by E G Manetti
“I do not know, Lilian. I need to think for awhile.” Speculation replaces sulkiness.
“Good. I will make one suggestion. Consider finding a means to make her maliciousness visible to those in authority. They may agree she does more damage to balance than a single throw.” If it becomes necessary, Lilian will help Katleen hatch a plot similar to Douglas’ play for evicting Shoshanna Revetali from the Cartel.
“Will such truly work?” Katleen’s eyes contain increased speculation and hope.
“It does within Serengeti. Speak to me of your ideas when you are ready. For now I must prepare for the Cartel—”
“It will not serve to be late. I know, Lilian.” With a grin, the young girl heads for the staircase and her own morning preparations.
»◊«
“Raphael, this was ill done.” Lucius’ private library opens on a gracious terrace covered in puddles that reflect the sodden gardens. The dismal view mirrors Lucius’ mood. Raphael’s latest transgression involves the speeder he received at his last birth festival, an illegal and ill-advised race in the garden, and the destruction of a small-bites stall when Raphael failed to stop after crossing the finish marker.
“Yes, Father, but no one was harmed,” Raphael defends, raising his chin defiantly.
“Socraide favored you in that,” Lucius clips out, his face as harsh and uncompromising as his voice. “Mrs. Hibiscus could easily have been harmed, as could her six-year-old daughter.”
It is, to Lucius’ dismay, the third in a string of incidents since the onset of the rains six sevendays ago. The first was vandalism against a mile-by-miler whose driver had offended one of Raphael’s friends. The second was a tavern brawl touched off by a disagreement over who had a right to a desirable table. All three incidents demonstrate that Raphael and his friends place their warrior privilege above the safety and well-being of others, particularly those of the common orders.
“We were only looking for a little entertainment. No one was harmed,” Raphael repeats, convinced that since no one took harm, his recklessness is a minor matter.
Raphael’s utter lack of remorse or recognition of ill behavior brings his father both frustration and pain. “The vendor’s loss of her livelihood is harm. Your loss of honor is also harm. You have not only defied stricture by racing that speeder in the Garden Center, you have also broken your vow. Did you not promise to keep it within the estate grounds?”
“But, Father,” Raphael begins and then halts with a chagrined nod. He cannot deny he has broken his promise.
Grimly, Lucius continues, “You are past the age where I can do aught more for your honor; that you must reconcile with the Shrine of the First Warrior. For the other, your labor will replace the woman’s stall.”
Seeing Raphael start to relax, Lucius snaps, “There will be no pleasant game trailing in the Forests of Metricelli Deuce this dry season. Immediately after the Five Warriors’ Festival, you will go to the Western Continent. You may have your choice of working the fisheries or the Mercium facility. You will find neither as enjoyable as the game forests.”
For three dry seasons, Raphael has enjoyed working the Mercio Game Forests, laying trails, hunting the harvest. He has no idea of the hard labor that will be expected of him in either the fisheries or the Mercium facility. He considers it overly harsh to lose the game forests. Defiantly, he exclaims, “I would prefer to be caned.”
“Would you?” Lucius’ voice takes on a silky tone that would alarm Lilian. Without Lucius paying to replace the stall and the fines for his misdemeanors, public caning would have been Raphael’s sentence. Had Mrs. Hibiscus or her daughter been harmed, no amount of bribes would have saved Raphael from a caning did the woman wish it.
Meager discipline makes a meager warrior, the shade of his father echoes in Lucius’ mind. Tiberius was a stern and conservative warrior. In this instance, much as it pains him, Lucius will follow his father’s example. “I believe it is time you witnessed a public caning. It is not the same as what you have experienced at Crossed Sabers Academy. Know this. Should you have another such reckless incident between now and the festival, you will regret the fisheries. You will learn what it is to labor for food by carrying Vistrite core thirty miles from pit floor to surface. You will care for neither the grime nor the miasma.”
Well and truly chastened, the young man has wit enough to respond, “Yes, Father. As you will, Father.”
»◊«
“What think you, Lilian?” Milord looks from Solomon to Lilian.
“I concur with Seigneur Solomon’s assessment that the foodstuff transporter is involved in gray commerce activity, mayhap worse.” In fact, it was Lilian that discovered the irregularity in the Crevasse supplier’s financials and the reason she is present for this meeting.
“Solomon?” Milord frowns.
“Illicit human cargo at a minimum,” Solomon returns, frowning as well.
“At a minimum?” Lucius’ eyes narrow. Cargo transports with environmental controls needed for food and medical supplies can offer utilitarian stellar transit for a fraction of the price of the licensed migration transports. While illegal, it is mostly overlooked as an infringement on the migration transports’ monopoly.
“It is by no means certain, Monsignor,” Solomon is clearly unhappy, “but there is a possibility that it is more than cheap human transport. It could be black commerce in illegal servitude.”
“Slavery!” Lucius is appalled.
“The evidence is inconclusive,” Solomon hastens. “It is only that the ports where we found evidence of human cargo are among the poorest in the Twelve Systems.”
Solomon turns his slate so that Lucius can view the listing. The poorest of the poor are the most likely to be bought or stolen for open-ended labor contracts that offer naught but meager food and a chance to live another day.
“Illegal servitude is black commerce at its foulest,” Lucius clips. Unless discovered by the authorities, the only escape is death. It harkens back to the darkest and most debauched days of the Anarchy.
From her place behind milord’s shoulder, Lilian represses a shudder. Illegal servitude was among the most heinous of Remus Gariten’s crimes.
“Have you sufficient evidence for Seigneur Trevelyan?” Lucius demands.
“Mistress Lilian,” Solomon nods, indicating she should answer milord.
“Black commerce is not certain, milord. If it is there, what we have uncovered will provide Seigneur Trevelyan with a place to begin an investigation.”
“See to it, Solomon, and unless Trevelyan needs it, cancel that contract,” Lucius scowls.
With that, the midday chimes sound, and Solomon departs to carry out Lucius’ orders.
Exiting the freshening closet a few minutes later, Lilian finds milord sprawled on the scarlet couch. The steepled fingers and concentrated expression signal that milord is not dwelling on carnal pleasure.
Uncertain of milord’s will, Lilian moves to the front of the couch, her jacket and satchel on the conference table where they were neatly arranged before her personal respite.
Milord’s outstretched palm beckons, and Lilian readily places her hand in milord’s to be pulled into the curve of milord’s body, her back to milord’s chest, half seated to milord’s sprawl. One hand pulls Lilian’s blouse free of her skirt and starts to work the fasteners while milord’s lips nibble along her neck. Relaxing into milord, Lilian releases her reserve to enjoy the feel of the hard chest against her back, the touch of milord’s fingers on her torso.
Milord’s husky voice asks, “How is it you so readily recognize gray and black commerce?”
This is not about the Crevasse supplier. It is about Remus Gariten. Aware that she has stiffened in response to milord’s question, Lilian forces herself to relax into his embrace. She finds herself suddenly turned onto her back, milord looming over her. “You may not lie with your body any more than with your mouth. Answer the question.”
“I will answer, milord. Please, milor
d, I beg a moment. Milord knows it disgusts me to speak of Gariten.” For several breaths, Lilian gazes into milord’s angry eyes before they calm, and milord eases to one side, continuing to hold Lilian in a half embrace.
I am the sum of my ancestors.
Carefully testing the taste of the words lest she gag, Lilian begins, “It was not until he nearly took Katleen that I began to wonder at the true nature of Remus Gariten’s enterprises. That his agent had such a convenient accident while incarcerated was cause for suspicion.
“I did not know what I sought. I started with public records. It all validated perfectly. As my studies progressed, I recognized that it was all too perfect. It was a scholastic model of commerce. It was not difficult to set a few discreet programs to monitor Gariten’s activities. Nothing intrusive, but not precisely in keeping with stricture, either. I waited.”
In response to Lilian’s careful dissertation, Lucius sends a hand to toy with her midriff. His attention is focused on Lilian’s carefully controlled voice and her tense form beneath his fingers. Lilian speaks the truth. She is not enjoying it.
“It began with a contract that was too good to be true for an enterprise that quickly disappeared into the Hebrides.” Lilian shudders lightly and draws a steadying breath. “Then there were cargo shipments that always provided extraordinary returns. It was no one transaction, one contract, or one enterprise. It was the sum. Gariten was generating a great deal more wealth than his legitimate enterprises warranted.”
Lilian glances up at milord. The dark eyes hold interest but no anger or disgust. Returning her eyes to her knees, Lilian continues, “As my education advanced, so did my access to more elaborate models and data-collection mechanisms. By the time I applied to Serengeti, I was certain that over half the Grey Gyre income came from gray and black commerce. Gariten was becoming careless. There was too much wealth from too little legitimate commerce.”
Milord’s fingers stroke along Lilian’s ribcage as he murmurs, “It was only a matter of time before he attracted attention.”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian finds it easier to speak under milord’s soothing touch. “I knew I was running out of time. I had no idea how little was left. I have often wondered who turned on Gariten. The day Gariten was indicted, I checked his accounts. A sevenday later, when the protocol review liquidated his assets, the total had been reduced by half.”
Lucius snorts quietly. “His criminal associates absorbed whatever they could within a few bells of the indictment.”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian presses her head to milord’s chest, her eyes on the ceiling, distracted by the embossed pattern of coyotes and ravens representing Socraide and Adelaide, respectively, and the odd evolution of symbols that associate Blooded Dagger apprentices with Adelaide’s ravens.
“It is no wonder you were able to identify the gray commerce activities.” Milord’s long fingers stroke her flanks and ribs, pulling Lilian back to the unpleasant discussion of Gariten’s criminality.
With a nod, Lilian admits, “No militia intelligence officer ever made a greater study of the practices.”
Milord turns to loom over her once again. His gaze is intent, but not angry. “Where is it now? All that research?”
“Gone, milord, gone within moments of Dean Joseph alerting me to Gariten’s indictment. I dared not keep it. How could I have explained it to the protocol review?” Lilian has no difficulty in meeting the intent gaze. She has not lied. There is a part of this she would rather not voice.
“Gone where, Lilian? Destroyed?” Lucius does not miss the hint of evasion.
“No, milord, not all.” Resigned to the inevitable, Lilian continues, “A few days before the indictment, I traced significant income streams to three Hebrides security-privilege enterprises, where they disappeared. It was a puzzle I had no time to solve. Does the data exist, it is inaccessible.”
“Lilian,” milord warns, impatient with her evasion.
Honor knows not fear. That data is no longer important. Its location is going to annoy milord. “It resides on a record strip attached to the back of a three-thousand-year-old artifact prominently displayed in the Ancients’ Museum of Mulan’s Temple.”
“You left it with Dean Joseph?”
At milord’s frown, Lilian hastens, “Master Scholar Andreas Chiang controls access to the museum and its artifacts. If I were to request it in person, he might surrender the artifact. Otherwise, I do not believe it can be accessed.”
Lucius represses a snarl at the mention of Andreas. “You trusted the scholar with an incredibly dangerous secret. Are you certain he will be able to destroy the strip if necessary?”
Lucius cannot believe Lilian took such a risk. Nor is he pleased that she trusted the scholar with something so dangerous. He is even less pleased that Chiang allowed it. The man is an unbelievable fool. Mayhap Dean Joseph should find another master scholar of ancients’ studies.
“Andreas does not know, milord!” Lilian is shocked that milord would even think it. “No one does. It was—is—too dangerous.”
“Why, then? Why keep it all?” Knowing that the scholar is not privy to this secret is alleviating Lucius’ ire. Nonetheless, it was not wise for Lilian to retain anything of her research, even a small fragment so well hidden.
“Well over half the benefit from Gariten’s commerce, legal and illegal, was flowing into those accounts. Should Gariten have overcome his indictment, the information would have enabled me to recreate my research.”
“Research you intended to use to destroy him,” Lucius nods. “Did you truly think he would escape the Final Draught?”
“I dared not risk it,” Lilian replies.
“Had Gariten survived his protocol review, he would not now live,” Lucius murmurs. Lilian safeguarded her plan for Gariten’s destruction. Lucius cannot help but be pleased with her foresight.
“Yes, milord.” At her words, Lilian watches the nature of milord’s gaze shift and change. It remains intense. The focus has a new goal. As milord lowers his mouth to hers, his knees shift, dividing Lilian’s thighs while the stroking hands become demanding.
20. Travel Plans
As the Anarchy continued into its third century, Vistrite became increasingly precious, and the supply transports were frequent targets of marauders and pirates. Determined to protect the source of his power and the last vestiges of Vistrite technology, Jonathan Metricelli dedicated his forces to guarding the Crevasse. In doing so, the Fourth Warrior abandoned significant sections of the Third System to lawlessness and strife.
On Sinead’s World, one marauder chieftain corrupted the Fifth Warrior’s battle general, Robert Dragon, and took possession of a fortress from which to launch forays against Jonathan’s formidable defenses. Enraged by Robert Dragon’s betrayal, knowing she dared not allow another marauder chieftain to establish territory on her planet, Sinead sent her personal guard to retake the fortress and bring Robert Dragon to justice. ~excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 75, Day 2
“I think that will do it, Lilian.” Rebecca shutters her worksite and pushes back her chair. “I wish you were joining us.”
“I long to visit the Western Continent fisheries and the Mercium plant,” Lilian agrees across the walkway that separates their work sites. “It will need to wait. Master Cesare’s age of consent festival is far more important to the monsignor.”
“I imagine it will be elaborate,” Rebecca remarks wistfully. In defiance of custom that decrees apprenticeship must wait until after the age of consent, Rebecca was already bonded to Dean Rupert when she turned sixteen. The important event went completely unnoted.
“It will be lovely, but milord’s festival for Master Cesare is minor compared to what will occur when Mistress Elysia reaches the age of consent,” Lilian returns.
“Three days with the highest-ranked Mercios on the Southern Continent plantation is a minor celebration?” Rebecca gawks. Among the common orders, the age of c
onsent is an important festival but recognized with a special party, not days of celebration.
“These coming-of-age festivals are important opportunities to display cartouche wealth and prestige,” Lilian explains. “Seigneurs Marco and Solomon are milord’s close kin and trusted friends. It is a family event, as it is among commoners.”
“Except with servants, a plantation by the sea, and who knows what all else,” Rebecca laughs as she secures her slate in her satchel.
“True enough,” Lilian agrees. “Although it will be odd to have so many absent the cartel on the morrow, it is an ideal time for Seigneurs Trevelyan and Rachelle to inspect the Mercium plant. I do envy Chrys and you the visit.”
“So you are left to Master Nickolas’ supervision,” Rebecca huffs, rising and shouldering her slate satchel. “I don’t understand why Monsignor Lucius won’t send you with us to the Western Continent. Doesn’t the monsignor trust Seigneur Trevelyan to supervise you?”
“It is naught of trust.” Lilian shakes her head. “It would be unseemly for me to travel with any but Monsignor. And it will be Master Malcon who supervises me. Master Nickolas attends Master Cesare’s festival.”
“Not Master Straus?” Rebecca’s voice holds a hint of censure at the slight to the Associate Master.
“Master Malcon was Seigneur Trevelyan’s recommendation for security-privilege reasons.”
“I don’t know the half of what you’re involved in, do I?” Rebecca snorts and then outright laughs at Lilian’s blank stare.
Striding into the walkway, Rebecca smiles. “Never mind. I knew when I spoke you would not answer.”
“Enjoy your voyage,” Lilian returns. “I will wish to hear all the details on First Day.”
With a little wave, Rebecca turns and leaves. Within the hour, she will be on her way to the Western Continent.
»◊«
The seashore! Rebecca skips delightedly in anticipation at the idea of finally seeing an ocean. In front of her, Seigneur Trevelyan’s shoulders stiffen sharply. Rimon’s Rapier! That man has eyes in the back of his head. Rebecca settles into a properly decorous pace, knowing she will hear about that skip when they are in the transport.