Transgressions

by E G Manetti

  With the brief clearing of the rains, several stalls have removed their shutters and offer limited refreshment. While Lilian and Katleen make their choices, Chrys and Rebecca use the stallholder’s rags to dry a nearby table and chairs.

  “Seigneur Trevelyan is not about this day,” Katleen remarks with disappointment as she settles the tray on the table. Although they do not encounter the spymaster with every visit to the River Quarter, Katleen thought he would check on them after Lilian’s ordeal. “I suppose the seigneur did not expect us. The weather has been so awful.”

  Collecting a savory roll from the tray, Rebecca shakes her head. “Seigneur is aware of the day’s plans. Monsignor Lucius has the seigneur engaged in other matters.”

  “The investigation,” Katleen says knowingly as she breaks off a piece of her vegetable and cheese tart.

  Chrys chokes on his tea. He had no notion that Katleen was aware of the circumstances surrounding Lilian’s injury. Had Rebecca and Chrys not wished to accompany Lilian and Katleen, Seigneurs Trevelyan and Rachelle would have ordered it. Lilian is not to be alone in her vulnerable condition.

  Oblivious to Chrys’ reaction, Katleen inquires, “Has the seigneur discovered how Grey Spear created the evidence?”

  “Not yet, Katleen,” Rebecca answers.

  “The seigneur will,” Lilian assures Katleen. “The seigneur is exceptionally resourceful.”

  “Does this account for Tabitha’s absence from the Cartel and the quarters?” Chrys asks.

  “Master Malcon instructs that we shouldn’t call attention to Tabitha’s absence.” Rebecca’s message is unmistakable. Tabitha works in stealth. It is an indication of the new associate’s achievement that she holds such a challenging assignment after barely a half a year in Trevelyan’s organization. Sebastian Mehta’s abused apprentice appears to be exceeding the spymaster’s expectations.

  “Chrys, tell us of the Mercium facility.” Lilian neatly turns the topic. She truly desires the information, and she does not wish to discuss recent Cartel events with Katleen present. The young girl already knows more than Lilian likes.

  »◊«

  As Katleen pays the driver of the miler, Lilian ascends the steps and unseals the entrance while Chrys and Rebecca carry the market satchels.

  “Chrys, I regret, you may not enter.” Lilian leans carefully against a stone railing while Chrys places his satchels at the door. Without a chaperone, Chrys may not enter. Denying entrance and hospitality is a poor return for Chrys’ aid with the marketing. As the mist turns to a light drizzle, Katleen picks up half of Chrys’ parcels and disappears into the house, followed by Rebecca.

  Chrys leans against the stone railing opposite Lilian, a full arm’s length between them. “Lilian, you should go in. A little rain will cause me no harm.”

  “Nor will it harm me,” Lilian replies.

  “Is there not another entrance?” Chrys is familiar with the houses of the wealthy, if not those of the warriors.

  Her expression softening, Lilian explains, “Rebecca and you are my valued and honored comrades, not hired servitors.”

  That the mews and servitors’ access are tightly sealed is immaterial. Were it possible for Chrys to access the servitor’s entrance, Lilian would not allow it.

  “We were not of much value this past sevenday,” Chrys says morosely.

  “Chrys, do not,” Lilian entreats. “The nape ties were lost nearly a year ago. It is likely Grey Spear held them in the hope of advantage. Sooner or later, this would have occurred.”

  “I am certain that toad Martin had a hand in this,” Chris bites out. It will be a year and a half before Chrys is free of his bond and the strictures that prevent him from extracting retribution from the protégé.

  Unable to repress a shiver at the recall of Martin’s avid interest in her breasts, Lilian nods. “He took enough pleasure in events.”

  “Lilian,” Katleen speaks as the door opens, “do you wish greens or peas with the fowl? I will place the other in the foodkeeper.”

  “Greens, if the effort is not too much, sweetling,” Lilian replies. “I will come to assist in a few moments.”

  Collecting the last of the parcels, Rebecca and Katleen once again disappear into the house.

  “You did not cry out,” Chrys voices. The accounts all agree. Lilian withstood the brutality without a sound. He has never believed warriors differ from others except for an accident of birth. Now Chrys is not so certain.

  “At first, I could not,” Lilian admits, considering the toes of her ankle boots. “The first blow stole my breath. It was all I could do to gather wind.”

  “And then?” Chrys prompts.

  “I do not know, Chrys.” Lilian meets Chrys’ concerned gaze. “I wished to. It was only…”

  “Lilian,” Chrys gently prompts. Something in all this has Lilian overset, and he is certain it is not physical injury.

  “It was disgusting, I could not.” Lilian’s eyes drop. With a rush, Lilian pulls wind and raises a face that holds the ferocity Chrys beheld at the Five Warriors’ Festival. “Monsignor Sebastian was aroused. It was foul. I could not, would not feed that—nastiness.”

  Lilian swallows her true thought. Perversion. Even with Chrys, she will not take such a risk. She is but half way through her bond, and it is becoming more challenging rather than less so. Lilian has also discovered a new respect for Tabitha, Sebastian Mehta’s former apprentice.

  “Lilian, Chrys, the rain increases,” Rebecca says as she exits the house. “Chrys, if we race, we may make the public transport before we are soaked.”

  With an “on the morrow,” Rebecca and Chrys pelt down the walkway with its rapidly expanding puddles. As her friends disappear toward the transport, Lilian turns and enters the house.

  Sevenday 76, Day 1

  Lucius’ rage has cooled to resolve since his return from the Southern Continent. As Lilian bares her back for Chin’s examination, it spikes anew.

  Yellow, brown, and purple mottle Lilian’s back and waist where Chin’s ointment was too late to eliminate bruising from the crisscrossed welts. The small marks from Malcon’s strokes have shed their white sealant, leaving undamaged skin. Where Damocles welts crisscrossed Lilian’s ribs and waist to break skin, the sealant is gray and will shed within a day. The large white patches on her lacerated shoulders are but rimmed with gray and will not shed for several days.

  The Blooded Dagger driver who arrived at Katleen’s house with milord’s authorization whisked Lilian directly to the Dispensary for eighth-bell attendance, where the Master Medic and milord were waiting. After another night of evil dreams, Lilian was more than glad for milord’s consideration.

  As Chin carefully probes the heavily sealed areas, Lilian twitches slightly in reaction. The areas are tender. They no longer burn.

  “Master Medic—” Lilian begins tentatively.

  “No, Lilian.” Chin dismisses the forming question. “I will not release you from restricted duty. You are in no condition to… spar.”

  “If you please, Master Chin, my legs are sound,” Lilian pleads.

  At Lilian’s odd remark, Lucius’ eyes narrow. He did not miss the medic’s slight emphasis on the word ‘spar’ or its intended second meaning. Lucius will have no pleasure of his apprentice for some days.

  “Your legs?” In his confusion, Chin briefly releases his examination to meet Lucius’ gaze.

  Lucius shrugs. This will prove interesting.

  “I would race, Master Chin,” Lilian entreats, attempting to turn her head. She is halted in her movement by milord’s finger on her chin.

  Ducking her head, Lilian explains, “Inactivity does not suit me.”

  With the Shades’ Grace, physical exhaustion may banish the evil dreams.

  “Is that the reason you raced the River Walk yesterday?” Lucius asks softly.

  Jerking in response, Lilian pulls from Chin’s examination to raise her eyes to milord. “Milord, I did not. I would not defy milord. Rebecca tra
ined Katleen, I but walked.”

  Immediately regretting his teasing, Lucius reassures Lilian, “Peace, woman, I but tease. That you could complete a circuit at any pace is remarkable. I am pleased.”

  “Lucius, do you wish Lilian to heal, contain your ill-conceived sense of fun,” Chin chides, oblivious to Lilian’s shock at his censure of Lucius.

  “As for you, Lilian,” Chin continues, “auto-racers only. No hills. No more than half a period. Beyond that, you remain on restricted duty until Fourth Day.”

  »◊«

  “The evidence condemns Damocles,” Lucius remarks as he gazes out the windows at the cityscape beyond. For the coming meeting, Lucius will not honor Grey Spear with admittance to Lucius’ private office. They will use the smallest of the conference chambers in Lucius’ commerce suite. Grey Spear and Damocles will face the windows and full sun while Lucius will sit in shadow, his expression and emotions obscured.

  “Do you doubt Damocles will implicate Monsignor Sebastian?” Trevelyan joins Lucius by the windows.

  “Damocles’ signet is forfeit based on his actions. Implicating Sebastian will not save him,” Lucius replies. “They cannot refute the evidence that Damocles planted the nape ties. If we can get him to implicate Sebastian, Damocles will have no protection. I will enjoy sending that cur to live out his days scrubbing the waste conduits in Desperation Crevasse.”

  “Where Lilian is conservator.” Trevelyan offers a dark smile, which Lucius returns.

  Quietly sipping their tea, both men savor the prospect. Shaking free of the pleasant vision, Trevelyan continues, “Even if Damocles does not implicate Sebastian, Monsignor will claim Damocles’ signet, and the shadeless scum will be swept from the Cartel in disgrace.”

  “And you, Trevelyan,” Lucius places a hand on the spymaster’s shoulder, “will have all of Serengeti Security-Privilege.”

  “No one will truly believe Damocles acted without Monsignor Sebastian’s knowledge,” Trevelyan nods. “With the loss of the security-privilege department added to the scandal of Damocles’ transgressions and the loss of his signet, it will not take long for another to claim Grey Spear Preeminence.”

  “It will likely be Garwynn,” Lucius reflects. “He has the wealth, kin, and allies to take the position, and he is but waiting for a severe error on Sebastian’s part.”

  At the sound of the chimes, both men turn and take their seats. A moment later, Sebastian and Damocles enter, followed by Marieth with a tea tray.

  Even Sebastian Mehta cannot refuse to attend His Preeminence when invited. The most Sebastian could do was delay the meeting. Lucius and Trevelyan have had what they required since Sixth Day. Sebastian insisted he could not accommodate the conference before third bell on First Day.

  Well familiar with Sebastian’s little status games, Lucius was not surprised. His rage is such that the petty maneuver could not increase it. For Trevelyan, the delay was an opportunity for his agents to gather additional intelligence.

  Both men offer pleasant greetings as they take their places facing the sun. Sebastian glances at Lucius in amusement as he accepts tea. Damocles’ face holds a distinct smirk as he takes a cup.

  Accepting fresh tea from the tray, Lucius gazes at Sebastian and Damocles, making no attempt to hide his anticipation.

  Trevelyan waves away the tray. He has no interest in pretense. He is focused on his prey.

  As the door closes behind Marieth, Lucius nods to Trevelyan.

  “Corrupting Cartel Protocol and Discipline is a serious transgression,” Trevelyan states.

  “Treason if committed by a warrior,” Sebastian acknowledges with a bland smile.

  At Sebastian’s tone and demeanor, Lucius’ eyes narrow. Damocles and Sebastian have seemed far too at ease since they entered the conference chamber.

  “Well said, Monsignor Sebastian,” Trevelyan acknowledges. “Imagine my concern when I discovered evidence against one of your house.”

  “Which of my seigneurs do you accuse?” Sebastian returns equably.

  “Seigneur Damocles falsified evidence to indict Mistress Lilian and the deceased Master Gil for illicit contact,” Trevelyan replies coldly. “Shall I display the monitor record?”

  “Impossible to display that which does not exist,” Damocles cuts in, not quite able to hide a sneer. As Serengeti Security-Privilege Seigneur, Damocles controls the Cartel monitors and the ability to delete what he does not wish known.

  “As you wish.” Trevelyan ignites the reviewer.

  A sweet-faced young woman in commerce garb enters a chamber in the Associates’ Quarters, the time and location well documented in the record. It is Master Gil’s chamber, midmorning after his suicide. The scene shifts, indicating it is the Sixth Day gone, and the sweet-faced young woman is within Master Straus’ office, along with Trevelyan and Rebecca.

  “Mistress Heather, what say you?” Straus frowns at the woman Douglas defended from Martin at the price of a caning.

  “It was at Seigneur Damocles’ instruction,” Heather replies.

  “Were you instructed to place the nape ties in any particular position?” Trevelyan inquires.

  “Only that they should be readily visible. As if Gil had been handling them before he self-slaughtered.”

  “When you understood the purpose of Seigneur Damocles’ instruction, why did you fail to come forward?” Straus pursues.

  “I was bound by Grey Spear privilege, Master Straus,” Heather responds confidently.

  “And now, Mistress?” Trevelyan inquires softly.

  “Cartel protocol supersedes Grey Spear security-privilege.” Heather smiles sweetly.

  “Interesting, but hardly evidence,” Sebastian murmurs. “Damocles, did you instruct that young woman to place false evidence?”

  “No, Monsignor,” Damocles denies. “Her attempt to hide in my shadow is clever, but without foundation.”

  “Trevelyan.” Lucius indicates the reviewer. He is about to close his trap.

  The cobalt and bronze of the Grey Spear section of the headquarters is unmistakable. A door opens and Mistress Heather appears with Damocles, who says, “They must be within by midday.”

  “Yes, Seigneur.” Mistress Heather carefully slides something into her satchel.

  With a few quick taps from Trevelyan, the reviewer freezes and enlarges. Mistress Heather is slipping Lilian’s nape ties into her slate satchel.

  There is a long pause while Sebastian assimilates the visual, his rising color evidence of his anger. Lucius’ lips tighten in anticipation. He knows that Sebastian is furious that the monitor records Damocles destroyed somehow exist. Sebastian’s eyes snap to Trevelyan. Somehow Lucius’ spymaster has established monitors in Grey Spear territory that have gone undetected by Damocles.

  “Should you discover the monitor, you may not disable it,” Lucius remarks casually. “Trevelyan’s protection of Mercium and Bright Star gives him the right to all recordings except those in the governors’ commerce suites and the Dispensary.”

  There is naught Sebastian or Damocles can offer in rebuttable. Trevelyan has the right, and His Preeminence has given a direct instruction. For either Grey Spear warrior to defy a direct order from Lucius is treason. The irony is not lost on anyone. Grey Spear has routinely monitored Blooded Dagger in defiance of Cartel protocols and abridged the recordings to suit Grey Spear’s purpose.

  After giving Sebastian time to consider the ramifications, Lucius continues, “Corruption of Serengeti justice is treason. I believe you would agree, Sebastian?”

  “Damocles, what have you done?” Sebastian evidences insincere shock and sorrow.

  “Monsignor, I regret I did not inform you of my plans,” Damocles asserts earnestly. “With Monsignor Lucius absent the Cartel, I could not be certain my judgement would prove.”

  “What say you, Damocles?” Sebastian inquires with eager hope in every syllable.

  Demon bile. This is ill. As a skilled infiltrator, Trevelyan recognizes a well-rehearsed drama wh
en it is presented. His thoughts are echoed by Lucius, who has known Sebastian Mehta for twenty years. This little play is why the Grey Spear warriors were unconcerned when they arrived.

  Turning to Lucius, Damocles explains, “Monsignor Lucius, we discovered that Master Gil was enamored of the Blooded Dagger Media Management Seigneur, Nemilis, and self-slaughtered in despair. Had it become known, the scandal would have damaged the Cartel. An apprentice can be corrected without drawing notice. I sought only to protect Cartel honor.”

  Nemilis? Lucius forces his expression to stone at the appalling suggestion. She had not offered evidence in Lilian’s defense, claiming she had no knowledge of the true object of Gil’s passion. If there is any truth to Damocles’ claim, she was the object. Unless, once again, Grey Spear is manufacturing evidence.

  “You indict a Blooded Dagger seigneur?” Trevelyan interjects coldly, embracing his role as Lucius’ blade. He is no more ready to accept Damocles’ word than Lucius.

  “Not directly, no,” Damocles admits with a heavy sigh. “I am certain she did naught to encourage Master Gil’s unnatural attachment.”

  Shades devour it. Lucius sees his prey slipping away. Damocles is too well rehearsed.

  “Have you any evidence to support your version of events?” Trevelyan continues.

  “Only this,” Damocles smirks, all pretense abandoned.

  The small, clear bag holds a woman’s delicate silk and lace briefs, undoubtedly saturated with Nemilis’ DNA. Stolen or given, it matters naught. Gil’s note indicates he was truly enamored of his seigneur. Not the acceptable and expected mix of duty and passion, but the emotion of an equal in status. The intimate bond between apprentice and master is designed to create loyalty that equates to a blood bond. It often spans generations. It is not to be corrupted by emotional ties that can only be healthy when they exist between equals.

  For Gil to love his seigneur is repugnant. It is also readily corrected by a minimally diligent seigneur. That Gil’s obsession extended a full half year after his bond proof and resulted in self-slaughter indicts the Blooded Dagger seigneur for dereliction of her duty to the bonded and Serengeti.