by E G Manetti
“Persia is as proud as she is conservative.” Estella nibbles at her dinner. “There was never any hope that she would allow her precious bloodline to mingle with that of a commoner only two generations descended from an apprentice.”
Digging into his own dinner, Lucius mentally inventories his extensive family and its potential commodities dealers. A distant cousin on Desperation is the second generation to carve a place in the competitive commodities metals exchanges. Although Horatio Margovian wanted them badly, Lucius did not yield the Thirteenth System commodity metals. If there is aught of value in the Thirteenth System, his kinswoman could carve a place for Blooded Dagger in the exchanges hierarchy.
“Matahorn owns none of the commodity metals rights in Bright Star.” Estella’s words interrupt Lucius’ musings.
“Estella, I wish you would cease to read my mind,” Lucius laments without conviction.
“Your kinswoman on Desperation?” Estella asks with a smile.
“Persia’s son and heir is a meager warrior,” Lucius reiterates. “When the time comes, her brother’s children will challenge him for control. They are not likely to succeed, but the cartouche will be weakened by the intrigues. When Harold follows his father to preeminence, the cartouche and exchanges will be vulnerable.”
Smiling, Lucius concludes, “I believe my kinswoman will do well with control of the Sixth System’s Exchange in addition to that of the Thirteenth System.”
As Lucius’ predatory smile emerges, it is mirrored by Estella’s. Smile fading, Estella voices a less pleasant thought. “With her husband heir to a platinum signet, Lady Tobi must be invited to join the art museum patrons.”
The Five Warrior museums are supported by the faithful. The art museum is a secular interest. For two decades, its patronage has been dominated by Lady Estella. Only the elite of the elite within the Third System are invited to join the patrons. Tobi has sought a place for over a decade. Now it must be offered.
“Frown not, my love.” Lucius smiles at his wife’s annoyance. “I am certain you will find a means to gather entertainment from the situation.”
Sevenday 70, Day 7
Tunic damp from the early morning drizzle, Lilian races south toward the Warriors’ Ring, where the majestic peak of Socraide’s Shrine rises above the trees. Lilian prefers the long route, which will take her around the far side of the Ring and past Jonathan’s Shrine. However, there is a slight risk of an encounter with any of Persia’s family who might have come early for the internment rites. Lilian slows and hesitates. Wisdom wars with desire. As the rains increase, opportunities for extended racing are becoming fewer.
The drizzle becomes rain, making Lilian’s decision for her. There is no point in running if she cannot see, and doing so is potentially dangerous, as the shrine beggar’s assault last green season proved. Turning right, Lilian puts Socraide’s Shrine behind her as she sprints past Mulan’s Shrine and turns left to pick up the path that will lead her to the park exit. At barely past eighth bell, the streets are empty in the increasing rain. Lilian easily dodges the growing puddles as she covers the few blocks to Katleen’s house.
In the dim and silent entryway, Lilian scuffs free of her wet racing shoes. Maman will already be at the shrine for Seventh Day rites. Katleen is likely yet abed. Barefoot, Lilian passes quickly through the courtyard and out to the kitchen walkway, the chill stone under her toes stealing the last of the warmth from her exertion. Other than their bedchambers, the kitchen is the only chamber they can afford to heat. Heat that is escaping through the open door.
Maman must have been careless. Again.
With a huff of annoyance, Lilian secures the door. The heated tiles warm Lilian’s feet as she hangs her damp tunic on the nearby rack. There are eggs in the foodkeeper, but Lilian’s last attempt at an omelet was less than satisfactory. Katleen’s strictures for omelets need some refining. Hot cereal, Lilian is confident she has mastered, and she can keep an extra portion warm for Katleen.
Keeping a wary eye on the pot of steaming water, Lilian reaches into the nearby cabinet and fishes out the cereal. She needs dried fruit. Focused on the pot, Lilian fumbles her free hand into the cabinet, seeking the lumpy shape of the sack. The lumpy shape is strangely warm. And furry? And moving!
“Adelaide’s Thorn!” Lilian snatches her hand away, nearly knocking the pot over as she spins to face the cabinet, thorn in hand.
Black eyes in a round, gray, furry face peer out from the cabinet. The little snout bares impressive incisors as it emits a sharp screech like a crow’s caw. Clutched in finger-like claws are the remnants of the dried fruit sack. Gloribelle! Katleen’s adopted tree-wombat has invaded the kitchen.
“You mangy rodent.” Lilian advances on the rotund creature the size of a housecat.
With surprising agility for something so awkward looking, Gloribelle rolls from the shelf to the floor in a flash of iridescent green and gold. Scampering to the now-closed door, the adolescent tree-wombat skids to a halt and backpedals in comical surprise.
Knowing she cannot gut Katleen’s pet, Lilian grabs it by the scruff, careful to keep clear of the wickedly sharp incisors. Sheathing her thorn, Lilian opens the door and steps out into the downpour, prepared to fling the yowling animal over the herb garden wall and into the overgrown ornamental gardens.
“Lilian! Stop! Don’t hurt Gloribelle!” Katleen dashes from the kitchen walkway into the rain.
“Katleen, it was into the dried fruit.” Lilian raises the wombat.
“Lilian! Please!” Katleen reaches for the wombat.
With a resigned sigh, Lilian releases the creature to Katleen. To her disgust, Gloribelle’s howls immediately shift to cooing grunts as it curls into Katleen.
“For the love of the Shades,” Lilian steps into the shelter of the kitchen door, “put that thing on the wall and come inside.”
“But it is raining!” Katleen wails.
“It is a tree-wombat. It is supposed to be out in the rain.” Lilian retorts.
Face settling into a mulish expression, Katleen clutches Gloribelle more tightly.
Frowning, Lilian threatens, “If you do not, I will.”
Lower lip trembling, Katleen turns and sloshes to the wall, carefully setting the wombat on top. As Katleen drags back to the kitchen, Lilian cannot decide which one is more pitiful, her sodden, disconsolate sister or the equally sodden wombat whimpering little chirps of abandonment.
Knowing she is going to regret it, Lilian yields. “Very well. You can make a place for it in the gardener’s shed. Do not let it into the kitchen.”
With a glad cry, Katleen flies back to Gloribelle, gathering the little creature close before dashing to the shed entrance. Shaking her head, knowing herself for a fool, Lilian goes to check the security seal on the door that connects the shed to the kitchen.
»◊«
Accompanied by Trevelyan and a dozen handpicked members of the Blooded Dagger Militia, Lucius and his family ignore the crowd of spectators around Jonathan’s Shrine. The massive granite, crevasse-stone, and marble edifice is the seat of Jonathan’s Lord Prelate, Gilead, and the largest shrine in the Third System. Inside, the carved green marble effigy of the Fourth Warrior rises fourteen feet from a crevasse-stone base. Depicted in battle dress, his chest is encased in red enamel to represent body armor. Arms crossed, feet braced, the sculpture radiates power and resolve. The sword and axe that hang from his belt and the fire-rifle slung across his back are worked in brushed steel and gold. A dagger is sheathed in one boot. The face is only roughly delineated, in recognition that Jonathan’s features have never been authenticated. The brightly colored fish that inhabit the square, central pool are the only other color in a shrine that takes its fierce beauty from its superb construction.
Arrayed in front of the effigy are a dozen of the Fourth Warrior’s senior prelates, all in the hunter green and gold of Jonathan’s sect. Flanking the effigy on the left are Sinead’s prelates in peridot and silver, next to Rimon’s i
n royal blue and silver. To the right are Socraide’s prelates in midnight and purple, then Mulan’s in black and flame.
Following an acolyte, Lucius ascends the steps to the gallery, noting who is present and who is absent as an indication of Persia’s allies and adversaries. Behind him are Marco, Solomon, Rachelle, and their families. Although not genetic kin, Seigneur Rachelle is commerce kin to Lucius and Fourth Warrior consecrated.
Lucius idly sweeps his gaze through the prelates, intrigued to find Sinead’s Lord Prelate Santos. The dark-haired, heavy-featured man made the voyage from Sinead’s World in record time to arrive in time for this rite. Lucius had not thought Persia so tightly aligned with Sinead’s Sect. Even more interesting, Helena Faesetili is next to Santos in a place of honor. Lilian did say that Santos aided her during her protocol review. Lucius must make it a point to become better acquainted with the lord prelate.
At the sound of the midday chimes, the crowd grows silent. From the western gallery, the mournful sound of drums and horns rises. Below, Gilead enters, his hunter-green robes heavily ornamented with gold, an ornately hilted sword and dagger hanging from his belt. Behind Gilead, Persia follows with her brother, his displaced daughter, and Persia’s son, Conrad.
Final rites retain the spartan efficiency of the Anarchy, when mayhem and disease routinely felled thousands at once. Although stylized and stately, the offering is brief. Persia raises her palm to Gilead’s dagger. A flash, and blood runs freely. First her brother, then his daughter, and finally Conrad step forward and roll a platinum coin in Persia’s blood. With a prayer that the Fourth Warrior will accept the soul of the departed, each coin is placed before the effigy.
Pipes join the drums and horns as a figure garbed in white enters the shrine, holding a crystal cup encased in gold and emeralds. It is Harold, Persia’s lackluster grandson.
Harold carefully paces the rim of the ornamental pool before kneeling at the far edge facing the effigy. As the assembled prelates ask for Jonathan’s benediction, Harold turns the cup, spilling white powder into the pool. All that remains of Persia’s father and Harold’s great-grandsire. The white powder spreads along the surface and then sinks. Tilting the cup, Harold attempts to maintain the steady flow. Instead, a heavy clump plops down and then sinks.
From his vantage, Lucius can see a lump the size of an egg settle on the bottom. It will take a sevenday to dissolve. Estella is correct. Harold is a meager warrior.
Embarrassed, eager to be done, Harold shakes out the last of the powder and quickly rinses the cup. Carrying the cup to the scowling Persia, Harold manages to keep his shoulders square and his pace stately. As soon as Persia hands Gilead the cup, a final offering to the Shrine, Harold turns for the exit with more haste than is seemly.
Leaning toward Lucius, Estella murmurs under the sound of the final benediction, “Persia should have permitted Conrad that archivist. Your Ravens are made of sterner stuff than Harold.”
»◊«
Pushing the large gardening tub under the heavy trickle of rain, Lilian sighs. The rain has not ceased, and it nears the ninth evening bell. The weight and frequency of the rains have strained the aging courtyard covers past tolerance. Three separate leaks have formed.
Once breached, the courtyard covers will continue to yield. The ancient drains cannot handle the load that will descend on the courtyard, and the first storey will flood.
“The courtiers will serve,” Helena intones, collecting a bucket.
Shoulders slumping, Lilian nods. Somehow her mother managed to retain Lilian’s collection of elaborate antique puppets. A year ago, the sea demons were sold to repair the damage caused by a kitchen fire. The two courtiers and the elf king and queen remain. The tree-troll graces Lilian’s bedchamber. It is of modern construction and will bring little if sold.
Lilian knows from the sea demons’ sale that the shrine agent will act for her. A necessary intermediary, since Lilian’s notoriety guarantees that any attempt at a direct sale will achieve only a small fraction of the puppets’ worth. Of course, the shrine agent will exploit the situation and charge extra commission, and the shrine’s crafter will charge double for repairs. Nonetheless, there should be some funds left to swell Lilian’s limited reserves, reducing the risk that the next household emergency will leave Lilian unable to pay her debts and be in violation of her Trial by Ordeal.
18. Transgressions
Cartel conduct violations such as inattention to detail, dress code violations, and occasional late arrival are minor transgressions that can be addressed with deductions to an associate’s tally and related commerce rewards. Repeat offenses can increase the penalties to the loss of liberty time and corporal punishment as defined by the individual contract. Severe offenses include violence outside of the training chambers, falsifying work, violating security-privilege, and failure to offer appropriate rank recognition. All of these offenses are punishable by tally deductions, the loss of liberty, and corporal punishment. Traitor offenses are fraud, theft, and any act designed to undermine the Cartel’s commerce advancement or the Cartel Agreement. Minor transgressions are disciplined by the Cartel Associate Master and, when necessary, a judgement council. Major and traitor offenses are disciplined by a judgement council. ~ excerpt from The Serengeti Group Articles of Commerce (The Cartel Agreement)
Sevenday 71, Day 3
“Monsignor, the militia investigation into the death of Ann Hunter has generated as many questions as answers.” Trevelyan’s lips tighten with annoyance.
Wordlessly Lucius sips his tea as he waits for Trevelyan to continue, Lilian standing at his back, attentive to every word.
“So far, we know that Ann Hunter began life in the slums of Thebes on Rimon Deuce. Twenty years ago, after her parents died, the fourteen-year-old girl was sold in bond by her nearest genetic kin to an independent cargo transporter.”
“A smuggler.” Lucius cocks his head slightly.
“It seems likely,” Trevelyan agrees. “Two years later, all records of the cargo transporter and his apprentice cease.”
“She would have reached the age of consent,” Lucius murmurs.
“Trained as a doxy?” Trevelyan mulls the idea. “It is possible. She would not be the first criminal to use pleasure to gain access to her target.”
“You do not know?” Lucius raises his eyebrows.
“The militia has found naught of her life between those old records and her entrance into Serengeti,” Trevelyan states. “All I can say for certain is that she was not of a second-level family as her Serengeti records indicate.”
“What of the time after she was dismissed?” Lucius dislikes that they could not find the woman when he wished.
“Nothing, Monsignor,” Trevelyan admits, noticeably uncomfortable. “The militia has been unable to discover anything, and I dare not investigate while they are involved.”
“No, that would not be wise,” Lucius agrees. “It would be awkward if the militia were to find us conducting an independent investigation. We must wait. How long, do you think?”
“In a few more sevendays, the militia will have finished investigating Ann’s Serengeti contacts,” Trevelyan replies. “I can recommence our internal traitor search at that time. As to where she came from, where she went, and who murdered her? We may never know.”
“At least the media have grown tired of the murder.” Lucius finishes his tea. “Seigneur Aristides and his department can return to promoting Bright Star and Mercium.”
»◊«
“Mistress Shoshanna, the security-privilege for Vistrite transport may lack the cachet of Bright Star or Mercium,” Seigneur Damocles’ angry voice thunders throughout the associates’ section reserved for Serengeti security-privilege. “It is, however, the basis for the wealth that supports us all. In the future, I suggest you attend your assignments first and your ambition second.”
The acerbic public rebuke declares that the malicious woman is well out of favor with the seigneur who controls her commerce
future.
The apprentice network is the fastest information conduit in the Cartel. For an apprentice, knowing who is rising and who is falling can mean the difference between public praise and public correction. Seigneur Damocles’ rebuke of Mistress Shoshanna occurred at seventeen minutes past eleventh bell. At thirty-three minutes past eleventh bell, the last apprentices received word.
Lilian heard the news at twenty-six minutes past eleventh bell when she entered the Mercium lab to find Chrys waiting for her with a broad grin. “Have you heard? Seigneur Damocles publicly rebuked Shoshanna!”
Eyes wide, Lilian does not try to hide her delight. “Truly? What occurred?”
With an unashamed grin, Chrys quickly relates the tale of Shoshanna’s rebuke.
“How came Seigneur Damocles to believe that Shoshanna aspires to work within Bright Star or Mercium?” Lilian wonders.
“It happens to be true,” Chrys replies. “Jealousy had a great deal to do with the beverage toss, as it does with most of her spite.”
“How did the seigneur come to know it? I cannot believe Mistress Shoshanna confessed it.”
“With a little help from an apprentice with excellence in media management and an associate with a good understanding of security privilege.” Chrys smiles knowingly.
“Chrys, I pray you, tell me,” Lilian implores.
With a grin, Chrys leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “It was a well-staged event. Knowing that Damocles favors one of the lobby cafés for midday respite, Tabitha and Douglas took a table out of visual range of the seigneur but well within hearing. Seemingly by chance, their conversation turned to Mistress Shoshanna’s vendetta against you.”
“Mistress Tabitha, I do not know how you stomach that sticky beverage. Does it not cloy?” Douglas opens.
“Well, they taste better than they wear, as Mistress Shoshanna demonstrated when she pitched one on Mistress Lilian this past race day,” Tabitha responds lightly.