by E G Manetti
In fact, Mercium and Bright Star are cartel endeavors, and yet they are Trevelyan’s to guard. Eyes wide with revelation, Rebecca marvels, “Monsignor Lucius has claimed a large portion of what could be Cartel security-privilege for Blooded Dagger.”
Monsignor Lucius has a good deal more control of the cartel than Rebecca realized.
“Well done, Rebecca,” Trevelyan smiles, pleased at her ability to work through the complex politics.
Glowing slightly with her seigneur’s praise, Rebecca continues to grapple with the implications of Trevelyan’s revelations. Certainly, Grey Spear cannot allow Monsignor Lucius to go unchallenged in this. She desperately wishes she could discuss these revelations with Lilian. It is not to be. Rebecca cannot speak of what occurs in this office.
“Rebecca.” Trevelyan’s voice slices through Rebecca’s ponderings. “Have you a question?”
Question? What? The challenge.
The rules of a rank challenge are yield or combat. Damocles will insist he outranks Trevelyan and demand Rebecca’s bond. Rebecca knows that Monsignor Lucius will refuse Damocles’ claim. To overrule Blooded Dagger, Iron Hammer would have to agree with Grey Spear.
That’s not going to happen. Rebecca swallows a snort. Everyone knows that thanks to Bright Star and Mercium, Iron Hammer is firmly with Blooded Dagger. Just look at Fletcher and Nickolas. They’re so tight you’d think them kin.
Rimon’s Mercy. The only way Damocles gets her bond is through combat. Wide-eyed, Rebecca murmurs, “It will be a Cartel event,” and then quickly adds, “milord.”
“A brief Cartel event.” Trevelyan smiles. “I will drop Damocles with three blows.”
Reassured, Rebecca relaxes once again. For a moment, Trevelyan considers dismissing her. It can wait another day. We are formed from stellar glitter. And the stellar is ever moving. Trevelyan accepted this duty when he accepted the signet. He must close this circle and allow a new one to form.
“There is one more matter, Rebecca.” Color heightened once again, Trevelyan stiffly pushes a small box across the table. “Take these. Appearances must be preserved.”
Opening the small box, Rebecca discovers a set of sea-blue eargems. Aquamarines set in gold.
“My thanks, milord” is her awed, whispered response.
Smiling for the first time during the entire interview, Trevelyan remarks, “They complement your eyes. You may leave me, girl.”
Sevenday 46, Day 3
Fletcher Detrenti . . . At the mention of Fletcher’s name, Lilian hesitates before the large reviewer in the riser bay at the training level. The media stream is forecasting the odds on Fletcher’s upcoming semi-final moon trial.
“The crowded field for this year’s Moon Race semi-final includes the intrepid Fletcher Detrenti of Iron Hammer and the Serengeti Group. Only in his second season, the relative newcomer has advanced well, displaying the daring and courage that were evidenced in his Warriors’ Festival rescue of a little girl. Daring and courage will not overcome the greater experience of his rivals in the semi-final, however. Expected to place high in the bottom half of the field, the odds managers offer only one in three that Master Fletcher places in the top half of the field and one in seven that he secures a place in the final trial. Favored by the odds managers are . . .”
“What think you, Mistress Lilian?” At the sound of Master Nickolas’ voice, Lilian turns from the reviewer.
“Well met, Master Nickolas. In answer to your query, I believe the commentators underestimate Master Fletcher. They are convinced he will finish in the bottom half of the field for the semi-finals.”
“I concur. Fletcher may not win a place in the final trial, but he should certainly finish in the top half of the field,” Nickolas says pleasantly.
The period is changing and the training chambers are emptying as classes and matches turnover. A small crowd has formed around Nickolas and Lilian as they examine the media stream on the upcoming Moon Race semi-final trials. It is a highly popular sport, and that Serengeti fields a competitor increases the interest.
Lilian does not know why Nickolas no longer disdains her. In fact, far from it, as his rescue during the festival demonstrated. Knowing Nickolas’ friendship for Fletcher, Lilian risks offering an opinion that has not been sought. “I beg pardon, Master Nickolas, but I believe that now it is you who underestimates Master Fletcher. He is quite likely to reach the final trial.”
“As though a common doxy would know aught of an elite sport.” The contemptuous comment from behind Lilian is uttered in the unmistakable tones of Sebastian Mehta’s protégé, Martin.
Since his return from temporary exile on Sinead’s World, Lilian has successfully avoided Martin. Though Lilian knew it was inevitable that he would return to tormenting her, she likes it not. Summoning her discipline, Lilian ignores the Grey Spear protégé and keeps her attention on Nickolas.
Turning on the Grey Spear protégé, Nickolas responds to the insult. “I would accept Mistress Lilian’s opinion on any topic over yours, Martin. Shall we wager on it? I have a thousand that says Master Fletcher advances to the finals.”
At Nickolas’ words, the small crowd falls silent. It is a steep wager, but not unheard of within protégé ranks. What is unheard of is Master Nickolas extending his shadow to shelter Monsignor Lucius’ doxy. Should Martin fail to accept the wager, his status will be diminished among his peers.
“A thousand then,” Martin agrees, his smirk reflecting that the odds managers do not favor Fletcher. Calling into the crowd, Martin singles out one of his favorites, Shoshanna Revetali, one of those who ‘danced’ with Clarice some months gone. “Shoshanna, will you administer the wager?”
Master Simon, who joined the group during the wagering, turns to Lilian. “Mistress Lilian, how certain are you that Master Fletcher will win a place in the final trial?”
“Certainty in racing is impossible,” Lilian demurs, “but I estimate the likelihood Master Fletcher will win a place in the final trial to be seventy-nine point six seven four.” The statement is concise and exact, as are all Lilian’s responses to a request for information from a superior in rank. As she finishes speaking, another riser carriage arrives.
“Please excuse me, Master Simon, I am expected elsewhere.” As she formally excuses herself, Lilian fails to note the excitement on the face of the senior technologist who is already mentally placing his wagers.
»◊«
“He’s done it. Seigneur Damocles has challenged Seigneur Trevelyan,” Rebecca announces as she joins Chrys and Lilian in the Archives.
Now that Mercium is common knowledge, Chrys is no longer confined to the lab. For some of Lilian’s and Chrys’ activities, they may make use of the greater space and faster response time available in the Archives. While tight security-privilege continues to apply to all matters of Mercium, the open space that forms around Lilian provides sufficient additional privacy.
Blanking the reviewer, Chrys replies, “Monsignor Sebastian has little care for his seigneur that he would set this in motion.”
Lilian nods her agreement that her trainer will defeat Damocles with little difficulty. To Rebecca, Lilian remarks, “It is not completely unexpected. You knew that if there was a challenge, it would come from that quarter.”
Shuttering her slate and shrugging away the soreness from Seigneur Trevelyan’s recent training, Lilian considers Damocles’ impending defeat and adds, “Although, Chrys is undoubtedly correct that Seigneur Damocles did not challenge from his own interest. When is the bout?”
“Tomorrow, midday,” Rebecca says softly. Lovely in mufti, Rebecca is riveting in the severe black of Blooded Dagger. It provides a stark frame for the perfection of her face and skin, and a dramatic foil to her platinum-blonde hair. The new Raven caused several small foot traffic jams when strolling through the lobby this day.
Lilian was impressed and not averse to admitting it when she found Rebecca garbed as a Raven when they met at their worksites after eighth-bell review.
With a shrug and a light grin, Rebecca explained, “I ordered three while emptying my old worksite on First Day. I paid extra to have this one delivered. I’ll collect the other two on Seventh Day.”
“I am certain Seigneur would have allowed a sevenday’s grace for a change of garb,” Lilian replied, mentally wincing at the notion of the delivery fee that would have accompanied the suit.
Grin disappearing, shoulders squaring, Rebecca declared, “I am a Raven.”
Now Rebecca nods at Lilian and Chrys. “I know Grey Spear couldn’t let Blooded Dagger’s collection of the Bright Star and Mercium security-privilege go unanswered or the elevation of seigneur to Cartel department head level.”
“True enough,” Lilian concurs. “Although how Damocles suffering defeat suffices as a challenge, I do not comprehend. Certainly there are others within Grey Spear with a higher probability of defeating Seigneur Trevelyan. Seigneur Thorvald is the most likely.”
With a shrug, Rebecca replies, “I know it’s not that Seigneur Damocles favors me. Mayhap he’s the most able of those Monsignor Sebastian can compel.”
“Compel?” Chrys interjects in surprise. “Would not the Grey Spear seigneurs be eager to defend cartouche honor?”
Rebecca has said too much. It is not common knowledge that Thorvald considers this a petty intrigue. Nor is Rebecca wounded that Thorvald does not think her bond worth a challenge. Did the training and militia seigneur wish Rebecca’s bond, he could have acquired it months gone. Quickly, Rebecca shifts the topic, “Well, the wagering already favors Seigneur Trevelyan. Only Grey Spear offers even odds that Seigneur Damocles will be the victor. All others offer three to one against Seigneur Damocles.”
“Grey Spear offers even odds?” Lilian interjects in surprise. Why would Grey Spear wish to incur such losses? Even for cartouche honor, such ill-considered wagers are unusual. Grey Spear will pay one for one if Trevelyan succeeds; everyone else will only pay one against three. Every bet Grey Spear takes will cost Grey Spear three times what it should in the event of Trevelyan’s victory. The attractive odds will draw all the wagers favoring Trevelyan to Grey Spear, increasing their losses when Damocles fails. If it were not the Cartel, Lilian would suspect a corrupt wager pool.
“What of it?” Rebecca returns, her eyes narrowing at Lilian’s odd reaction. “Grey Spear must back their champion. Mustn’t they?”
It is the Cartel! Lilian mentally chides herself. There is no possible means by which Grey Spear could cheat on a challenge. She has allowed her poverty to overwhelm her intellect. Among warriors the funds would be naught compared to cartouche pride.
“Yes, of course,” Lilian hastens to agree. Truly there can be no other explanation.
“Well, at least you will view the match, Rebecca,” Chrys observes, pushing back in his seat and stretching his long legs. “Lilian and I will be forced to wait outside the training chambers with others of low rank to discover who exits with you. Not that there is any doubt Seigneur Trevelyan will prevail.”
“True enough,” Rebecca responds, stoutly dismissing her tingle of disquiet at Lilian’s strange reaction to the wagering odds. She is yet reeling from the sudden shift in fortune that has her apprenticed to Seigneur Trevelyan. The idea of having her bond passed to Damocles is abhorrent. Her seigneur is the Serengeti champion, Rebecca sternly reminds herself. She will remain a Raven. “Which reminds me, I spoke with Master Vicenza. He will accept the guidance of the new cartel apprentices now that I am a Raven. Chrys, if you please, I’ll take on the guidance of the new Ravens. Seigneur Trevelyan will wish an assessment.”
Lilian’s skill consortium has decided that Serengeti would be well served if the apprentices who join Serengeti with the new year are offered assistance in avoiding some of the trials Lilian and her friends faced in their first year with Serengeti. Rebecca was tasked with guidance for the Cartel apprentices, but with her change of house, another needed to be found.
Soon to begin his third year as a Cartel apprentice, Vicenza anticipates an Archives position when his bond proves. Douglas accepted the task for Grey Spear. They have yet to identify an experienced apprentice within Iron Hammer to accept the task.
»◊«
“There they are,” Lilian says softly, inclining her head toward the secluded corner of the lightly populated Archives where Chrys is seated with Tabitha.
“No need to whisper,” Rebecca says. “Seventh bell’s a half period gone. None but apprentices and junior associates populate the Archives at this bell.”
When they reach the seated pair, both women wait quietly while Chrys completes his instruction. Curious, Lilian peers over Chrys’ shoulder at Tabitha’s current assignment. It is as Lilian thought; the exercise is well beyond entry level. Seigneur Trevelyan and Associate Master Straus have elevated the difficulty of Tabitha’s trial.
Taking control of the Archives reviewer, Tabitha says, “My thanks, Master Chrys. I will have no difficulty completing this before dark of night.”
“Wafers, Mistress Tabitha?” Lilian interjects, concerned that the continuing trial may be pushing the desperate apprentice to dangerous excess.
Turning, Tabitha shakes her head in denial. “Not this night. It has been a light day. All within Grey Spear are consumed by Seigneur Damocles’ challenge.”
“A challenge that will fail,” Rebecca insists, both from loyalty to Trevelyan and her need that it be so.
“For your sake, Mistress Rebecca, I pray the Shades favor your seigneur.” Tabitha’s expression is suddenly grim.
“Do you doubt the Serengeti champion?” Chrys puts in with surprise. Seigneur Trevelyan’s abilities are well recognized. It is a significant mark of Monsignor Lucius’ favor that the spymaster trains Lilian.
“No,” Tabitha hesitates and then continues, “It is only that Seigneur Damocles can be c-crafty.”
Crafty? Lilian thinks, confused. It is to be expected of a spy. Why—?
“Jonathan’s Justice,” Chrys hisses in a shocked whisper as Rebecca pales.
Something is ill. Before Lilian can speak, Tabitha adds, “And he is not pleased that the Cartel ridiculed the desk incident.”
Rebecca drops abruptly into a chair.
The desk incident? Lilian stumbles briefly and recalls that is the Cartel term for what she thinks of as ‘the belting.’ Although Rebecca voiced not a word, the tale is well known within Serengeti. Nor is Lilian surprised that Damocles holds a grudge. She had not considered that aspect of Damocles’ challenge. Nonetheless, Lilian remains confused. “I do not understand. It was unfortunate, but it is a season gone. Gossip has moved onto other topics. I—”
“Lilian,” Chrys interrupts with quiet intensity. “Did you not hear crafty?”
“Yes, Chrys, of course,” Lilian begins and is halted by Chrys’ expression. She is missing something. Some nuance of custom. If so, it should not be discussed within the monitors.
Gripping her satchel strap, Lilian squares her shoulders and responds as befits milord’s conservator. “It matters not. Blooded Dagger will prevail over Grey Spear in this. Chrys, if you have finished, will you walk with Rebecca and me to the transport stop?”
»◊«
“Cruel, Lilian,” Rebecca shudders as they walk toward the transport stop. “Tabitha meant cruel.”
“Crafty could be considered an accolade,” Lilian nods. “Cruel is defamation. She dared not.”
“Malign a seigneur?” Chrys echoes. “A Grey Spear seigneur and one of Monsignor Sebastian’s favorites?” With a small snort, Chrys responds to his own question. “Not unless she would enjoy a caning.”
“But how did you know?” Lilian persists.
Glancing at Rebecca, strolling tight lipped and pale, Chrys knows that on this occasion, ‘educating Lilian’ falls to him. “It was the hesitation in Tabitha’s speech. She hit the ‘c’ hard and held for a moment. It was a signal that her true word could not be spoken.”
“Crass, conceited, critical,” Lilian recites the alternative wor
ds.
“Which of those would be significant enough to an apprentice that Tabitha would attempt to give warning?” Chrys interrupts impatiently. Lilian is not customarily such a lackwit.
“Enough, Chrys,” Lilian returns, with a glance at the silent and withdrawn Rebecca. Lilian had been attempting to mitigate the blonde’s fear.
“Lilian, you needn’t bother.” Rebecca correctly interprets the interchange between Lilian and Chrys. Hugging herself, the blonde continues, “I suspected it before . . . that Seigneur Damocles shares Monsignor Sebastian’s proclivities. It’s only . . .”
“As Seigneur Trevelyan shares Monsignor Lucius’,” Lilian inserts.
Stopping, Rebecca turns to Lilian, confusion displacing what was mounting horror. “What say you?”
Repressing recall of the Grey Spear wagering and the implications of a corrupt pool, Lilian forces certainty into her tone. “Your seigneur has risen from a commoner to a signet warrior and department head. This past Seventh Day, Seigneur Trevelyan was consecrated to Socraide Omsted. Without a doubt, the seigneur claims the Luck of the First.”
“Lilian you don’t believe in the Luck of the First,” Rebecca snaps. “You believe that capability, hard work, and determination . . .”
Rebecca’s voice trails away as she hears her own words and recognizes the satisfied glint in Lilian’s eyes, “. . . and Seigneur has all those attributes and he is the Cartel champion.”
Squaring her shoulders, Rebecca clasps her satchel strap and starts to move again as she exclaims, “He will pound Seigneur Damocles into the mat.”
“Yes, he will,” Lilian and Chrys declare almost simultaneously.