by E G Manetti
Pausing on the walkway, Lilian taps out two requests.
Twenty minutes later Rebecca, Lilian, Tabitha, and Clarice gather in a small conference chamber in milord’s commerce suite. Using Trevelyan’s authority, Rebecca claimed one of the secure chambers normally reserved for the most highly ranked. Mistress Marieth’s raised eyebrow and pursed lips signaled her opinion of the apprentices’ effrontery.
Clarice is a friend and consortium member, but she is not of Blooded Dagger. Lilian must be careful. “Clarice, how may privilege be broken? Legally, that is.”
Accustomed to the unconventional from Lilian, Clarice shows neither surprise nor confusion. “Either the holder of privilege releases it, or the knowledge becomes generally available.”
Lilian turns to Tabitha, who shakes her head in denial. Neither condition applies.
Lilian makes another foray. “How does one know that privilege applies?”
“One is told.” With an exasperated sigh, Clarice asserts, “You know this, Lilian. You will not even say if the sun is shining through Monsignor Lucius’ windows. What occurs behind the scarlet door stays there.”
Clarice is coming to the conclusion that this will be a long and tedious conversation. Tabitha’s excited interruption proves her wrong. “What happens outside the scarlet door, in the reception area, is that covered?”
“Not for the most part,” Clarice replies confidently. “While the monitors are controlled by Monsignor Lucius, the space is open. Anything seen or heard there can be repeated, if not proven.”
“Are you certain? Should you consult with Seigneur Herman?” Tabitha is so far forward in her chair, should she wish it, she could kiss Clarice.
Easing away from the eager associate, Clarice confirms, “I am certain. These are basic strictures. I would not be worthy of Seigneur Herman if I did not know this. That which is seen or heard in the public reception area is not covered by privilege.”
“Not only Monsignor Lucius’ reception, but those of all three governors?” Tabitha is not breathing, so important is the answer.
“Yes, Tabitha, it applies to all three governors.” Clarice rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Will you tell me what goes forward here?”
“I may not. Blooded Dagger privilege. I thank you, though. I regret to ask, but would you leave us?” Tabitha is out of her seat and pacing with tension and excitement.
Frustrated, but recognizing there is nothing further she can do, Clarice acknowledges Tabitha’s thanks and exits.
As soon as the door seals, Tabitha states, “I have witnessed Demitrov exit Seigneur Garwynn’s office as the seigneur spoke the words, ‘and should you wish to protect that decadents whore you call a brother, do as you are bid.’ ”
“Seigneur Garwynn?” Lilian’s eyes widen in shock. “The Serengeti Financials Seigneur has been corrupting Demitrov for Grey Spear advantage?”
As a Cartel Seigneur, Garwynn has sworn to place Cartel interests before those of his Cartouche. Corrupting a Blooded Dagger associate for no purpose other than Grey Spear benefit could bring charges that he is forsworn. If proven, such a charge could cost Garwynn his signet.
“I believe so,” Tabitha says. “And not only with bribes but with threats to reveal Benedict’s decadents use to the civil authorities.”
“Is this all you know of the matter?” Rebecca is the first to recover her wits. “Monsignor Sebastian cannot be ignorant of Seigneur Garwynn’s actions.”
Shaking her head in denial, the associate responds, “There is a great deal more. But it is as Clarice indicated. Lilian cannot voice if the sun is shining through Monsignor Lucius’ windows.”
Sebastian Mehta. Tabitha has as much as told them that what she knows, but she cannot speak, was learned behind Sebastian Mehta’s bronze door.
»◊«
Golden light glows from the windows, glinting off the red highlights in Lilian’s hair and throwing Lucius’ harsh expression into stark relief. Trevelyan concludes, “It is impossible that Seigneur Garwynn acted without Monsignor Sebastian’s knowledge; he is close kin to Monsignor Sebastian, and his first loyalty is to Grey Spear.”
“The thorn has become a sword. Socraide and Adelaide favor us.” Lucius’ fingers steeple as his eyes shift between the intent spymaster opposite him at the conference table and the battered apprentice to his left. “We now know why Demitrov was convinced that the Archives attack would be sheltered by Sebastian. There remains much we are missing. How did Sebastian benefit in the Archives intrigue? No financial bribe from Blackthorn would be meaningful, and it is unlikely Angus has been involved since Bright Star formed. We need more answers before we act. Trevelyan, what think you?”
“That Monsignor was correct this morning. We must squeeze the brother. He is at the core of this rot.” Trevelyan opens his mouth to add something and stops with a pointed glance at Lilian.
At Lucius’ nod, Trevelyan continues, “I would like to employ some of my more irregular sources to probe Monsignor Sebastian’s personal affairs.”
Both men silently regard Lilian, Trevelyan obviously expecting some type of reaction.
After a moment of confusion, Lilian understands. “I beg pardon, Seigneur Trevelyan. I have suspected since the counterfeiters that Seigneur must have recourse to gray and black commerce resources to work milord’s will.”
At the matter-of-fact response, Trevelyan’s free-trader grin appears, and Lucius smiles.
“Have you any further thoughts in this, Lilian?” Lucius’ tone is gentle. One of Lilian’s insights would be exceedingly helpful.
“No, milord, none that I can form. Something is there, but I cannot see it.” Lilian gives up in frustration. “I like not these potions of Master Chin’s. I will have them no longer.”
As much as Lucius desires the aid of Lilian’s odd talent, it is not worth risking her well-being. It is also past fourth bell, and Lilian is exhibiting signs of strain. “Lilian, it is my will you follow Master Chin’s instructions.”
At Lilian’s defeated nod, Lucius adds, “It will only be a few days. Go now, it is almost fifth bell.”
Sevenday 84, Day 5
“Please, Master Medic. May I cease your potions? I like them not. They cause evil dreams and cloud my mind.” Her prior day’s frustration has only worsened with another night of disturbing, even terrifying, dreams.
“Evil dreams, Lilian?” Chin voices surprise as he checks the progress of her bruises and reviews her blood results. “You should not be dreaming at all.”
“Yet I have them and awaken tired, sweaty, and cold. Please, may I cease?” Lilian pleads.
“Tell me of these dreams.” Chin frowns. It is not the first time Lilian has experienced adverse effects from common treatments.
“They are very confused. There are many-headed snakes, something chases me, and last night the Hound of the Shades howled. That is all I recall and more than I wish to.” Shaking off the memory, Lilian waits expectantly for the medic’s verdict.
“Very well, such effects are not helpful. You need not consume the potions.” At the hopeful light in Lilian’s eyes, Chin hastens to add, “You remain on restricted duty until tomorrow. I may not release you then if I am not satisfied.”
Somewhat desperately, Lilian pursues, “Master Medic, please, I must train.”
Seeing the Medic’s head start to move in denial, Lilian adds, “Not sparring, only the discipline. I have done it for years. I will not fall.”
With an air of resignation, Chin yields, “Discipline only. No stone courtyards. You will use the safely padded Serengeti facilities.”
“Yes, Master Medic. My thanks, Master Medic.”
»◊«
Lucius strides into the training chambers eager for a match with Trevelyan and the opportunity to release his frustration. After a decade of countering Sebastian’s intrigues, Lucius is on the brink of ridding his Cartel of his adversary. Although it is only a matter of days before Trevelyan has what they need, those days stretch as eons, shorten
ing Lucius’ temper with impatience. The violent physical release will help. It is also the only type of release he will have until Lilian is freed from restricted duty.
At the sight of Seigneur Thorvald intent on one of the match chambers, Lucius changes course. Within the chamber Lucius’ apprentice is working through the movements of Adelaide’s Discipline. Shades take it! “She is on restricted duty.”
“Yes, Monsignor.” Thorvald nods and glances at Lucius before returning his attention to the graceful figure in the chamber. “The Master Medic released Mistress Lilian for discipline execution only. I thought it wise to observe her nonetheless.”
Annoyance dispelled, Lucius asks, “How long?”
There is no sign of flagging in Lilian’s movements, and the blade of her thorn flashes like a flame.
“Forty minutes, Monsignor.” Once again, Thorvald is reluctantly impressed by the tainted woman. “I have not viewed Adelaide’s Discipline independent of the Duet. It appears somehow stronger than in the festival performances.”
When executed together, the Socraide and Adelaide Disciplines form a Duet that is the reenactment of the epic combat that brought Socraide Omsted to desire Adelaide Warleader for his own. That desire set in motion the events that ended the Anarchy and laid the foundation of the modern Order.
Watching Lilian work through Adelaide’s Discipline, it occurs to Lucius that while he may not spar with his apprentice, there is another option for one of Socraide’s Discipline and one of Adelaide’s. It is a thought that will need to wait until Lilian is released from restricted duty, as it is likely to lead to the same conclusion as the original, legendary encounter. Leaving Thorvald to observe Lilian, Lucius turns and seeks combat.
Twenty minutes later, sweat streaming, her muscles exhausted and relaxed, Lilian stows her thorn and exits the small chamber. Grabbing a water vial, Lilian notices a small crowd gathered at the window of one of the match chambers. Curious, she stops to discover milord sparring with Trevelyan. Lilian recalls that milord holds the Serengeti record for match time with Trevelyan. What she did not know is that the Serengeti Champion can be thrown. It is with a good deal of admiration, and no little desire, that Lilian watches as Monsignor Lucius Mercio drops the spymaster on his ass.
»◊«
Malcon scans the narrow River Quarter street and the exterior of the unremarkable townhouse, noting the stout doors and narrow windows well above head height. He does not bother to chime for entrance, Tiger knows he is here. The door opens and a cowed looking servitor motions Malcon inside. A man of middle years, thin and jaundiced, the servitor is ghastly in Tiger’s chartreuse livery. Another of Tiger’s debtors must be trading service for enough food to live and a sheltered pallet.
Once, long ago, Malcon was a skinny adolescent offering service for the same consideration. Following the servitor through the passage, Malcon finds that the unremarkable street façade masks a River Quarter mansion a great deal pleasanter than the Refinery District tenement where Malcon served Tiger.
In the receiving chamber, the expansive windows are open to the early green-season sunshine while heating units keep the chill breeze at bay. Bookended by two massive bodyguards, Tiger is slouched in the throne-like armchair, idly toying with a small dagger. By the time Malcon reaches the chair opposite Tiger, he has mentally slain the inhabitants of the chamber, including the servitor.
“If you truly wished me dead, you would not come knocking,” Tiger mocks.
“I didn’t knock,” Malcon replies coolly, turning the seat so that its back is to the wall. He would not hesitate to slay Tiger if ordered, but Malcon is not a Servant of Anarchy. He does not slay for his personal pleasure.
Tiger sets an elbow on one of the chair’s arms and places his chin in his hand, the dagger hanging loosely in the other. “You never did have a sense of humor.”
“You never had a sense of honor,” Malcon retorts. “Not that it matters. That’s not why I’m here.”
With a dramatic sigh, Tiger settles back into his chair. “What does Mercio want?”
“Benedict Sandoval.”
“Who?” Tiger asks innocently.
“Spare both of us this game,” Malcon returns coldly. “You have the brother of a high-ranking Blooded Dagger associate in your grip, and you know it.”
“A taste for decadents and poor wagers.” Tiger shrugs.
“Monsignor Lucius wishes him held close and deprived of decadents,” Malcon states.
“Held comfortably?” Tiger’s lips twist.
“No, he need not be comfortable,” Malcon says coldly. “Your cellars will do.”
“Answers?”
“What information the monsignor wishes, he will acquire.” Malcon frowns. “You are not to question Benedict. He is to be unmarked when I return.”
“Fed? Cleansed?”
“Not starved. Beyond that, he need not be comfortable.” Orders given, Malcon rises.
As Malcon reaches the doorway, Tiger calls, “I won’t be on Mercio’s leash forever.”
A brief hitch to Malcon’s step is all the acknowledgment Tiger receives.
»◊«
Rotating his neck and stretching his shoulders, Trevelyan towels dry in the changing chamber reserved for the elite of Blooded Dagger. As with the Blooded Dagger section of the Cartel, this chamber should be free of Cartel monitors and Grey Spear spying. It is all Trevelyan can do to keep it clear while Lucius is present. Malcon swept it clean before Lucius’ arrival, and it has been guarded since by George.
At the sound of a chuckle, Trevelyan turns toward Lucius. With a wry smile, Trevelyan comments, “It has been some time since Monsignor was so ferocious in a training match.”
“Are you suggesting I have gone soft?” Lucius grins, reaching for his tunic.
“Not in the least, Monsignor.” Trevelyan pulls on his trousers with a discernible wince. “Sebastian Mehta’s abuse of Cartel discipline and his involvement with Demitrov are worthy of rage. I would prefer Monsignor Sebastian be on the receiving end of your ire.”
“I as well, Trevelyan,” Lucius admits, shrugging into his jacket. “I regret that when we do sweep Sebastian from my Cartel, I will not have the joy of slamming him into the ground.”
“As to that, Monsignor—” Trevelyan begins, only to be halted by an urgent summons from his slate. “Forgive me, Monsignor.”
Pulling out his slate, Trevelyan gives it a few quick taps. As he scans, his face loses all expression. Whatever the slate contains, decades of discipline keep the spymaster from revealing aught.
“Trevelyan?” Lucius inquires softly.
“A moment, Monsignor,” Trevelyan responds just as softly. A quick tap to his slate is answered by a soft ping in the antechamber. Mr. George steps in with his slate in his hand.
“Are we secure?” Trevelyan asks.
“Tight as a drum, Seigneur,” George responds.
“Thank you.” Trevelyan looks to Lucius, who dismisses George with a gesture.
As the antechamber door recesses, Trevelyan turns to Lucius. “We know how the Archives’ monitors were disabled.”
Self-master. Dropping onto a bench, Lucius motions Trevelyan to join him. Master anger. Lucius must not yield to his eagerness to destroy Sebastian.
Settling across from Lucius, Trevelyan begins, “We found the Cartel apprentice who sabotaged the Archives’ monitors. She knows naught. She did as she was ordered by a superior.”
“Who was?” Lucius suspects he knows the answer.
“Demitrov, Monsignor. He told her it was a testing device to ensure that all the monitors were active. She returned it to him when she was done with the task.”
“I doubt Demitrov retains it,” Lucius remarks.
“If our suspicions are correct, the stolen Laser Sting is in Damocles’ hands.”
“Or Sebastian’s,” Lucius suggests. “Another question for Demitrov. What else?”
“We have monitor records of Ann Hunter with Demitrov. Knowing what we know,
it is obvious they were colluding. Taken independently, the records are inconclusive. They may have met outside the Cartel to arrange their plans.”
“Anything about her murder?”
“No, Monsignor,” Trevelyan replies. “Although, if we can discover where Ann and Demitrov met beyond the cartel, it may help us trace her movements.”
“Or we can encourage Demitrov to give us the information by pressing his brother,” Lucius states.
“As to that, Monsignor,” Trevelyan smiles coldly, “Benedict Sandoval owes a massive amount to Tiger Sylvester. Currently, Benedict is a guest in one of Tiger’s establishments, discovering how painful life can be without his decadents. We will know everything he knows by Second Day to come. Meanwhile, we will use threats against Benedict to pry whatever we may from Demitrov.”
»◊«
“Seigneur Marco is delayed.” Marieth motions Lilian to the reception bench outside Seigneur Marco’s office and across from milord’s.
With a polite nod, Lilian quickly settles on the bench and ignites her slate. It is here. Somewhere. At the beginning…
“What goes forward, Lilian?” At milord’s voice, Lilian nearly drops her slate in her hurry to rise from the bench.
“I beg pardon, milord. I did not see milord approach. I am awaiting Seigneur Marco and Master Nickolas. Beyond that,” Lilian raises her slate, “I should not voice it here.”
‘Here’ being the reception area of milord’s commerce suite.
Eyes hooding, Lucius turns to his executive servitor. “Mistress Marieth, when Seigneur Marco and Master Nickolas arrive, inform them that Mistress Lilian is with me.”
With that Lucius turns and crosses the scarlet threshold, Lilian on his heels. As soon as the scarlet door is fully recessed, Lilian speaks.
“Milord, I am searching for the beginning.”
Milord’s brow lowers. That was far too cryptic. Drawing a deep breath, Lilian begins again. “I have been reviewing Monsignor Angus’ intrigue, seeking the beginning of the traitors’ conspiracy.”