Transgressions

by E G Manetti

  »◊«

  “Lilian, is this wise?” Rebecca asks worriedly, eyeing Lilian as she perches gingerly on the edge of the cot. “It is after seventh bell. Wouldn’t it better to remain another night?”

  “I dare not remain.” Lilian huddles in the loose cotton trousers and wrap tunic of the Dispensary. Truly, the floor is a goodly distance from her feet. “Clarice’s tale will not hold am I absent home another night.”

  Clarice has not Chrys’ skill with the inventive tale. The best she could devise to allay Katleen’s concern was to claim that Lilian was harmed when a strengthening device malfunctioned. The cords of the counterweight systems would explain any glimpse Katleen might catch of Lilian’s lacerated back.

  “Katleen is bright enough to accept that blood loss has left you weakened,” Rebecca returns with asperity. “She can manage another night.”

  Lilian looks like she’s been a sevenday in Rimon’s dungeons, and she’s trembling with weakness. What ails the Master Medic that he would release her?

  Chin was not pleased to be pressured into releasing Lilian so quickly. When Martin’s beating broke bones, Lilian recovered in a night. Now, however, after a full day and night, she is far from steady, and Chin is certain her continued weakness is due to spiritual trauma as much as physical damage. It is one matter to fall defending oneself against a better-armed opponent, quite another to be bound and abused. Add in her youthful trauma when Gariten abused her mother, and Lilian’s spirit may be far more damaged than her body.

  In the end, Chin yielded to Lilian’s pleading and Lucius’ reasoned insistence that Lilian’s distress over Katleen was hampering her recovery beyond any benefit of the Serengeti medics.

  “Mistress Lilian, do not be foolish,” Mr. George admonishes as he pushes the medic’s chair forward.

  At the sight of the monsignor’s driver, Rebecca withholds her next remark, eyes narrowing in speculation. Rebecca has not released her distrust of what she considers Monsignor’s initial cruel and cavalier treatment of Lilian. However, in the six months since Lilian was given the warbelt, Rebecca has been forced to acknowledge that the monsignor values Lilian. He would not condone Lilian’s departure from the Cartel without cause.

  “Mr. George, I can walk.” Lilian’s trembling legs find the floor.

  “Would you defy Monsignor?” George challenges.

  The driver’s words settle Lilian meekly into the chair. Her elbows rest on her knees, supporting her abused back. She is not in pain. Once Chin determined that Lilian’s nerves were sound, he increased the deadening agents. He has also instructed Lilian to avoid placing pressure on her back for the next few days. It will minimize scarring and the requirement for cosmetic intervention.

  As George guides the chair from the Dispensary, Lilian recognizes she holds the same posture as Douglas held after he was caned. Unlike Douglas, Lilian has no memory of triumph to leaven her discomfort. At least she will no longer be confined to the Dispensary. The small chambers are more comfortable than a cell, but not a great deal larger.

  »◊«

  “Enough.” George stares Helena down. “Lilian isn’t to walk. I will lift her as instructed by the Master Medic. I know not what you would hold so secret. I care naught.”

  “Maman, peace.” Lilian is weary. She wishes her bed. That she has been abed for a day and a half changes naught. The stairs are as insurmountable as the highest peak in the northern range.

  Turning to keep her back from accidental contact, Lilian rests her head on George’s shoulder. The arms under her knees and buttocks are as steady as the medic’s chair. With remarkable swiftness, the big man ascends the stairs to the second level.

  “Here.” Helena indicates the first door to the right.

  Following George, Rebecca unabashedly examines her surroundings. Until this moment, she has been no farther than the kitchen. As they exit the staircase, Rebecca has an impression of tile and carved stone disappearing into echoing darkness on the left. To the right is a dimly lit corridor that turns a corner beyond the entrance to Lilian’s chamber. It is in that direction that the chambers for Helena and Katleen must be located.

  To Rebecca’s eyes, Lilian’s chamber is massive, thrice the size of Rebecca’s chamber in the Serengeti Associates’ Quarters. It is, in fact, half the size of Helena’s and Katleen’s chambers. In contrast to the luxury of its size, the chamber is austere compared to Rebecca’s. There are few furnishings, and the tiled floor with its pattern in fern green and silver lacks the softness of a rug, causing Rebecca’s toes to curl in sympathetic discomfort. Lilian’s bed is a simple frame without headboard or footboard. The celestial blue coverlet trimmed in gold and bronze is worn and faded. There are no brightly colored throw pillows and lap quilts like those that cover Rebecca’s bed. Next to the bed is a small table that holds a steel stand for Lilian’s Cartel slate, a box for record strips, and a carafe of water.

  A worn but comfortable-looking cordovan leather chair is set to the far right of double doors that open to a dark and barren balcony. Next to the chair, a mahogany side table is kept level by a piece of stone beneath one leg. It holds the small wooden figure of a tree-troll puppet.

  On the cracked and pitted jade surface of the chest of drawers sits Lilian’s personal slate and a small, carved crevasse-stone box that holds a handful of crevasse-stone dust. Three years gone, Lilian’s personal slate was the best available for advanced studies. Now, compared to Lilian’s Cartel issue, it appears clumsy and dated.

  Nowhere is the disarray of cosmetics, dried flowers, and glass figures that cover the surfaces in Rebecca’s chamber. Worst of all, the fly-specked mirror is not a quarter of the size of the one in the second-hand vanity Rebecca acquired with Lilian’s aid this green season gone. Shaking her head at the spartan surroundings, Rebecca opens the nearest cabinet door. The massive a walk-in clothes cabinet causes her to catch her breath in envy even as she shakes her head at its limited contents.

  Gently settling Lilian on the edge of the bed, George glances around the chamber, as curious as Rebecca and knowing that Lucius will want a full report.

  With a reprimanding glare at the driver, Helena alights on the cordovan chair. At the sight of the ugly doll on the side table, George is entranced. With one careful finger, George traces the tree bark-like hair. “A tree-troll doll?”

  “A puppet.” Lilian shrugs, then winces.

  At that wince, George releases his fascination with the tree-troll and returns to his duty. “I will fetch the chair.”

  “Mister George, it is not—” Lilian begins, only to be halted by George’s scowl.

  “Mistress Lilian, you aren’t to walk until midday tomorrow. Even for the freshening closet, you must use the chair,” George rumbles at the young woman. “Where is Mistress Katleen? She is the only sensible one of you three.”

  “Mr. George!” Katleen exclaims, rushing into the chamber as if summoned by the driver.

  That she is in her nightdress and robe troubles neither the teenager nor the man. “Mistress Katleen, well met.” George’s scowl yields to a smile.

  “Well met indeed, Mr. George,” Katleen smiles back. “Thank you for carrying Lilian. All is as the Master Medic instructs. Have you the pouch?”

  “It’s with the chair. I will fetch it now,” George responds.

  “My thanks,” Katleen beams. “I will settle Lilian while you attend to it.”

  In the end, both Katleen and Rebecca aid Lilian into bed and arrange sufficient pillows to prop Lilian on her side so that she is not compelled to lie on her face. As soon as Lilian is settled, George guides the medic’s chair into the chamber, setting it next to the bed. He grabs a small satchel from the seat and hands it to Katleen.

  Pulling forth vials, Katleen places them on the bedside table as she reads the labels. “Five drops of the blue before slumber. Six of the green on rising, and four more of the green at midday. You can add them to water, juice, or tea.”

  “Do you need juice or tea?”
George asks. “I will be happy to fetch it.”

  “Our thanks, Mr. George, it is not necessary.” Helena rises from the chair. “Allow me to show you out.”

  With a last smile for Katleen, George follows the seer from the chamber. Once George departs, Katleen cannot resist taking a quick turn about the chamber in the medic’s chair.

  “Katleen, that is Cartel property. I cannot afford its replacement,” Lilian admonishes.

  Parking the chair by Lilian, Katleen frowns. She does not believe Clarice’s tale of a malfunctioning strengthening device. Mr. George’s tender care of Lilian has relieved Katleen’s worst fears. Whatever ill has befallen, Lilian retains the monsignor’s favor. All else may be mitigated. “I am not fooled.”

  “Katleen?” Lilian responds, confused.

  “Mistress Clarice’s fable,” Katleen insists.

  As Lilian begins to speak, Katleen pleads, “Please do not. No more fabrications, I beg you.”

  Katleen is young, not lacking in wits. Lilian will not have Katleen angered with Clarice. “Clarice wished to protect you. It relieved my spirit that she did so.”

  “I hold no anger toward Mistress Clarice,” Katleen is quick to acknowledge. “I dislike not knowing.”

  “Peace, child,” Helena speaks from the doorway. “Lilian’s path is hers. She walks it as you must walk yours. No other can execute the task.”

  “Maman, Lilian is abused,” Katleen cries.

  “Wounded, not abused,” Lilian quickly corrects. She will not have the Cartel maligned due to the ill nature of Sebastian Mehta.

  “True and not true,” Helena contradicts.

  “The seer is correct,” Rebecca remarks from the entrance to the freshening closet where she has finished surveying the comfort and safety of Lilian’s chambers. Trevelyan will be pleased to have it confirmed that the second storey appears as well secured as the rest of the house. It would be preferable to fully survey the dark corridors, but the seer’s routing of Mr. George has made it abundantly clear that she will not permit it.

  At Lilian’s admonishing glance, Rebecca shrugs. “Don’t glare at me. The Cartel offers sufficient danger for those who aren’t pawns in the struggle between Grey Spear and Blooded Dagger. The correction wouldn’t have been so harsh for another.”

  “Correction, Lilian?” Katleen exclaims. “You were beaten for a transgression?”

  “One I did not commit,” Lilian returns. “Monsignor has already corrected the record and restored my tally.”

  “A mistake? You are wounded for a mistake?” Katleen finds she enjoys the truth a great deal less than she expected.

  “Intrigue, Katleen, not error,” Rebecca corrects. “Grey Spear rushed the judgement while the monsignor was absent the Cartel. They knew that the indictment would not prove.”

  “Why?” Katleen demands. “Why did they wish to hurt Lilian?”

  “To make Monsignor Lucius appear weak?” Rebecca speculates. “Truly, we don’t know. Seigneur Trevelyan is investigating.”

  “Lilian, do you know?” Katleen asks. Her clever sister is rarely at a loss.

  “The snakes must be destroyed,” Helena announces. “The mongoose. It will require the mongoose.”

  “Yes, Maman,” Lilian says agreeably. “I do not regret rescuing Tabitha, even at this price.”

  “Tabitha?” Rebecca’s eyes widen. “You think this was retribution for freeing Tabitha from Grey Spear?”

  “Monsignor Sebastian wished me caned for that,” Lilian responds carefully, “even though I was not found at fault by the Cartel.”

  Truly, Lilian would rather believe that this was naught but the overindulged ire of a powerful warrior than admit her true fear. She dare not voice her suspicion that Sebastian Mehta is disordered in his wits. Such calumny against a powerful warrior will place her beneath the scourge again.

  “Monsignor Sebastian sounds dreadful,” Katleen whispers. “Cannot Monsignor Lucius protect you?”

  “We knew Monsignor Sebastian wished me ill, but the circumstances surrounding this intrigue were extraordinary.” Lilian shakes her head. “Monsignor Lucius could not have foreseen this.”

  “This once Lilian, it would have been better if you were wrong,” Rebecca huffs.

  “Rebecca?” Lilian and Katleen ask as one.

  “Lilian has insisted for months that Monsignor Lucius has not sold his soul to the Shade of the First Warrior in return for the ability to read minds and the future,” Rebecca replies.

  “It is naught but a silly tale,” Lilian insists. “Monsignor has not sold his soul to the First Warrior in return for omniscience.”

  23. Rank and Retribution

  Once established, a well-governed cartouche gains power, wealth, and influence with each decade as the preeminent family gains seigneur signets with each child to reach majority, while the cadet branches can only pass the seigneur signet to a single heir. The loss of a seigneur signet can ruin a cadet family. For the preeminent family, after several generations, the loss of a single seigneur’s signet will bring shame but not endanger the family’s preeminence. After a century, the preeminent line will have amassed sufficient wealth, power, and allies that only massive civil or commerce upheaval can alter preeminence. Even then, a contender must command considerable commercial, spiritual, and civil influence to seize preeminence from the reigning line. ~excerpt from The Signet, an academy primer.

  Sevenday 75, Day 6

  … In the heavy night air, the courtyard stones are pleasantly cool beneath Lilian’s back. Two pale, green moons are framed within the courtyard opening, a distant wash of stars glittering in the clear night. The air is heavy with the scent of late green-season night bloomers in the darkened gardens beyond the open courtyard doors. A nightingale’s song floats through the open doors and mingles with the soft gurgle from the fountain.

  The nightingale ceases and begins anew. Compelled by the sweet sound, Lilian rises and follows the song into the gardens. The song retreats, drawing Lilian deeper into lush foliage. It stutters and stops. Lilian pushes deeper into the plants, snagging her hair and clothes on reaching branches. Mournful cries rise from further in. Frantically she pushes through the increasingly dense and sharp bushes, determined to reach the distressed bird. Thorns lash at her outstretched hands, binding them, pulling her toward a tall tree. The bird’s cries are more piercing. It is above her, trapped on a branch and menaced by a serpent. Lilian rises on her toes to rescue the nightingale. Brambles rip at her arms, her shoulders, and her back. The tree becomes the Associates’ Hall podium. No. No. Lilian yanks futilely at her bindings. White fire consumes her… no… no…

  No! With a shout and a start, Lilian jerks awake and flings herself backward. Sharp pain rips through her shoulders as her feet find the floor. Groggily, Lilian shakes free of the evil dream. Home. My bedchamber. Groping under her pillow, she finds her thorn. Normally the talisman wards her from evil dreams. Clutching the thorn close, Lilian eases back onto her bed. It is over. Milord is returned. I am safe.

  Sevenday 75, Day 7

  Rebecca and Katleen dodge the puddles on the sodden river track as they race toward Lilian’s black-garbed figure. For the first Seventh Day in nearly a month, the pathways of the riverside parkland are sufficiently dry for race training. After spending Sixth Day dozing in bed with the aid of Master Chin’s potions, Lilian was eager for a chance to get outside. Restricted to a gentle pace, as Rebecca and Katleen come abreast of Lilian, she breaks from her walk into a brief trot beside them.

  Lilian does not sustain her pace for long and soon drops back to a walk. Although she is not in pain, at the least pulling across her back, Lilian moderates her movements, mindful of the sealant. Katleen and Rebecca are completing their third and final circuit. With brief jogging interspersed with walking, Lilian will complete one.

  “Lilian, what do you?” Chrys demands as he reaches Lilian. “You are on restricted duty.”

  The Serengeti Associates’ Quarters is four blocks from the far e
dge of the River Walk. Chrys has completed his training by the simple expedient of racing the distance from the quarters to their meeting location.

  “Peace, Chrys, I but walk,” Lilian assures him. To defy the master medic’s instruction is to defy milord.

  “In training garb? I saw you with Rebecca and Katleen.” Chrys is appalled that Lilian would take such a risk.

  “Chrys, it was only a few paces to try my strength. I do not even sweat,” Lilian defends. “As to my garb, it is—comfortable.”

  Upon rising this morning, Lilian was pleased to discover some of her strength returned and the pain in her shoulders reduced to soreness. Lilian also discovered that donning a bra was not to be tolerated.

  Chrys nods, well aware that a woman’s training tunic eliminates the need for a bra. Arriving late Sixth Day from the Western Continent, Chrys found that the information in Rebecca’s alerts had understated Lilian’s ordeal. Within the Associates’ Quarters, the firsthand accounts of Damocles’ brutality roiled his innards. Truly, he is pleased Lilian is able to walk, let alone trot a short distance.

  “I do not know why this has left me so weakened,” Lilian remarks as if she heard Chrys’ thoughts. “I do not recall it so after Master Martin’s assault, and that left bones cracked.”

  “Set and sealed, simple fractures cause little discomfort and heal readily,” Chrys returns. “Torn flesh is more vulnerable, even well sealed. And you were in gray space for a full day, not a few bells. That will be much of the cause. Do you sleep?”

  “Not well,” Lilian admits. “The Master Medic’s potions give me evil dreams.”

  “Evil dreams?” Chrys asks in concern. “How so? Was it so before? After Martin’s beating?”

  “No, but,” Lilian begins and then hesitates. She would rather blame her fractured sleep on Chin’s potions than confront her residual terror. “I am sure it will pass.”

  “Chrys, well met,” Katleen’s voice interrupts as she and Rebecca reach the strolling couple. “Do you hunger? Most of the stalls are shuttered, but our favorite has opened. Lilian must have water or juice for Master Chin’s potion.”