by E G Manetti
“It pleases me that Monsignor would think so,” Elysia responds properly, delighted by the compliment.
“Did you have a purpose, dearling?” Lucius interjects. Elysia would not have interrupted without cause.
“Yes, Papa.” Elysia turns to her father, eyes alight with excitement. “Maman requests your escort. The governor and Jonathan’s Prelate are arriving.”
“Come, Elysia, let us join your mother.” Lucius holds out his hand to his daughter. “Horatio, I must attend my duty.”
Turning his back on the Matahorn preeminence, Lucius guides Elysia toward the front of the house where Estella will be waiting. It pleases Lucius no end that Horatio must wait upon Lucius’ convenience to greet the Margovian allies. As he joins his spouse, it occurs to Lucius that Horatio is not the only one to exploit even minor advantage.
»◊«
“Cesare appears to have charmed Lady Moira,” Estella observes as she and Lucius follow their guests into the gardens after the splendid feast.
At fifteen years, Cesare nears his brother’s inches. He may achieve his father’s height. Unlike Raphael, whose features are a blend of Lucius and Estella, Cesare is almost a duplicate of his father. Only his paler complexion and the startling blue of his heavy-lidded eyes give testimony to his mother. At the moment, Cesare is giving his arm to the formidable Moira while he gestures emphatically into the elaborate gardens, where several fountains cascade in the dark. The fountains and gardens are illuminated with small, brilliant lights giving the area an otherworldly essence under the brilliant stars and the two moons that swirl overhead.
St. Gervais! Lucius’ eyes narrow in predatory intent as he notices that the handsome blonde warrior is flirting with Elysia and not for the first time this evening. It matters not that Trevelyan has assured Lucius that St. Gervais is not a deviant. The dishonorable protégé should be nowhere near his daughter. Where is Raphael? With Cesare engaged with the governor, Raphael should be guarding Elysia.
Before Lucius can locate Raphael, Nickolas and Fletcher join Damien and Elysia. Lucius relaxes. This will serve. Later this evening, Nickolas and Fletcher will escort Damien and several of the other Bright Star guests on a tour of Crevasse City’s finest Indulgences. By dawn, Damien will believe Fletcher an ally and a conduit into Lucius’ plans for Bright Star.
Servitors materialize from the shadows to dispense small glasses of potent liquor and small sweets. The evening is not quite done. Settling Estella onto a well-cushioned stone bench, Lucius wanders through the garden, assuring his guests’ comfort. There are sufficient seats for all, the cushioned stone augmented by teak and wicker for the occasion. Pipes sound a sweet lament.
“A masque!” A delighted female voice whispers as the golden, oversized face of a beautiful woman appears from the shadows, golden hair adorned with a crown of flowers. The figure holding the mask is draped in pale gray, her stylized movements stark against the garden lights.
“In a time before,” a sonorous voice sounds by the central fountain. The storyteller.
His guests well tended, Lucius slips into his place next to Estella and clasps her hand.
“A lovely elf maid embraced a perilous journey to succor her clan in a time of famine.” Several more masques appear, all golden. The forms bow their heads forlornly as the maiden walks boldly into the gardens.
“The elf maid and the tree-troll?” Lucius whispers in Estella’s ear.
“Elysia wished it,” Estella whispers back. “It has virtue for this audience.”
“You own an ill sense of humor, my love,” Lucius teases.
“As do you.” Estella smiles. “Now hush. You disrupt the story.”
Lucius subsides as the narrator continues the tale.
“After two days’ travel, the elf maid crossed the boundary of her clan’s territory. At first it was as barren as her homeland. Within a day, it was fertile and abundant. Fields and orchards had been left to rot from lack of need. Tired, hungry, and sorrowing for her suffering clan, the elf maid rested in a lush orchard, easing her thirst and then her sore feet in a cool creek.
“ ‘It is not theft, for it is discarded,’ the elf maid justified as she collected the nearby windfall that had yet to rot. After several pieces of fruit, the elf maid’s hunger eased and with it, her despair. ‘Whoever owns this land has plenty they cannot use. I must find them and offer trade.’
“ ‘Thief! Brigand!’ A massive red and angry countenance charged the elf maid, sending her scampering behind a boulder. The maiden had trespassed on the territory of a tree-troll. With a mighty heave, the tree-toll tossed the boulder aside and towered over the cowering elf. ‘How dare you? This is my lord’s orchard! My lord’s fruit! My lord’s creek!’
“Terrified, the elf maid wept. ‘Please, Sir Troll, I meant no harm. I thought the orchard abandoned, the fruit unwanted.’
“ ‘It is not yours!’ the tree-troll roared. ‘Does my lord will it to rot, it rots!’
“ ‘No, Sir Troll, yes, Sir Troll.’ ” The gold mask crawls forward to salute the tree-troll’s feet. “ ‘My clan starves. We would trade fine silk and clever devices for what your lord leaves to rot.’ The elf maid pulled forth a length of shimmering cloth and shook it into the night. Its beauty was proof of the skill of the elf maid’s clan and the truth of her tale.
“Unmoved by the elf maid’s beauty or pleading, the tree-troll took her captive and set out on the long journey to his lord’s palace.”
Binding the maiden’s wrists, the tree-troll parades her around the gardens and among the guests while the storyteller continues. “The way was hard. Each night the tree-troll forced the exhausted and hungry elf maid to collect wood and water and prepare their meal. Each morning he roused her with his foot.”
As is the custom, the guests howl at the tree-troll for his cruelty and encourage the elf maid to be brave.
“After a sevenday of travel, the elf maid voiced not a single complaint or begged a moment of mercy. The tree-troll gathered the wood. After another sevenday of travel, his morning kick became a gentle nudge. After the third sevenday without complaint from the elf maid, the nudge became a sprinkle of water. The tree-troll ceased binding her hands. ‘You cannot find your way back and the next leagues are treacherous. If I command you to race, race until you drop.’
“Heart hammering in fear at each bend in the road, the elf maid stalwartly followed Sir Troll toward his lord and the hope of succor for her clan. A sudden rock fall was followed by the troll’s shouted ‘Race!’ As the elf maiden fled, the tree-troll’s battle roar chased her. When she finally dropped, the distant roars continued for a time and then ceased. For long moments the elf maid lay trembling, waiting for the thud of the troll’s feet. She heard naught but the now-familiar sounds of the wild.
“Innards knotted with fear, the elf maid crept back to the battle site. A dozen brigands were dead, several in bits. The tree-troll had fallen, a dire wound in his leg. With a sob of despair, the elf maid sacrificed the evidence of her clan’s worth.”
The bright length of silk shimmers in the night to the sighs of several of those watching. Wrapped around the tree-troll’s wound, it turns black. The tree-troll rises and walks.
“Two sevendays later, leaning heavily on a stick, the tree-troll entered the city with the elf maid, who was no longer lovely. There were leaves in her unwashed hair; her skin was blistered from the sun.” A bronze masque has replaced the gold, a nest of straw the silky wig.
“The bell was late and the palace closed. It was the palace of the elf king! The maiden was horrified to discover she had stolen from the elf king, the one who more than all others could have aided the elf maid’s clan. Desperate, she begged the tree-troll for reassurance. Unhappily, the tree-troll could not reassure the elf. He had never met the elf king. Finding a place in the crowd that waited for the coming day and the king’s judgment, the exhausted pair set their camp and listened.
“The young elf king was generous, charming, and just. His a
dvisors were distrusted, prone to bribes, and quick to distract the king from his duty with amusements.”
Drums roll and a torch flares.
“It was day, and the tree-troll presented his prisoner to the king. The handsome elf king was flattered by the loyalty of his previously unknown servant, who had dragged an orchard thief half the length of the kingdom for justice.
“The king’s advisors were irate. Theft must be treated severely. The elf maid’s tale of desperation was met with disdain. The blood-blackened cloth could have been of any common weave. The advisors wished an example of the elf maid.
“ ‘My king,’ the tree-troll spoke. ‘It was my tending she violated. I would have her tried by a month’s captivity with a cruel guard who will drive her hard by day and night, and treat her roughly with the dawn. If she accepts her lot without complaint, then I will accept her contrition.’
“The advisors smiled and murmured their agreement. Such harsh judgment would control the populace while they exploited the king. It seemed too harsh for the king. ‘My servant troll, it was but fallen fruit, surely a lesser penalty is sufficient?’
“At the king’s words, his advisors insisted on punishment.”
Lucius’ guests accept the traditional role of petitioners and insist on mercy.
“Confused and irate, the king stepped onto the lip of the central fountain. ‘Silence. The troll is the orchard guardian. It will be as he has sentenced.’ ”
With the king’s decree, his advisors circle the cowering elf maid, their narrow silver masques bobbing obsequiously. ‘The king’s will.’
“ ‘The king’s will is served, you maggots,’ the tree-troll snarled. ‘This elf executed her contrition over our month-long journey and succored my life at the risk of her clan.’
“Ripping the blackened silk from his healed leg, the Tree-troll shook it violently. Patches of black fell away, revealing the splendor beneath.
“Stricken by the troll’s revelation, the young king banished his advisors and embraced the elf maid, giving her a place at court and sending aid to her clan.”
To the cheers of the guests, the elf king raises the elf maid to his side on the lip of the fountain. The tree-troll bows in delighted service to his lord.
At the applause and laughter from the gathered elite, the masque players bow and exit, followed by the musicians and then the storyteller.
“Lady Estella, the fame of your entertainments does not near the luster of the reality.” Seigneur William bows before Estella. “A tale of a perilous journey come to success could not be more appropriate for Bright Star.”
“I am pleased you enjoyed the entertainment.” Estella smiles as she extends the hand not held by Lucius. “The old tale did seem appropriate to the current adventure. I hope we will have your company again before your time in Crevasse City completes.”
With a murmur of agreement, William moves away and Estella leans into Lucius to whisper, “William is as conventional as Horatio.”
“And with the same lack of humor,” Lucius agrees, certain Horatio missed the point of the fable as well.
15. Changing Seasons
There are six Vistrite Crevasse within the Twelve Systems: five within the Third System and one on Desperation in the Sixth System. Metricelli Prime in the Third System has the two largest, the Great Crevasse in the Plains of Dominion on the Central Continent and the Southern Crevasse named for the continent on which it is located. Metricelli Deuce holds three Crevasse: Ascendant, Juniper, and Wonder.
By tradition and stricture, the Vistrite seigneur is the conservator for both the Great Crevasse and the Southern Crevasse and is supported by two master associates who manage local operations. Similarly, the Metricelli Deuce Vistrite seigneur is supported by three master associates. Only the Desperation conservator is both conservator and master, supported by a refinery master and a Crevasse master located on Desperation. ~ excerpt from Vistrite Crevasse, Serengeti Archives.
Sevenday 33, Day 1
“We have her, Lilian, we have her. I hope it didn’t cost you very much, but we have her.” Rebecca is jogging from foot to foot in front of Lilian, Clarice, and Chrys as they finish a midday meal in the Fountain Café.
I might have died from their incompetence. No, do not voice that. It matters not whether the true fault belongs with Seigneur Ayesha or Ann Hunter. Ann is taking the blame. Swallowing her vegetable tart, Lilian voices, “It was a serious oversight. Two sevendays as protégé to Monsignor Horatio, and his name is lacking from the profiles? I was at the university with Damien St. Gervais. While I could not provide much of import, matters might have been different.”
Nodding grimly, Rebecca takes her seat and attacks her smoked fish and greens. With a sip of her green tea, Lilian continues her condemnation. “Monsignor and Seigneur Marco were displeased at the omission. It might have offered Serengeti advantage. As it transpired, Damien was well prepared to greet me. It was a difficult twenty minutes while I scrambled to avoid breach of privilege.”
After some discussion, milord and Trevelyan determined that Lilian’s encounter with Damien must be publicly acknowledged to give credence to Damien’s claim that Lilian is his informant. From Matahorn’s perspective, that Lilian lives is proof that the relationship Damien claims is undiscovered. The information that Fletcher will feed Damien is validation of Damien’s falsehoods. Lilian is certain—and milord agrees—Damien will never admit to another source for his information for fear that Monsignor Horatio will discover that Damien lied about his relationship with Lilian.
“In addition to being severed from Bright Star, Mistress Ann has been publicly reprimanded by Monsignor Sebastian for inadequate execution of responsibilities. He did not employ the words sloppy and lazy, but he may as well have.” Rebecca is unabashedly gloating.
Clarice’s grin could light a city block. “She is well out of his shadow now.”
“The self-opening box is in play,” concludes Chrys, quoting Lilian’s phrase.
“The problem corrects itself,” Rebecca and Clarice chorus as Lilian salutes her friends with her tea.
Unobserved by the quartet, Trevelyan surveys them as he crosses the lobby. With a soldier’s eye, he recognizes a post-battle victory party when he encounters one. It cannot be St. Gervais, it is too soon. What are they about?
»◊«
Absently fingering her conservator’s seal, Lilian nods politely to Mistress Marieth as she crosses the reception area. Entering milord’s conference chamber, Lilian finds Master Nickolas already seated. With a quick motion, Lilian sets the door to remain open while Nickolas rises to greet her in an unprecedented show of courtesy.
Lilian’s surprise becomes astonishment as Nickolas says, “Mistress Lilian, I deeply regret the insult offered you through my actions.”
Lilian could not be more shocked if the conservative warrior admitted to shrine desecration. I am the sum of my ancestors. What does he? To what does Nickolas refer? First Day? Martin’s assault?
At their first meeting, the handsome young warrior made his disdain for Lucius Mercio’s tainted apprentice cruelly apparent. In the six months since, Nickolas has adhered to the letter of stricture. Milord’s protégé has neither aided nor hindered Lilian. He has routinely refused to acknowledge her and held her to the strictest interpretation of apprentice custom. As painful as Lilian finds Nickolas’ disdain, his treatment has not violated warrior honor. It is beyond expectation that he would suddenly acknowledge his callousness.
This day. Summoning her discipline, Lilian carefully responds, “Master Nickolas, I do not take your meaning.”
Squirming slightly, Nickolas snaps, “The monitor record I provided Monsignor. It was very believable, and I wished to believe it. I could have done you much harm.”
It may well be the most graceless apology ever offered. Nickolas’ color is high, he will not meet her eyes, and he is fidgeting. This is not a formal attempt to avoid enmity. He is truly attempting to make amends.
S
urprised by the sincere effort, Lilian is confounded by Nickolas’ inability to perceive that his true offense lies in his casual cruelty and open disdain since she entered the Cartel. Lacking another response, Lilian calls on pragmatism. “Master Nickolas, were I privy to such persuasive evidence that you had betrayed Monsignor, I would have done as you did—presented it to Monsignor as speedily as I could manage. You owe no contrition in this matter. You executed your duty well.”
What Nickolas would have responded is not to be known. As he opens his mouth to speak, the rest of the Blooded Dagger Bright Star team enters, and the moment passes.
Sevenday 33, day 7
“Come, Maman, Katleen is waiting,” Lilian gently reminds her mother for the third time. When Helena is immersed in her murals, she can be difficult to deflect.
On this occasion, Lilian is insistent. They are to celebrate Katleen’s twelfth birth festival at the Art Museum Café. It is noteworthy that the reclusive Helena has agreed to accompany her daughters. She rarely leaves the house except to attend Sinead’s Shrine.
Carefully storing her pigments and brushes, Helena acknowledges, “Please, gather the parcel on the bed. It is Katleen’s gift.”
Obeying her mother’s command, Lilian goes to collect the gift and catches a clear view of the section of the Lilian panel where her mother has been working. Gone is the egg-stealing weasel of several months past. In its place, a mongoose is forming. “Maman, what happened to the weasel?”
“You drove her away, and rightly so. Nasty egg hunter. No place for her in your court. The mongoose will serve you much better. They are clever and more ferocious than they appear. They are excellent for eradicating snakes.” Removing her smock, Helena intones, “It is well to have a mongoose in the house.”
Egg hunter? Ann Hunter! Now that Lilian recalls, Maman’s weasel held a strong resemblance to the disliked associate. That was the connection Lilian failed to make the day Clarice was caned and Lilian could not recall where she had previously encountered Ann Hunter.