The Cartel

by E G Manetti

  Lucius is confounded. Again. It is not a state he experiences often or happily. It is becoming all too common with his apprentice. Not an alliance, trouble of some type. By his will, Lilian is out of it now. “Attend me at midday. You may go.”

  »◊«

  “Rimon condemn him!” Rebecca’s voice is an enraged hiss as she responds to Lilian’s tale of Master Martin’s spite.

  Lilian’s brief eighth bell review was as oversetting as the riser incident. Shaking with reaction, Lilian spent several minutes in a freshening closet gathering her composure. It served little purpose. Rebecca gave Lilian’s carefully blank expression one glance and demanded, “Yield it.”

  As Lilian began to deny, Rebecca insisted, “Do. Not. We’re your consortium. Tell us.”

  Lilian finds it disquieting that the other woman can read her so easily. It is also an odd comfort. With a mental shrug, Lilian briefly relayed Martin’s spite.

  More restrained than Rebecca, Chrys is no less dismayed. “That is a cruel trick. To keep monsignor waiting even a moment is a serious infraction. The penalty could be severe.”

  The severity of correction increases with repeated offense. Milord’s words haunt Lilian who responds, “And in the future I will make use of the stairs.”

  At her friends’ surprise, Lilian explains, “Not for all, only for the eighth bell attendance. Early morning and late evening are the only times I ever encounter an empty carriage. He cannot play that game with others present.”

  Chrys and Rebecca nod as Chrys comments, “That riser trick is a new one. We should warn the other apprentices. Master Martin has his own little court and some of them may wish to attempt it.”

  »◊«

  Lilian reclines on the scarlet couch, her skin cooling from milord’s attentions. Her skirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, her blouse and bra open. Milord has pulled her legs into his lap and is absently stroking the backs of her knees making it difficult to concentrate on the reviewer.

  Counterfeit Vistrite. For centuries technologists have attempted to create synthetic Vistrite. None have developed a compound able to survive more than a few sevendays. Vistrite sustains years.

  Devices built with the short-lived counterfeits have an unfortunate tendency to fail abruptly or catch fire. It is annoying and inconvenient in minor technology such as door and light controllers. It becomes dangerous and expensive when the counterfeits infect alarm, communications and data systems.

  Significant problems from counterfeit Vistrite have been on the rise for some months. Lilian scans the financial views until she locates what she seeks. There is a plateau in the demand for Vistrite.

  Vistrite is central to the Twelve Systems’ economy. Its demand can be predicted with tremendous accuracy based on Twelve System Productivity trends. Either the economy of the Twelve Systems is about to take a sudden, and alarming decline, or somewhere a great deal counterfeit Vistrite is entering the market.

  “What is your assessment, Lilian?” The stroking ceases as milord gives her legs a little shake.

  Gazing down the couch at milord, Lilian responds, “Milord, in recent months there has been a significant increase in counterfeit Vistrite. It is a large and sophisticated operation. It is no longer constrained to small, low function devices. It is infecting techno products that, until now, have been kept clean through strict manufacturing and merchandising protocols.”

  “Well done. That is the problem.” Milord’s accolade incites a flutter of pride within Lilian and emboldens her.

  “Milord, may I be permitted to know how the Cartel will respond?” Lilian inquires, fascinated. The Cartel will not treat the overt assault lightly.

  “The common protocol, find the counterfeiters and eliminate them,” Milord responds dismissively.

  Replete and indulgent from spent passion, Lucius decides to elaborate. “The scope of the problem suggests that it will be more expensive and more annoying than usual. Extensive investigative and Legalistics resources will be expended. It will also be necessary to expend considerable Media Management resources to convince the Twelve Systems that the overall supply is safe.”

  As he satisfies his apprentice’s curiosity, Lucius makes no attempt to hide his annoyance at this latest attack on his sovereignty of the Vistrite.

  “Milord, cannot the Governing Council be brought to assist with this?” Lilian offers. “It is not a simple infringement case any longer, is it? People died when that toxin-detecting system failed.”

  “An interesting notion,” milord comments thoughtfully. His gaze contains a combination of approval and speculation.

  Sevenday 3, Day 5

  The stairs of Associates Hall echo the sound of Lilian’s low heels as she slips into a seat in the farthest row. It lacks fifteen minutes to the bell. Pulling her slate, Lilian attempts to focus on commerce. She cannot.

  The first of the three Scoring Days for this year’s training period has the Cartel humming with excitement. In addition to the First Day associates, all who are at liberty will assemble in the hall. It is a matter of cartouche pride to have the highest scored trainee group. Each correctly completed assignment is added to the cartouche tally. The more rapidly completed, the higher the score. Lilian knows she has scored for Blooded Dagger.

  The hall fills quickly as the bell approaches. Chrys enters engaged in smiling conversation with two associates. He stiffly mounts the stairs as his companions find seats in the middle rows. At Chrys’ awkward movements, Lilian abandons her interest in the event to whisper, “Chrys, what has occurred? Is it well with you?”

  Easing into the seat next to her, Chrys’ smile broadens as he speaks, “Peace Lilian. It is but a strain. My training class is sparsely attended. It allows for intensive tutelage.”

  Sparsely attended? Lilian was denied a place in that martial arts class on the grounds it was oversubscribed. This Day. I am the sum of my ancestors. Swallowing her emotion, Lilian attempts a display of interest, “What was the focus?”

  Before Chrys can respond, Straus takes the podium.

  For decades Blooded Dagger and Grey Spear have contended for first place. This season the results are unambiguous. Blooded Dagger is first and well beyond the others. It will require exceptional circumstances for Grey Spear to achieve parity by the next scoring day.

  To the surprise of all, the Cartel associates hold parity with Iron Hammer. The smallest of the three cartouche, Iron Hammer has achieved first rank only once in the last decade. It routinely contends for second position. That is has been matched by the Cartel associates is unprecedented. Not for the first time, Lilian wonders how the exceptionally clever Rebecca holds such a lowly position.

  As the results are revealed, the Blooded Dagger and Cartel associates break into wild cheering. Nickolas is on his feet, stomping and cheering as Martin stalks from the chamber.

  Peering around Chrys, Rebecca offers Lilian an earsplitting grin.

  »◊«

  Chrys is seated in the Archives with a pretty, dark eyed woman. Mistress Irina, protégé and kinswoman to Seigneur Rachelle, has pale skin and glossy chestnut hair gathered in a soft chignon. Chrys’ assistance with the latest technologistics interrogative will be delayed. The protégé’s requirement takes precedence over Lilian’s.

  Lilian lacks not occupation. Master Straus must be pleased with her work. For each commerce assignment she completes, two appear. A period later Chrys breaks her concentration as he settles in next to her, “I beg pardon for the delay, Lilian. Mistress Irina yielded a period of instruction.”

  Lilian is puzzled and unafraid to display it to Chrys. Master Nickolas’ instruction occurs in the protégé’s office with Lilian standing at attention. She cannot imagine the proud warrior deigning to sit with her in the Archives. “How is it you are in the Archives? Will not Mistress Irina instruct you in her office?”

  “Of course,” Chrys confirms with a smile. “For this task the Archives were more efficient.”

  Almost half the tasks Lil
ian performs for Master Nickolas could be more readily instructed in the Archives. At her sense of dismay, Lilian mentally chides herself. Master Nickolas’ disdain has been openly expressed. I am the sum of my ancestors. Returning to her purpose, Lilian asks Chrys, “Do you retain sufficient time to assist me in this?”

  Nodding Chrys begins to tap his slate. He does not know why Lilian’s expression has shuttered. He knows that working an interrogative will restore her more readily than aught else.

  “My thanks, Chrys,” Lilian offers her appreciation to the sound of a slate chirp. It is echoed by Chrys’ slate. Midday approaches and they are both expected. There is a hint of anticipation in Chrys' aspect as he rises. They do not discuss it. After almost three sevendays, Lilian is certain that Chrys enjoys attending Seigneur Rachelle as much as Lilian enjoys attending milord.

  It is not only the physical release that sends Lilian eagerly to midday behind the scarlet door. For the brief moments in milord’s embrace Lilian is able to relax her constant vigilance against committing an unwitting transgression.

  Abandoning the Archives, the two apprentices hurry to the riser banks. They are not alone. The area around the risers is thronged as associates migrate toward their midday plans. Compelled to yield to the higher ranked for entry to the riser carriages, Lilian and Chrys wait as several fill and depart while the minutes tick by.

  As the latest carriage departs, Lilian and Chrys relax. There are but three other associates waiting. They need not rush for the stairs. A moment later, a group emerges from a nearby conference chamber. At its center are Protégés Irina and Nickolas. The new dozen once again crowd the area. Lilian and Chrys will need to retreat the stairwells or risk a late arrival for midday.

  As a carriage arrives, Irina calls, “Master Chrys, attend me.”

  A waiting associate yields to Irina’s rank and makes a place for Chrys. Nickolas looks through Lilian without a hint of recognition.

  Joining Mistress Irina in the riser carriage, Chrys watches Lilian disappear toward the stairwell. Well trained, adept at self-mastery, and ambitious, Chrys’ countenance displays naught but gratitude for Irina’s assistance. Inwardly he seethes at Nickolas’ disdain for Lilian.

  Lilian is breathless and sweating when she exits the stairwell and shrugs into her jacket. Even for someone as athletic as Lilian, a rapid thirty-storey climb is strenuous. As she reaches Mistress Marieth's worksite, Lilian slows her pace and evens her breathing.

  Expecting an elegantly raised eyebrow in reprimand for her disorderly pace, Lilian is startled and then gratified when the executive servitor greets her with a smile. “Well met, Mistress Lilian.

  Lilian ducks her head as she returns the courtesy, “Well met indeed, Mistress Marieth.”

  All of Blooded Dagger is pleased with its First Day associates. Lucius is as pleased as any. His longstanding wager with Grey Spear favored him this day. He is also pleased that Rachelle’s acquisition is proving exceptional. His scores do not equal Lilian’s. They are strong enough that Lilian’s are less noticeable.

  The woman crossing the scarlet threshold does not smile. Her eyes are bright. Color suffuses her cheeks. Lucius cannot wait to kiss her.

  Milord is pleased. A broad smile softens his harsh features as milord holds out his hand. Crossing to where milord is seated in a large armchair, Lilian places her hand in his. A quick tug and she is milord’s lap, milord’s mouth ravaging hers.

  Milord is hard within her. The low table is slick beneath Lilian’s back and buttocks. Milord pulls her ankles to his shoulders as he leans in, thrusting deeper. It feels wondrous. Lilian’s hands scramble, seeking purchase, leverage. Milord’s hands enclose hers, pulling her tight to him as he thrusts again. Her body throbbing, limbs tensing, Lilian tightens her grip, forcing her center onto milord’s pleasure giving shaft.

  “Yes Lilian. Yes. Hold tight. Rise to me,” milord’s huskily demands. Lilian obeys and the wild sensation increases until she hovers at the edge of release.

  “Now Lilian. Now,” milord urges as he surges into her. It is too much. With a startled cry, Lilian crosses the edge and falls into an abyss of overwhelming ecstasy.

  “…done well.” Milord’s voice drags Lilian from her release induced fog. She remains on the low table, half sprawled on milord. One of milord’s hands is gently kneading her buttock.

  “My thanks milord,” Lilian murmurs. She agrees that this most recent interlude was well done.

  “Grey Spear was due a defeat,” milord is discussing the scoring.

  Certain she is flushed with embarrassment, Lilian keeps her face pressed to milord’s chest. Reaching for decorum, Lilian responds, “It is an honor to serve Blooded Dagger.”

  At her words, milord turns Lilian onto her back and grasps her chin. Coolness has entered milord’s eyes. “Dare you mock?”

  Mock? Mock how? Oh no. Among the warriors it is common to refer to milord as simply ‘Blooded Dagger.’ Milord heard a double entendre and warrior familiarity in Lilian’s remark. Shocked at milord’s suggestion, Lilian stammers, “No milord, I beg milord’s pardon. I did not think.”

  For a long moment milord holds her gaze and then his expression softens. Releasing Lilian, milord rises from the table. “Correct your disarray. Mr. George will await you at sixth bell plus thirty.”

  »◊«

  “Well met Mr. George,” Lilian greets the driver. The after midday has been productive and free of insult. She knows it will not last. She will enjoy it while she may.

  “Well met indeed,” George returns with a courteous nod. Indicating the transport beyond the entrance, he adds, “Monsignor awaits.”

  Awaits? Composure shattered, Lilian considers the driver with shock. She cannot be late.

  “It lacks time to the bell,” George murmurs encouragingly as he ushers Lilian to the transport.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. I have not erred. Lilian gathers her courage as she settles into the transport.

  Milord glances up from his slate. He does not speak as his regard settles on her warrior’s queue. Hastily, Lilian pulls her hair free of the nape ties and finds her brush.

  Milord is silent as they move through the penthouse to the bedchamber, Lilian the required pace behind and to milord’s left. Without turning or speaking, milord walks to the windows and the expanse of the Great Crevasse. Lacking instruction, Lilian hesitates. She reaches the console table as milord absently abandons his jacket and slate satchel. Taking milord’s action as instruction, Lilian carefully settles her jacket and slate satchel on the console table.

  Several moments pass as milord continues to regard the Crevasse and the deepening twilight beyond the windows. Lilian is riven by uncertainty. Milord has not instructed her. Milord can have but one purpose. If she is mistaken, it is effrontery. If she fails milord’s will, it is defiance. Torn, Lilian decides that she prefers the penalty for effrontery to that of defiance. Within moments her skirt and blouse join her jacket.

  “Halt,” milord’s voice stills Lilian’s hands as they reach for the clasp of her bra.

  Milord is no longer regarding the Crevasse. He is focused on Lilian as he leisurely contemplates her form. The teal lace and silk barriers that conceal her sex and breasts bring the creamy skin into striking relief. Lilian can feel the flush creep up her breasts and into her cheeks.

  “Very nice,” milord hums as he moves toward Lilian. His tunic finds the floor behind him. His feet are bare. When did that happen?

  Milord’s hand gathers Lilian’s hair as he tilts her head. The motion pushes Lilian’s breasts into milord’s chest as milord’s mouth finds hers. Uncertain, off balance, Lilian rests her fingertips on milord’s waist. Milord responds by deepening his kiss and using his free hand to cup one mound of Lilian’s ass and pull her tight to his hips. Lost in the sensuous haze of milord’s attention, Lilian rubs against the swelling in milord’s groin.

  Milord releases Lilian from his kiss. His eyes are heavy with desire. Grasping Lilian by her buttocks, he p
ulls her up and hard against him. As her feet leave the floor, Lilian wraps her arms around milord’s neck and presses close. Milord grins as he walks Lilian toward the bed. With two strides milord mounts the dais and lays Lilian on the bed, her legs dangling.

  Looming over her, milord releases her bra and then strokes the deep rose nipples into hard peaks. Milord’s mouth replaces his hands as he suckles first one taut point and the other. The exquisite sensation sends stabbing desire through Lilian’s limbs and into her sex. Setting his teeth, milord nips sharply. Lilian’s core and thighs clench in eager reaction.

  “Milord,” escapes from lips parted in wonder.

  In response, milord releases the sensitive peak to trail nibbling caresses across Lilian’s ribs, down her belly and to the edge of the teal briefs. Gathering the delicate fabric, milord pulls it free of Lilian’s legs. Clasping her ankles, milord slides his hands to her knees. With a gentle push, he settles her feet on the bed, knees bent and wide. Placing his hands on her knees, milord nibbles his way up one thigh to her heated and swollen cleft.

  Lilian’s thighs loosen and widen, her knees fall open without pressure from milord. Eagerly she arches to the impending caress. Chuckling, milord shifts his hands to her thighs, holding her hips to the bed. “Hold Lilian. Do not writhe.”

  Moaning softly, Lilian nods her obedience as she presses her buttocks into the sheet. “Please milord, please.”

  In response to her entreaty, milord’s tongue strokes her opening and flicks inside. Again and again. The intense sensation ignites Lilian bringing her breath in gasps. She whimpers, “Milord, milord.”

  Milord’s teeth scrape her jewel. It is too much. Welding her hips to the bed, Lilian’s torso thrashes against her escalating arousal. “Please milord. I beg milord. Please.”

  There is a brief cessation of the wild onslaught. Gasping, her eyes opening, Lilian watches milord discard his trousers. He is hard, erect. Lilian’s splayed thighs tremble in invitation. Milord’s heavy gaze deepens. Catching her under one knee, Milord stretches over Lilian. The head of his shaft teases her opening, causing her to convulse.