies a heavy splatter of pink goop that finds its way into Lilian’s hair, onto her jacket and skirt, and through her blouse. One of the newly popular sweet slush drinks, it was recently contained in the large vial held by Shoshanna Revetali. With a smirk, the malicious Grey Spear associate offers a completely unrepentant “beg pardon, someone jostled me” and then flounces off to her seat to the chortles of several companions.

  In the far row, Lilian’s enraged friends are on their feet, although there is naught to be done. Raising her voice to be heard over the increasing din, Lilian calls up to them, “I am to the train
ing chambers to change. I must get these cleansed. Enjoy the race.”

  Before Lilian can turn, Rebecca pushes her way down the steps. “Wait for me.”

  As they exit the hall, wild cheering signals that the Moon Race has begun. In contrast to the pandemonium in the Associates’ Hall, the corridors are eerily silent and empty, making Lilian doubly glad of Rebecca’s company. Even late in the evenings, there are always a few about the halls. Today, they are deserted except for the two Ravens. All with liberty and means departed before midday to attend one of the many holographic centers where the race can be viewed in three-dimensional projections. Those who remain on the premises are sequestered in various chambers for viewing the race.

  As they make their way through the echoing halls, Rebecca inquires, “So what are you going to do to that crevasse-crawler?”

  “Naught immediately,” Lilian sighs regretfully. “She is Grey Spear. I have mined that deposit too often in the past few months. I need let it be for awhile.”

  At Rebecca’s look of surprise, Lilian shakes her head. “Think you I am the only expert in analytics and problematics in the Cartel? Grey Spear commands several excellent ones. Shoshanna’s retribution must wait.”

  Lilian’s talents gave rise to Mercium, which in turn has increased milord’s ascendancy over Grey Spear. Her insight during the Bright Star shares negotiation thwarted Sebastian’s attempt to gain control of the consortium. Through her machinations, Grey Spear was shamed in the annual scoring of the first-year associates. Lilian also instigated the events that saw Rebecca pulled into Blooded Dagger against Grey Spear intent, and Ann Hunter, one of Monsignor Sebastian’s favorites, was dismissed from the Cartel. Within the sevenday, due to Lilian’s interference, Monsignor Sebastian’s abused apprentice, Tabitha, will become a Blooded Dagger associate.

  Except for freeing Tabitha, Lilian’s actions were motivated by her desire to serve milord and Blooded Dagger. The Grey Spear losses were a side effect. Nonetheless, it could easily appear otherwise should Grey Spear discover the whole of Lilian’s activities. Lilian skirts the edge of the Crevasse and wishes no closer proximity.

  In the deserted training chambers, Lilian retrieves her training garb and retreats to the showers. As she feared, the disgusting pink goop has soaked through her blouse and into the favored cerulean-blue lingerie.

  “Fletcher is in seventh position!” Rebecca calls from the changing chamber, distracting Lilian from her ruined lingerie.

  Eager to join Rebecca in watching the race, Lilian rapidly cleanses her body and hair of pink goop, absently shifting the gold belt out of her way as needed.

  “They’re on the far side of Castor.” Rebecca sticks her head into the shower chamber. “It will be a few minutes before they are back in view.”

  Quickly, Lilian pulls on her training tunic, grateful for its built-in breast support in the absence of a usable bra.

  “Oh, no, Fletcher has dropped to ninth.” Rebecca moans from the far side of the door as Lilian pulls on her trousers.

  “He’s gaining,” Rebecca cries while Lilian deftly navigates the warbelt to pull her trousers into position beneath it, evidence of two sevendays of determined practice.

  “He’s in eighth!” Rebecca is bouncing on her toes in front of the reviewer as Lilian joins her, soiled garb bundled under one arm.

  When they reach the risers, forty-five minutes into the race, Fletcher remains in eighth position. As they pass through the Cartel lobby, Rebecca tugs Lilian to a halt by one of the finer lounges. Peering inside at the reviewer, she whispers, “Fletcher holds to the eighth position.”

  “Rebecca, Mistress Lilian, what do you here?” Trevelyan’s call jerks their attention from the reviewer to a corner where the spymaster is seated with Chin.

  Adelaide’s Thorn! Lilian had thought Seigneur Trevelyan on the observatory with milord. She is glad to find him and the Master Medic within the Cartel, both of whom can provide her with shadow.

  “That malicious cat Shoshanna Revetali dumped a bucket of sweet slush on Lilian.” Rebecca goes to her lord, followed by Lilian, who bites her lip at Rebecca’s casual address. “We’ve been to the training chambers to get Lilian cleansed. Now we’re to the concierge so Lilian can tend to her attire.”

  At a surreptitious nudge from Lilian, Rebecca hastily blurts, “Milord!”

  Unable to contain his amusement, Chin laughs. “Trevelyan, the Five Warriors try you with this one.”

  Trevelyan is far less concerned with Rebecca’s lack of decorum than he is by the knowledge of Lilian’s continued torment within the Cartel. Ignoring the chortling medic, Trevelyan instructs the Ravens, “You will not locate a seat in the Associates’ Hall now, the race is half done. Sit here with us for the remainder of the trial.”

  Trevelyan will keep Lilian within his shadow for the duration of the race, and he will have an opportunity to assess Rebecca’s public presence. The universal forces of balance have placed Rebecca in his care, and he will see to her advancement. First, he must develop a strategy that will train her without damaging her resilient spirit.

  Chagrinned by Chin’s amusement and the need for Lilian’s nudge, Rebecca demurely lowers her eyes in contrition as she slides gracefully into the indicated seat. “My thanks, milord.”

  Trevelyan snorts.

  From beneath her eyelashes, Rebecca throws her seigneur a beguiling glance. Trevelyan huffs his reproof. Rebecca subsides, glancing warily at her lord. Trevelyan has made it clear that he will not exploit his carnal rights. Her wiles will not aid her and are unwelcome. Finding no anger in Trevelyan’s steady gaze, Rebecca’s nose crinkles in relief and the expectation that she will soon be subjected to painfully tedious decorum exercises.

  Missing naught of the byplay between Rebecca and Trevelyan, Lilian brightens, “My thanks, Seigneur. I will hasten to the concierge and return.”

  As Lilian strides toward the concierge, her shoulders squared, Trevelyan recalls her glorious laughter of a few days earlier. Turning to his apprentice, he inquires, “What amused Mistress Lilian the other day? Her laughter was as pleasing as it was surprising.”

  “Lilian laughed?” Chin echoes in stunned amazement. “Within the Cartel?”

  Rebecca shrugs, still as confused at Lilian’s laughter over Lucius’ game with the warbelt as she was that day. “It was a game of the monsignor’s. I cannot speak more.”

  Familiar with Lucius’ idea of entertainment, Chin and Trevelyan well understand Rebecca’s bemusement. Dismissing the matter, they turn their attention to the race as Lilian rejoins them. It was a surprisingly brief absence.

  “If Seigneur Trevelyan pleases?” At Trevelyan’s nod, Lilian continues, “The concierge can do naught with my attire until tomorrow. Expecting a quiet after midday, the staff was released. I am out of stricture—”

  “Yes, of course.” Trevelyan accesses his slate.

  Cartel attire stricture is tight for all and rigid for apprentices. To appear outside the training chambers in other than commerce garb carries a variety of penalties. As Trevelyan seals Lilian’s waiver, a cheer explodes in the lounge. Fletcher has moved into the seventh position.

  As Lilian takes a place to the right of Master Chin, the medic comments to Trevelyan, “Once again, Lucius is proven omniscient; third set, seventh position. Truly, he can be uncanny.”

  “What think you, Mistress Lilian?” Trevelyan inquires. “Will Master Fletcher finish as the monsignor claims?”

  “Master Fletcher would be pleased to do so well, Seigneur. I do hope the monsignor is correct,” Lilian replies neutrally.

  At Lilian’s evasive answer, Chin and Trevelyan exchange a knowing glance, and Trevelyan remarks, “I should have placed a larger wager.”

  For the next thirty minutes, the foursome, along with another three score patrons, are riveted to the reviewer as the Serengeti contender jockeys back and forth between the eighth and seventh positions. In the last few seconds, with heart-stopping daring, Fletcher cuts into the seventh p
osition and holds his place across the finish.

  5. Seek and Ye Shall Find

  Twelve Systems labor contracts can be as simple as daily or seasonal wage agreements or as complex as a cartel protégé contract and are limited only by the fraud strictures. Indentured-servitude agreements are not considered labor contracts; the Apprentice Protocol strictures date back to the time of the Five Warriors and the founding of the Order. By protocol and stricture, only those who have passed the age of consent and have been dedicated to one of the Five Warriors can be bonded into an apprenticeship. While there are few limits on the master’s control of the bonded, two have remained inviolate since the time of the Five Warriors: the bonded’s devotion to the Shades may not be hindered, and the bonded’s stated gender preferences must be honored. ~excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an instructional text.

  Sevenday 50, Day 5

  Socraide’s Sunburst! It is a good day. Lucius relishes his panoramic view of the bright Garden Center, cityscape, and distant hills as he sips tea before the glazed wall of his office. The past year has exceeded his hopes and ambitions. His spouse, Estella, lives thanks to Chin’s help. For two years, Chin has battled the degenerative disease that nearly killed her. It can be slowed but not stopped. Estella’s once-brilliant singing voice has faded to a whisper, her sense of touch has eroded, her ability to experience passion has been destroyed, and she can no longer share Lucius’ bed. None of which have diminished Lucius’ love for her. Bright Star is moving forward more rapidly than Lucius dared hoped, and with a little Luck of the First, the SEV will launch while Estella yet lives.

  In the meantime, Grey Spear’s hold on Serengeti continues to weaken. Mercium is well on its path to success due in no small part to his unconventional apprentice. Lilian. The enigma that is his apprentice deepens even as it rewards. Lucius’ suspicion that Lilian’s gifts exceed brilliance was confirmed yesterday. Based on her analysis, Lucius had Trevelyan’s operatives place extensive last-minute wagers in Tiger’s Odds Management enterprises. The black commerce magnate owes Lucius a fortune that he cannot pay. The leash is well and truly on. There will be no further difficulties from that source.