by E G Manetti
Lilian does not fathom Rebecca’s talent in this. She accepts that her fellow Raven has the best intelligence on the associates of any in the Cartel. Had Trevelyan not co-opted Rebecca for a spy, Associate Master Straus would have had her as an aide.
Eyes sparkling at the exercise of her skill, Rebecca replies without hesitation. “Beware of Master Martin. Between Seigneur Thorvald’s discipline and the shame of that broken nose from Douglas, he has been meaner and more devious than ever before. I fear your scourging has encouraged his viciousness.”
“Stick your thorn in him the first chance you have,” Douglas encourages as he joins them.
Lilian exchanges a quick glance with Rebecca. Although Lilian owes Martin retribution for his assaults on her, Douglas is Grey Spear. For all their sakes, Lilian must be careful. “I will do so in repayment for your caning, should I have the opportunity.”
“You should stick him more than once if he is to pay for all his sins,” Tabitha comments as she takes a seat next to Douglas. Douglas may not be of Blooded Dagger, but he is an ally. He was one of the few in Grey Spear who was decent to Tabitha when she was at Sebastian Mehta’s mercy.
With the addition of Douglas and Tabitha, the conversation turns from Chrys to the easing rain, Master Fletcher’s chances in the coming race season, and which apprentices are due to prove their bonds.
»◊«
Ninth evening bell has chimed. The only light in the Serengeti Archives is the glow around the station where Lilian is busily comparing slate to reviewer. The monthly Vistrite review is pending, and the drop in demand due to the economic downturn has complicated the analysis. Lilian has diligently committed the past five bells to accessing several centuries of data to support her forecasts. The chiming of ninth bell barely registers. The soft sound of the Archives door recessing brings her instantly alert. How a door recessing can sound evil is beyond her, but it does.
Martin!
This is ill. Honor is my blade and shield.
For all his ceaseless torments, Martin has always carefully avoided physical proximity that could lead to charges of illicit contact. Regardless of the penalty to Lilian, Martin could forfeit his contract. Now he is walking directly toward her, his eyes alight with anticipation.
This is very ill.
Rising, groping for her slate bag, Lilian pulls it to her as the young warrior closes. He has five inches and four stone on her, all of it muscle. He broke two of her ribs in that travesty of a training match. Lilian does not underestimate his ability to hurt her.
This time she need not forbear to use her thorn. This is not a training chamber, and as milord’s conservator, she has the duty as well as the right to protect milord’s property and honor.
“What do you here, Master Martin?” Lilian’s voice is loud in the empty Archives chamber.
“My duty, Lilian.” Martin’s familiarity turns Lilian’s name into a threat. “What do you here?”
“My duty as conservator of Desperation Mine and Refinery. Forecasts are due.” Lilian fingers her seal to emphasize she is present as Lucius Mercio’s vessel and not as a mere apprentice.
“A tainted doxy?” The words and tone are as ugly as the heat that is entering Martin’s eyes. “Your duty lies between your legs. Since Lucius Mercio is too enamored to teach you your place, it falls to me. This time there will be no last-minute savior.”
Malcon. He refers to Master Malcon. Martin does not intend for Lilian to survive this encounter.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Time becomes disconnected. It moves at battle speed—infinitely slow and warrior quick. It moves so slowly that Lilian can almost see the shift of Martin’s hand through space like a stuttering visual. It moves so quickly that he has hold of her left arm and the collar of her blouse before she can draw her thorn. Wrenching into a backspin, dropping the slate bag to unsheathe her thorn, Lilian feels but does not hear her blouse tear as she pulls free.
Coming around the predator’s back, fast and low, her left wrist is suddenly shackled in a hard grip. Rising quickly, Lilian strikes with the thorn. A line opens on Martin’s face from eye to mouth and reddens with blood. The hand holding her wrist releases it to form a fist.
That fist connects with her jaw as Lilian’s left hand grabs the strap of her slate bag. Tucking it to her, she goes into a roll, away from the striking hand. Bouncing to her feet, slate bag to her chest, thorn in hand, Lilian strikes a fighter’s stance and waits. The door to the Archives is behind her, the predator in front. Slowly Lilian takes a step back and then another as Martin warily stalks forward, face contorted with hate. Only the slender blade keeps him from pouncing.
At the sound of the door recessing open, Lilian bolts through it and races, her shoes hammering loudly in the empty corridor. Where to go? She can hear Martin behind her. The Archives are two storeys above Serengeti’s Militia Central, which is always staffed. Lilian races past the risers and into the stairs, pursued by the vicious warrior who means her harm, if not death. Are his steps coming closer? She dare not look back.
Racing out of the stairwell at full speed, heart pounding from terror as much as exertion, Lilian flies toward Militia Central and its glass-walled control chamber. Inside, a uniformed guard lurches to his feet and starts toward the entrance. Pounding footsteps sound behind her as Martin clears the stairwell. Lilian bursts through the Militia Central door, hotly pursued by Martin.
It is the Luck of the First that Seigneur Thorvald is within the complex. Although he disdains Lilian, Thorvald is well aware of Master Martin’s history of preying on the most vulnerable women in the Cartel. He was also disgusted by Damocles’ brutality and unwillingly impressed by Lilian’s courage. Thorvald’s opinions and inclinations matter naught; protocol and custom demand that Sebastian Mehta’s protégé be heard first.
Martin’s face lights with malice. “The doxy bled me when I refused her favors. I claim assault against a warrior.”
“Mistress Lilian, what say you?” Thorvald commands sternly.
Lilian responds unflinchingly, “I deny the indictment, Seigneur. My presence in the Archives was Vistrite research, as dictated by my duties as conservator of Desperation Mine and Refinery. As I informed Master Martin when he entered.”
Martin’s snort of derision is answered by Thorvald’s scowl.
Taking hope from Thorvald’s willingness to listen, Lilian continues, “Master Martin insulted Monsignor Lucius and then attempted to assault me. I had no choice but to defend myself as Monsignor’s Lucius’ property. I would have been justified in greater injury. Seigneur Trevelyan will confirm that I am capable of it.”
Thorvald expected conflicting testimony. With thinly masked annoyance, he wordlessly calls up the archive monitor records for last period. They are blank. It is not possible, but it is so. There is nothing but flickering light where there should be visuals.
Knowing the seigneur holds her in disdain, Lilian has avoided him and knows little of the stern warrior beyond his patronage of Rebecca. Watching now, Lilian can almost view the rapid calculations executing behind the narrowed blue eyes. She should not be surprised. To be a Serengeti department head is a significant accomplishment. Only a sharp mind could achieve and hold such a position.
“I can do naught with conflicting testimony and no true evidence,” Thorvald declares. “This must wait for the governors. Mistress Lilian, surrender your thorn and your slate bag. Master Martin, where is your slate?”
As Lilian reluctantly surrenders the demanded items to be sealed in a safe, Martin informs the seigneur that his slate is in his office. After calling for a medic to treat Martin’s wound, Thorvald declares that Martin will be held in Militia Central while Lilian is taken to the Dispensary for treatment and to be held there until morning. At a polite request from Lilian, Thorvald permits a brief, supervised alert to Katleen to let her know that Lilian will be overnight at the Cartel. Thorvald ignores Martin’s demands and threats that he should be free to leave and return.
Th
orvald will not be shaken in his decision. “I have no means to judge right and wrong in this. We will keep all as it is and let the governors sort it out.”
Sevenday 84, Day 3
Sebastian is a fool. Lucius fumes as he stalks down the corridor to the Dispensary, the sound of his footsteps mingling with the seventh-bell chimes. Sebastian cannot really believe that this will succeed.
The Dispensary doors hiss open as Lucius nears. At the center console, Chin is arranging a medic’s tray while keeping an eye on the activity in the reviewer. Lilian, barefoot, skirted, and what is left of a black silk blouse knotted under her breasts, moves slowly and carefully through the stylized movements of a contemplation sequence.
“She is praying, Lucius. I know not the style. I assume it is Adelaide’s,” Chin remarks as he snaps the cover on the tray. “Is she devout or desperate?”
“Some of both and not only this day,” Lucius replies in clipped tones. “She lacks her usual grace. How badly is she injured?”
“Physically?” Chin turns to Lucius. “From the records, no worse than a training accident.”
“And?” Lucius snaps.
“What would you have of me?” Chin snaps back. “Lilian is barely recovered from Grey Spear’s last viciousness. She has been terrorized and assaulted by Martin for the second time and locked up overnight. My recovery chambers are more pleasant than a cell, but a sealed door is a sealed door.”
Picking up the tray, Chin adds, “Now, with the new day, she must face another judgement. At the very least, she is frightened.”
“She has naught to fear in judgement,” Lucius scowls. “Sebastian is a fool to believe Martin’s word sufficient in this.”
“A dangerous fool.” Chin’s lips tighten as he crosses to the chamber where Lilian continues her contemplation. “It is past time you swept him from the Cartel.”
With that, Chin disappears into the chamber to tend to Lucius’ damaged apprentice yet again. Lucius is unable to follow Chin, much as he wishes to. As a judge, he cannot speak with Lilian until after the review. For a few minutes, he paces before the reviewer until he is satisfied that Chin was correct about Lilian’s physical injuries. Knowing there is naught more he can do, Lucius stalks from the chamber, as frustrated and angry as when he entered. Chin is correct. Sebastian is a dangerous fool, and it is past time Lucius was rid of him.
»◊«
I am all that my family was. Lilian gingerly fingers her aching face as she follows the militia guard from the Dispensary into the Associates’ Hall. At least Master Chin’s potions reduced her pounding headache to a small, dull soreness, and the pouches of fruit juice quieted her stomach. I do believe the crevasse-wallower meant to break my jaw. I should have taken his eye.
I am the stone laid for the future. The scene is all too familiar. Associate Master Straus and Archive Master Liger are officiating. The judgement panel holds Monsignors Lucius, Sebastian, and Elenora, all three grim-faced warriors. To Lilian’s relief, Damocles is absent, replaced by Seigneur Thorvald. Sitting in the first row is the Serengeti Militia guard who witnessed Lilian race down the hall, pursued by Martin.
Milord is here, it will be well. Lilian straightens her spine and resolutely ignores her aching jaw as she takes her place. Martin stands at the other side of the judgement panel awaiting Cartel justice along with Lilian. Seigneur Thorvald was adamant that both the apprentice and the protégé are under suspicion until judgement is rendered.
Martin holds to his claim from the night gone. Lilian wished his attentions. When he refused, she bled him, daring him to charge her, so convinced is she of her hold over Monsignor Lucius.
Honor is both shield and blade. In an even voice, face carefully composed, Lilian repeats her testimony of the prior evening, that Martin entered the Archives and attempted to assault her. She defended herself and fled to safety. Her dispassionate testimony offers no hint of the anticipation and rage that are keeping her back straight and her shoulders squared.
“Monsignors, I regret, there are no Archives visuals.” Archives Master Liger is both embarrassed and perplexed. “The console indicates the monitors are working, but there is naught but static.”
There is nothing to disprove Master Martin’s version of events. Seigneur Thorvald can do little. His knowledge of Martin’s nasty habits is based on apprentice testimony and cannot be entered as evidence. He does not bother to voice it.
“The doxy tells an unlikely tale,” Monsignor Sebastian sneers. “With no evidence to support it, it is no more than that. Apprentice testimony is inadmissible as evidence. I move we proceed to sentencing.”
The honorable do not bend to fear. Lilian’s skin crawls at the governor’s blatant and avid desire for her abuse. If convicted, Lilian’s penalty will be far harsher than the scourging she has already endured.
“Apprentice testimony is not admissible, but conservator testimony most certainly is,” Monsignor Elenora breaks in testily. “All in this hall are aware of Mistress Lilian’s status. Her seal is clearly visible in the militia visuals, as it is here in this chamber. Unless Monsignor Lucius wishes to refute it, Mistress Lilian is and was acting as his conservator.”
Elenora has a commoner among her conservators, almost as rare an occurrence as an apprentice. She is not about to have her authority undermined by Sebastian Mehta’s spite.
“Monsignor Elenora is correct.” Associate Master Straus’ voice is dry and formal. “Mistress Lilian’s testimony can be admitted. Will the governors render judgement?”
“It is a no-fault finding, Master Straus, as well you know,” Elenora continues impatiently. “Monsignor Lucius will find for his conservator and Monsignor Sebastian for his protégé. While I have my own opinions regarding the veracity of the claimants, opinion is not evidence. The evidence we do have is inconclusive.”
“If it pleases, Monsignor Elenora, Master Straus, there is other evidence.” Lilian’s polite interruption causes all eyes to turn to her, expressions varied.
Straus and Liger are hopeful. Martin is dismissive. Elenora and Thorvald are intrigued. Lucius is complacent. Sebastian, predictably, is enraged. The erratic warrior screams, “Effrontery! Add that to the indictment, Straus.”
Ignoring the irate governor, Straus turns to Lilian. “What other evidence?”
The honorable do not yield. Maintaining careful deference, Lilian requests, “If you please, Master Straus, would you reach into my slate satchel and remove the device in the exterior pocket?”
Straus pulls out a small rectangular object. “A voice-activated recording device?”
“Yes, Master Straus,” Lilian confirms.
Anticipating the associate master’s next request, Lilian offers, “If you please, Master Straus, I will need to unlock it so you may access the recording from last evening. I must beg you not to access aught else. Some is restricted by Monsignor Lucius’ privilege.”
Nodding, the Associate Master brings it to Lilian for release and then hands the device to the Archive Master. From the speaker comes the sound of quiet tapping, followed by Lilian’s voice: “What do you here, Master Martin?”
Sebastian immediately challenges the validity of the recording. In the end, Seigneur Trevelyan’s presence is required. An accusation of tampering is eliminated when Thorvald is able to trace the slate bag from the minute it left the Archives to the moment it arrived at judgement. The conclusion is inescapable. For Master Martin’s insults toward Monsignor Lucius Mercio, he is to be dismissed from the Cartel. For the assault upon Lucius’ conservator, he may be caned.
Lucius defers to Lilian. “What is your will, Conservator?”
The honorable accept duty’s scourge. “He shall be caned.”
»◊«
The distance from the Associates’ Hall to milord’s office is a goodly one. It can be covered with amazing speed when milord’s stormy expression opens avenues in crowded halls and clears a riser carriage with a glance. An authoritative tap and the carriage rises twenty-five level
s in seconds. It is a speed for which Lilian is grateful. She remains garbed in a badly torn blouse, decorum preserved only by the hand she uses to hold the torn silk together.
Milord slows his pace once they reach the thirty-fifth storey and the sparsely populated corridors of the exclusive level. As milord enters his suite, Mistress Marieth rises at her worksite, only to be waved back to her seat. As Lilian passes, the severe executive servitor’s face is filled with concern that is as surprising as it is gratifying.
As Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold, milord grasps her hand and leads her to the scarlet couch. Once seated, milord commands, “Show me.”
Lilian obediently turns her head to permit Lucius to examine the swelling and bruises on her jaw.
By the time Lilian reached the Dispensary, it had been too late for the yellow poultice to eradicate all the damage. When she rinsed her face in the morning, the substance dissolved having provided only marginal relief.
“He intended to break your jaw,” Lucius comments. “How is it you came to be struck? You are quick enough to avoid it.”
“I required the slate bag, milord. I could not leave without it,” Lilian returns.
“You knew the monitors were sabotaged?” Lucius inquires.
“No, milord. I knew only that we were alone and Martin was confident that he would not be punished for his acts. It was enough. I was not leaving without the recording device.” Without realizing it, Lilian continues to clutch her blouse together.
Tapping her hand gently, Lucius insists, “I would view the rest.”
The rest? Lilian stares back blankly then nods and releases her blouse. “It is naught but a burn, milord. It does not trouble me. The Master Medic’s lotions are quite effective.”
Leaning back and resting her head against the couch back, Lilian exposes the dark red mark low on her neck.
A gentle finger strokes along the mark and stops at a thin steel chain tangled in the torn blouse and bronze silk covering Lilian’s breasts. Pulling it free, Lucius discovers two small tokens dangling from the end. A transport token and the unmistakable access key to Lucius’ penthouse. Puzzled, Lucius is about to ask how it is he has not encountered the chain and then realizes Lilian would have removed it before attending him, as she does with her thorn.