Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  Tiger has little interest in geography and less for history. At the moment, his interest is in the inner workings of a launderer’s. Leaving the fetid alley, Tiger stiffens his lips against the slightly less unpleasant odor of the harsh cleansers the poor can afford.

  “Master Tiger, sir.” The obsequious launderer rushes forward and bows from the waist, his small pig eyes never shifting from Tiger. The unlovely man has a bald crown with lank strands of white hair falling about his ears and neck. The head is attached to a short, paunchy body that would benefit from a more regular use of cleansers.

  “Rancid,” Tiger says, addressing the man whose birth named is lost and who earned ‘Rancid’ for reasons best forgotten. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, Master Tiger, it’s true. I have proof,” Rancid hastens to assure Tiger, not wishing the slit throat that will be Tiger’s reaction to a mistake. “I have their goods. I have them.”

  “Show me,” Tiger demands, anger sizzling.

  The stench of harsh cleansers yields to cold stone as Tiger and his bodyguards follow Rancid down two storeys into the hidden subterranean chamber. Here, at the outskirts of the Great Crevasse, the stone is heavy, solid. No other soundproofing is required.

  A man and a woman are chained to a wall. Nude, they exhibit the signs of a severe beating. So far, their genitals are unmarred.

  Good, Tiger thinks. Striding forward, he grips both rogue decadents dealers by the hair and yanks their heads back until they face the unforgiving rock ceiling. “You have betrayed me. Tell me who supplied you, and you die quickly.”

  “Tiger, please . . .” the woman whimpers. “For what we—”

  With a growl, Tiger smacks her head against the rock wall. “Don’t be a fool. Your sex hole is worth nothing here.”

  With a vicious shake that rattles both captives’ brains, Tiger releases them and steps away. “The Third System is mine!”

  Stalking across the chamber, Tiger approaches a glowing fire pit. “You allowed another to supply decadents you sold to my customers. You gave my profit to another!”

  “Please, Tiger,” the woman entreats. “We had no choice. She will slay our families.”

  “Your families are dead.” Tiger pulls a hot iron from the fire pit. “You will tell me and they will die. Your only choice is how much you suffer first.”

  24. Ravens and Warriors

  Signet license fees are paid to the Governing Council in consideration of the benefits of seigneur rank, among which include significant commerce advantages, the right to a household militia, and the potential for a Governing Council seat. By custom, all offspring of the cartouche preeminence are awarded gold signets in their twenty-fourth year upon completion of the warrior consecration ritual. The greater the number of gold signets a cartouche or cartel supports, the greater the total advantage for both cartouche and cartel.

  To establish a cartouche and acquire a platinum signet requires tenfold the license fees of a gold signet and the support of at least two other cartouches and one of the Five Warrior sects. Historically, a new cartouche is formed no more than once every score of years, while two are dissolved each century. In recent history, the notorious Grey Gyre Cartouche was eradicated with the destruction of its originator, Remus Gariten. ~ excerpt from The Signet, an academy primer.

  Sevenday 46, Day 1

  Review the proposal for upgrading the Desperation core haulers. Meet with Chrys to evaluate the filtration options for the Troy saltmarshes . . . Mentally reviewing milord’s eighth-bell instructions and her assignment queue, Lilian rapidly strides the corridor to her worksite. Attend Seigneur Marco’s review . . .

  At the edge of her worksite, Lilian halts abruptly, dumbfounded by the sight of Rebecca busily emptying the contents of a small crate into the worksite across from Lilian’s. The Grim Twins are nowhere in evidence.

  “Rebecca, what do you?” Lilian questions. This is Blooded Dagger territory. As a Cartel apprentice, Rebecca should not be accessing one of the worksites.

  “Lilian!” Rebecca startles, dropping a cosmetics pouch that bounces from the console to the carpet.

  Scrambling after the pouch, Rebecca rattles out, “I only have a few moments. Seigneur requires me. This is my worksite. Seigneur wishes it.”

  “Seigneur?” Lilian demands, unable to follow the disjointed stream. “Which seigneur?”

  With a sound of triumph, Rebecca pulls the pouch from beneath the worksite. Leaping to her feet, she turns to face Lilian, her blue eyes wide and a bit frantic. “Seigneur Trevelyan!”

  “Seigneur Trevelyan?” Lilian repeats, her confusion unabated. For nearly a sevenday, Cartouche and Cartel have spoken of nothing but milord’s elevation of his commoner spymaster to warrior.

  Lilian and her consortium are united in their support of the new-made warrior. The day gone, Lilian forwent her Seventh Day morning race to make a quiet pilgrimage to the River Quarter Adelaide Alcove. There she offered prayers that the First Warrior would accept Seigneur Trevelyan as one of Socraide’s consecrated, thereby confirming Trevelyan’s status as a warrior.

  Over the months, Lilian’s suspicion that Trevelyan was educated among the Universalists turned to certainty. Whether or not Trevelyan ever embraced the Universalist Way, Lilian cannot know. It matters not. Did he once, he does no longer. Nor would the Universalists allow one of the fallen to return. Of far more concern to Lilian is that the spymaster would not have been raised in the devotional practices and discipline of the First Warrior. Without years of practice, it requires remarkable skills to execute Socraide’s Discipline at a level acceptable for consecration. Although uncommon, it is not unheard of for the shrine to reject a supplicant for errors in the ritual.

  To Lilian’s surprise and delight, Katleen insisted on offering similar prayers at Sinead’s Shrine. Whether due to their prayers, Seigneur Trevelyan’s skill, or Keeper Virgil’s unwillingness to once again find the wrong side of Lucius Mercio’s will, Socraide’s Sunburst now adorns Seigneur Trevelyan’s right pectoral.

  Even as these thoughts flit through Lilian’s mind, she struggles for Rebecca’s meaning.

  “Apprentice!” Rebecca blurts out. “I am Seigneur Trevelyan’s apprentice. Only I don’t know . . . what if I can’t . . .”

  What? Wait. Rebecca continues to speak, but Lilian cannot hear. Her mind is overwhelmed by the bright pattern that begins to form . . . Desperation fraud . . . counterfeiters . . . saltmarshes . . . Damien’s head . . . Maman’s panels!

  “Lilian!” Rebecca’s strident tones shatter the pattern.

  Insight dissipates, leaving Lilian sitting in her worksite chair facing a frantic Rebecca. Not certain what to make of the bright pattern that is already fading, Lilian holds to the final image of Rebecca as a raven in Maman’s panels. With a small, serene smile, Lilian encourages, “Peace, Rebecca. It will be well. My mother is certain the Shades favor this.”

  »◊«

  The Shades favor this, Rebecca thinks as she hastens through the cartel. Lilian knows her mother’s deranged. And what was that thing with Lilian’s eyes going all pale? And even if the seer isn’t completely deranged, wouldn’t she reserve the Shades’ favor for Lilian? Although, now that Rebecca thinks on it, Lilian’s alive and Rebecca wouldn’t have taken that wager at the beginning of the year. And there’s Bright Star and Mercium. Rimon’s Saber, maybe the Shades do favor Lilian. And me?

  Clinging to that hopeful thought, Rebecca enters the small reception area that adjoins Seigneur Trevelyan’s new office. Since the cartel-rocking announcement of the spymaster’s elevation, Rebecca’s emotions have careened between optimism that Trevelyan would continue to recognize her and dejection that he would no longer require her.

  Master Straus’ terse announcement at eighth bell that her bond had passed to Seigneur Trevelyan had robbed Rebecca of speech. Being designated an apprentice to any seigneur was a miracle of advancement. Becoming apprentice to Blooded Dagger’s spymaster exceeded Rebecca’s most deeply held ambitions. I
t should have her trembling with exultation, not anxiety.

  What’s wrong with me? He’s going to enjoy you.

  Demon shit. Get wet, girl thing. Until that moment, Rebecca had not acknowledged the extent to which Trevelyan’s carnal abstinence was a balm to her spirit. Before she can do more than recognize the source of her distress, the chimes sound and Rebecca crosses the threshold.

  Entering the new seigneur’s office, Rebecca finds Trevelyan seated at the conference table. She is greeted with a rough gesture and a gruff “You will not stand before me when we are alone. Among others you must, but not when we are alone.”

  What? I don’t . . . At her seigneur’s grim frown, knees turned to jelly, Rebecca drops into the nearest chair, her anxiety over carnal matters abandoned in greater concern. He’s displeased. How’ve I erred so soon?

  “I will expect you at the eighth bell each morning to report status and receive instruction,” Trevelyan continues, frown unabated.

  “Yes, milord,” Rebecca offers weakly, confused by Seigneur Trevelyan’s open displeasure, which is at odds with the ritual instructions.

  “You will discuss your work only with me, and to the extent it is required, Monsignor Lucius. Others will be permitted as the assignments dictate.”

  “Yes, milord.” Rebecca’s voice gains confidence. Whatever’s got him stuck in the Crevasse, it’s not me.

  “Nothing that occurs in this chamber leaves this chamber.” Trevelyan’s voice softens slightly.

  “Yes, milord.” Rebecca offers a tentative smile in response to her seigneur’s relaxation.

  Her smile is returned by an increase in Trevelyan’s scowl and a clipped “Please nod. I realize you must use the honorific, but try to limit it as much as possible.”

  What ails him? Choking back a reflexive “Yes, milord,” once again riddled with anxiety, Rebecca manages to nod.

  Nodding his approval in return, Trevelyan interrogates, “Rebecca, you have performed a number of assignments for me over the past year. I would have your analysis of the import of those assignments, who might have been involved, and why.”

  Unconsciously, Rebecca wets her lips as she struggles to form a coherent thought through the riot of her emotions. Peace, Rebecca. The Shades favor this. Trusting Lilian has brought Rebecca this far. “Milord’s first request was to . . .”

  Rebecca’s dissertation confirms both her intellect and her discretion. It also confirms Lucius’ assessment. Rebecca knows far too much to be allowed to continue outside the control of Blooded Dagger.

  As with Chrys, as soon as Desperation Refinery was mentioned in media reports, Rebecca knew that she had been involved in the investigation of the counterfeiters. When Mercium became public knowledge, she was certain that the saltmarsh analysis must have supported the acquisition of property necessary to the endeavor. By far the most dangerous is her conclusion that the search through Monsignor Lucius records for data corruption was not an attempt to identify a system error. They must be searching for evidence of sabotage. That could only mean treachery within Serengeti and mayhap the Blooded Dagger.

  “Well done, Rebecca,” Trevelyan acknowledges. “You have demonstrated admirable discretion and adherence to stricture.”

  During her recitation, Rebecca’s anxiety eased as Seigneur Trevelyan relaxed into his familiar intent regard. At her seigneur’s accolade, she preens a bit, offering a beguiling glance from below lowered lashes. “It is my honor to serve Blooded Dagger and Serengeti.”

  Universe scatter it! Trevelyan knew it was inevitable. He likes it not. Rebecca’s attempted enticement must be addressed. Serengeti’s champion, renowned for his fearlessness in battle, hesitates. Stricture cannot be ignored. The girl must be told. Unable to discover a delicate means to introduce the topic, Trevelyan resorts to bluntness. “I will not lie with you, and you may permit no other.”

  At the gathering storm on Seigneur’s face, Rebecca abandons flirtatiousness as she mentally scrambles to discover her fault. Focused on the harshness of Trevelyan’s face and tone, Rebecca misses the meaning of her seigneur’s comment. Unable to control her trembling voice, Rebecca implores, “Milord, forgive me, I don’t take your meaning.”

  Demon shit! Trevelyan’s distaste for the subject is alarming the girl. Resigned to a longer discussion, Trevelyan begins again. “Rebecca, you are lovely, as you know. I do not wish you to think I do not find you so. I will not lie with you, for I will not lie with any woman who is not free to choose her own course in this matter. Do you understand?”

  Reflexively Rebecca nods. What? Wait. Not lie with me? Rebecca shakes her head in confusion.

  Pursuing his course, Trevelyan continues, “The strictures are clear. You may lie with no other until your bond proves. Two years.”

  At Rebecca’s dubious expression, Trevelyan inquires, “Have you a question?”

  Two years? Not lie with me? What? Totally at a loss, Rebecca carefully chooses her words. “Milord’s pardon, I don’t understand.”

  Cheeks warm with color, his face stiff, Trevelyan states, “Two years is a long time for a young woman to forgo a man’s touch. Truly, I cannot aid you in this. It is the way of it.”

  Stunned, Rebecca is bereft of words. She has not misheard. Trevelyan’s reassuring abstinence will continue. Almost as soon as hope forms, Rebecca denies it. It is not well. It’s the seigneur’s right. Resolutely, Rebecca insists, “I’ll gladly lie with milord.”

  “No, Rebecca,” Trevelyan refuses. “It will be as I have willed. You must endure it.”

  Relief flares through Rebecca at Trevelyan’s words, followed by a flicker of regret at the thought of Thorvald’s scarred face and blue eyes. The flash of regret is dismissed almost as soon as it arises. Seigneur Trevelyan offers her far more than any other, he’ll not be disgraced. “Milord, I won’t, that is I— I beg pardon, I voice ill.”

  Carefully correcting herself, her words as stiff as her shoulders, Rebecca continues, “I will not repay milord’s trust with dishonor and shame.”

  Repressing a smile at Rebecca’s stilted imitation of Lilian and glad to have the discussion behind him, Trevelyan forges on. “Rebecca, there is intrigue attached to your bond. With the security-privilege of Mercium and Bright Star given to me, in Monsignor Lucius’ view, my rank is equal to that of any Serengeti department seigneur.”

  Luck of the First! Rebecca barely manages to swallow a gasp. Department seigneur! Rebecca’s new status is equivalent to Chrys’ and Douglas’. The Shades favor this!

  Oblivious to Rebecca’s reaction, Trevelyan continues. “Within Blooded Dagger, those with the status to issue a seniority challenge will not. Monsignor disapproves of using apprentices in petty rank squabbles.” Noting Rebecca’s wide-eyed gaze, Trevelyan pauses, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, milord,” Rebecca manages. “There’s to be a rank challenge, but not from within the Cartouche.”

  Nodding approval, Trevelyan finishes, “Monsignor Elenora will not gainsay Monsignor Lucius in this. Monsignor Sebastian will vehemently disagree. We expect Seigneur Damocles to challenge me for your bond.”

  Damocles! Rebecca has not attended the Cartel security-privilege seigneur since the unfortunate incident with the desk. The notion of being subject to his severe control is repellant. “When? Is it certain?”

  “It will occur,” Trevelyan confirms with a hint of anticipation. “Think you Monsignor Sebastian will tolerate Monsignor Lucius establishing a new seigneur at department rank? A successful challenge will establish my rank as lower than Damocles’ and thwart Monsignor.”

  At Rebecca’s slight shiver, Trevelyan reassures her. “Do not worry, Rebecca, I will pound Damocles into the mat. Truly, other than Monsignor Lucius, there are none in Serengeti I cannot.”

  Once again, Thorvald’s image surfaces in Rebecca’s mind to be quickly repressed. It’s useless to wish Thorvald to challenge instead of Damocles.

  “Thorvald cannot defeat me,” Trevelyan huffs, readily interpreting Rebecca�
��s look of confusion. “He also has no desire to challenge me in a petty status squabble that will not retrieve Bright Star and Mercium for Damocles and Grey Spear.”

  Sebastian Mehta’s cruel visage flashes before Rebecca’s eyes. She holds no doubt that the Grey Spear monsignor wishes Trevelyan defeated.

  “Nor can Thorvald be compelled to challenge me.” Seigneur Trevelyan follows her unspoken thought. “Both Blooded Dagger and Iron Hammer would embrace him should he choose to change house.”

  Change house? Leave Grey Spear for another cartouche? It occurs among commoners, but Rebecca never imagined a warrior would, or could, do so. The notion is shocking and Rebecca blurts, “But then who would be the training and militia seigneur?

  “Thorvald would remain in his post,” Trevelyan replies with a slight smile. “He cannot be dismissed without Monsignor Lucius’ consent, and Monsignor would like nothing better than to pull training and militia into Blooded Dagger control.”

  What? Mind swirling, Rebecca attempts to interpret Trevelyan’s revelations. Monsignor Lucius despises Grey Spear. And Iron Hammer conspired against Blooded Dagger over the Bright Star shares. Or maybe it is only Monsignor Sebastian? Or maybe? Or? Crevasse swallow it. Think.

  Each cartouche maintains its own departments for key functions such as security-privilege, financials, media management, and those specific to the cartouche, such as the management of the Vistrite mines and refineries. The Cartel departments are responsible for those areas common to the Cartel. The more Cartel departments a cartouche controls, the greater its influence.

  When Grey Spear compelled Blooded Dagger to yield the financials and security-privilege departments in return for support in the pirate actions, Grey Spear seriously undermined Blooded Dagger control of Serengeti. Rebecca has no difficulty in understanding how Monsignor Lucius would relish claiming the traditionally Grey Spear department of training and militia. And Grey Spear will not risk losing either Seigneur Thorvald or the department by attempting to compel Seigneur Thorvald to challenge Trevelyan.