The Cartel

by E G Manetti

  “You began the Cartel call on Scoring Day,” Lilian muses. “It was a significant Grey Spear defeat and emphasized Master Martin’s failure. He may be seeking retribution.”

  “Then he will not cease,” Rebecca despairs. Shaking with distress Rebecca adds, “It's getting so I can't concentrate.”

  “It does make one appreciate the glass walled offices for the unranked,” offers Lilian, pleased to startle a shaky laugh from her friend. “Nonetheless, this is troublesome. My only thought would be to somehow trap him with a reliable witness to validate your complaint. I cannot quite imagine how it might be accomplished.”

  At the thought of a plan, any plan, Rebecca’s tension eases and her expression becomes speculative. “Keep trying and while you're at it, try to imagine a means to have Master Trevelyan preempt me again. That would serve to pass my assignment with Master Martin to another associate, with the Luck of the First, a male associate.”

  Sevenday 15, Day 6

  It is raining again, the sudden deluge hammering Lucius’ offices windows with the rapid staccato of small drums beating. For the next few sevendays the rains will be brief and intermittent. By the Second Settlement Day, they will have settled into a predictable pattern. The storms will form in the south during the early part of the day and burst across the plains after midday and into the evening. At the height of the season, they may continue as late as dark of night before dissipating.

  Entering at midday, Lilian locates milord sprawled on the scarlet leather couch. She drops her slate bag and jacket on the table as she follows the beckoning hand to milord. As Lilian nears, milord reaches out a hand to pull her close. The sharp movement startles a small sound of discomfort from her as strained muscles are further stressed.

  A frown darkens milord’s countenance as he demands, “Are you injured?”

  Rolling sore shoulder-blades, Lilian shakes her head in denial. “No milord, sore only. It is well for me that the Serengeti training chambers are well padded. Master Trevelyan throws hard.”

  “You have had your match with Trevelyan.” Turning Lilian in his lap, Lucius begins to knead her sore neck and shoulders, “How went the bout?”

  Stretching into the kneading fingers, Lilian responds, “Not well, milord. I managed a scant twenty-five minutes before Master Trevelyan bounced me off a wall. I did mark him thrice, but only once that would have caused true injury. Master Trevelyan is satisfied, though. With milord’s permission, Master Trevelyan would match me once a sevenday.”

  “Twenty-five minutes with Trevelyan is an accomplishment. The Serengeti record is forty-five.” Lucius' hands are now working Lilian’s shoulder-blades as she leans forward to offer greater access.

  “Truly, milord? Who managed such a feat?” There is wonder in Lilian’s voice. She was less than half a period with the spymaster and was tried harder than several bells under her mother's tutelage. Trevelyan's opponent would be formidable to manage such a bout.

  Milord's reply holds justifiable smugness, “I did.”

  The smugness quickly yields to curiosity as milord demands, “Tell me about the marking. With what did you mark Trevelyan?”

  “A chalk thorn,” Lilian responds.

  At a light squeeze from milord, Lilian expands, “It is the way of Adelaide’s Discipline. It uses endurance and the thorn to wear down one’s opponent until he can be toppled and dispatched. The mastery trial requires two bells without a fall and marks that could cause at least three debilitating wounds. I am clearly nowhere near mastery.”

  The disconsolate note in Lilian's voice brings a brief smile to Lucius. “I would be surprised indeed if any of the Adelaide Discipline Masters could last two bells with Trevelyan. To the best of my knowledge, seventy-four minutes is the record.”

  Lucius’ hands have shifted their purpose and are now busily exploring other parts of Lilian as he says, “Arrange your regular bout with Master Trevelyan. I believe it will do you both good.”

  With that, Lucius turns his attention to his own desires and immediate good.

  Exiting milord’s office, Lilian determines to stop by Rebecca’s worksite. She has not spoken with her friend since the Archives conversation at the beginning of the sevenday. Rounding the corner before Rebecca’s worksite Lilian sees the object of her quest approaching. Her friend displays a swollen lip daubed with white healer's sealant.

  “That crevasse-wallower, how dare he?” There is no question in Lilian’s mind as to the source of the injury.

  In response to Lilian’s question, Rebecca shakes her head and folds into her worksite chair.

  Leaning back against the worksite console, Lilian asks, “What occurred?”

  “I employed those moves you showed me,” Rebecca's responds with pride. Her tone turns dry as she reports, “He was not pleased and I was not quick enough to dodge his displeasure.”

  Lilian is surprised that the lovely blonde is not nearly as distressed as Lilian would expect. Lilian, however, feels distinct anger. “We must discover a means to put a stop to this. Mayhap Chrys or one of the more experienced apprentices will have an idea.”

  As Lilian speaks Rebecca shakes her head in denial. Rebecca starts to smile, but stops to put a hand to her swollen lip.

  “It is not necessary Lilian,” Rebecca assures. “The matter is well in hand.”

  “How say you?” It is suddenly obvious to Lilian that she lacks vital information.

  “I was scheduled for a midday training match with Seigneur Thorvald. The seigneur did not accept my explanation of a training accident as the seigneur had not caused it.” Grim anticipation spreads across Rebecca’s face, “The seigneur invited Master Martin to a training bout at sixth bell. Would you care to join me and observe?”

  Lilian’s countenance now mirrors her friend’s, “I would very much enjoy that. Shall we include Chrys?”

  Thorvald’s invitation to a private training exercise is a high honor. Forty minutes later the honored Master Martin Argon has two cracked ribs, a split lip, a bloody nose, too many bruises to count and battered sack that generates sickening pain. In Thorvald’s assessment, it will be ten days before the spoiled warrior is able to return to the training chambers. Helping the damaged man to his feet, Thorvald speaks softly and directly into one ear, face away from the monitors, “Mistreat Mistress Rebecca again, or permit your friends to do so, and you will never mount another woman.”

  The damage is extensive, but not permanent. Does Martin complain, he admits to limited warrior skills. To accuse Thorvald of anything more questionable than overestimating Martin’s abilities would require the protégé to explain motive.

  Mingling with the observers are three apprentices wearing identical expressions of delight.

  Chapter 19: Caning and Assault

  The Vistrite Mines of the Twelve Systems are a specialized environment holding miles of tunnels and chambers that burrow beneath the planet’s surface. Miners reside in the chambers for sevendays at a time to maximize the commissions on the volume mined since the start of the segment. The longer a miner continues mining, the higher the payment for incremental core.

  With thousands of miners living underground for extended periods, food and sanitation must be provided. Miles beneath the surface, the most efficient technology in the universe cannot protect the stores from the depredation of rodents. The crevasse-crawlers of the Third System have had millennia to adapt to the mines. The size of small terriers, the rodents are fast, vicious and smart. While not pack hunters, they will swarm. They may well be the reason so few bodies are found in the crevasse relative to those suspected of having fallen in.

  Among those who fall into the crevasse are those who have crawled into hide. Some never crawl out. It is no easy matter to dwell in the crevasse. The trade in decadents is persistent but not extensive. Miners’ successful enough to afford the illegal substances rarely indulge. Unsuccessful miners use the chemicals in depleted cutter canisters to find oblivion. These crevasse-wallowers mine only enough V
istrite to justify a place in the crevasse and buy minimal food allotments. Deeply addicted, they can deteriorate to the point where they cannot mine and take up the practices of the crevasse-crawlers, subsisting on stolen food and garbage. Crevasse-wallowers can, if they are careless enough or impaired enough, fall prey to the swarming crevasse-crawlers.

  Sevenday 16, Day 3

  Lilian is entering the Archives when her slate gives off the unique chime associated with a gathering alert. She does not have long to wonder at the cause. Rebecca and Chrys are within the Archives, seated in a far corner and speaking in hushed tones. They are not alone. Throughout the cavernous chambers, knots of associates are huddled together, whispering.

  Joining her friends Lilian inquires, “What has occurred?”

  “Have you seen the alert for fifth bell?” At Lilian’s nod, Rebecca continues, “Clarice is to be caned.”

  For a moment shock silences Lilian. Finally, she chokes a horrified, “Why? What has she done?”

  “Nothing except embarrass that crevasse-crawler, Mistress Ann Hunter.” The venom in Rebecca’s voice could dissolve Vistrite.

  “Rebecca, be calm. There must be more to this. Master Straus would not cane for such a cause.” Leaning closer to Rebecca and at the edge of stricture, Chrys uses the gentle steadiness of his voice to calm the woman. “Tell us what facts you know of this matter.”

  As Rebecca visibly collects herself, Chrys eases back and exchanges a concerned glance with Lilian. Clarice is the other Cartel apprentice from their First Day.

  “Know you that Clarice and Mistress Ann are both in Legalistics, although Clarice is a Cartel apprentice and Mistress Ann a Grey Spear associate?” Rebecca begins.

  Lilian nods with Chrys, though she had not known until that moment.

  “Clarice is quite talented and Mistress Ann isn’t and she’s lazy. Mistress Ann attaches Clarice to her projects to do the work and take the blame for any mistakes. Due to Mistress Ann’s maneuvering, it appears that Clarice accomplishes little while making a great many errors. In the past few sevendays Clarice has become concerned that her bond will be sold.”

  Cartel standards are unforgiving. Associates who do not produce are routinely dismissed. Underperforming apprentices are considered a failed investment, their bonds transferred to an enterprise with less exacting standards. In addition to the commercial disgrace, the bonded inevitably faces an increase in the bond period to cover the cost of the bond transfer. It is a fate all bonded fear. Chrys and Lilian have no difficulty imagining the desperation of the Legalistics apprentice.

  “Last sevenday,” Rebecca continues the tale, “Clarice found opportunity to demonstrate to Seigneur Herman that it was her work that was being commended. Mistress Ann couldn’t put together a single sentence on the topic. As you can imagine, Mistress Ann was embarrassed and enraged.”

  “Not embarrassed and enraged, alone,” interrupts Chrys. “Clarice did not simply demonstrate competence. She disgraced Mistress Ann in the presence of Serengeti's Legalistics Seigneur. Seigneur Herman owns a strong reputation and is of the Iron Hammer cartouche. Such an occurrence may lead him to have the work and competence of both associates validated by someone not of Grey Spear.”

  “Which was likely Clarice’s intent, and well for her if so,” adds Lilian. “Setting up cause for impartial review was her only hope with her bond imperiled. How did all this lead to caning?”

  Taking a breath, Rebecca continues her explanation. “While much of Clarice’s work has been on Serengeti matters, some has been bound by Grey Spear privilege. Some of that material, while not sensitive, found its way into the general archives.

  “Mistress Ann maintains that Clarice broke privilege. Clarice denies it," Rebecca explains. "Monsignor Sebastian demands the infraction be dealt with severely.”

  Chrys and Lilian nod their understanding. As an apprentice, Clarice’s testimony has no legal merit. With no other evidence, Mistress Ann’s testimony is accepted as the only evidence.

  Eyes narrowing, Lilian challenges, “How could Ann violate privilege and it display under Clarice’s identifier?”

  “Recall, I mentioned the data’s not sensitive?” Rebecca replies. “It’s naught but meeting times and attendance information, data that’s routinely released from privilege for future reference. Mistress Ann informed Clarice that the data was released from privilege and to enter it. Clarice had no reason to question the instruction, it’s common enough. That was yesterday. Today Mistress Ann reported Clarice to Monsignor Sebastian for the privilege violation, denying she gave such instructions.”

  “Sly, very sly,” is Chrys’ comment.

  Were it proven that Ann authorized the actions, she could claim imperfect recall. Ann would face naught but a rebuke. As it is, with Clarice's value already in question, corporal punishment was the inevitable outcome. It was a clever and effective play. Chrys voices none of this. The realities are well known to all three.

  “Lilian, can’t you go to Monsignor Lucius with this?” Rebecca entreats.

  Disconcerted by Rebecca’s unexpected request, Lilian blinks a few times before responding. “And request what? That monsignor overturns Master Straus’ judgment? Enter into a quarrel with Monsignor Sebastian over an apprentice’s correction?”

  “So there’s naught to be done,” concludes Rebecca morosely, her glum expression echoed by her two companions.

  In the end, the caning is more dreadful than Lilian anticipated. Once again seated in the back row of the Associates Hall, Lilian watches as the Associate Master walks to the podium.

  Rebecca points out Mistress Ann Hunter seated in the row immediately behind the protégés. Lilian recognizes her as one of those who participated in the riser delay. Mistress Ann’s glossy ash blonde hair is her best feature, cropped to frame a narrow face with its noticeable overbite. She does resemble a rodent, a very smug, self-satisfied rodent. Something in that thought triggers a stray memory. Before Lilian can pursue it, the correction begins.

  The indictment and sentence are read aloud as a delicate young woman is lead forward. She is stripped to the waist and bound facing podium. Not much taller than five feet, her delicate ribs and the knobs of her spine are visible beneath the smooth honey hued skin of her back. Her warrior queue of straight black hair is pushed over her right shoulder, out of the way.

  The cane itself is a slender rod of hardwood. It makes an evil humming sound as it moves through air. A worse sound as it strikes flesh.

  Lilian’s stomach knots and her gorge rises as the first red welt appears on the fragile back. Unable to watch, Lilian closes her eyes. She cannot block out the sounds as they repeat five more times. What Lilian does not hear is a cry from Clarice.

  Lilian urgently requires exit from the Associates Hall. As soon as she clears the door, Lilian turns to Rebecca and Chrys. “I require air. Have you respite to walk around the block with me?”

  Both friends nod and they exit to the street, into the storm heavy air. Walking down the block, Lilian takes several deep breaths trying to regain control. She realizes her companions are doing the same.

  “We must see to it that Mistress Ann Hunter is swept from the Serengeti Group,” are the words that emerge when Lilian is able to speak.

  “Us?” “The three of us?” Rebecca and Chrys form a chorus of surprise. As apprentices they excel at evasive maneuvers. Attack is not wise. Intriguing against the higher ranked carries a great deal more risk than reward.

  “Yes, we three,” Lilian confirms. Her voice is implacable as she continues, “We recognize the problem and we know the solution. We must rid Serengeti of Mistress Ann.”

  “It will not be easy, she hides in Monsignor Sebastian’s shadow,” Chrys comments. He does not reject the wild notion now that his shock has passed. He is coming to accept that Lilian’s unconventional ideas tend to meet with success. His participation in the Skill Consortium has provided him with a protégé’s role in the Synthetics endeavor.

  “True, our
first step must be to have Monsignor Sebastian cast her from the monsignor’s shadow,” Lilian responds, thoughtfully. “After that, her incompetence should carry it the rest of the way.”

  “Create a self-opening box, Lilian?” Chrys inquires. At Rebecca’s bemusement, he adds, “A problem that corrects itself given time.”

  “Have you a plan?” Chrys asks, turning back to Lilian.

  “Not as yet,” Lilian admits. “Monsignor Sebastian is extremely orthodox in his beliefs. I do not believe it difficult to run afoul of the monsignor’s opinions. In the interim, what say you two, should we add Legalistics skills to our consortium?”

  “I favor it,” Rebecca responds.

  “As do I,” agrees Chrys.

  “Clarice will be off restricted duty in two days, I’ll introduce you both then,” offers Rebecca.

  “Restricted duty?” Lilian inquires to see Chrys and Rebecca exchange a glance that communicates, ‘whose turn is it to educate Lilian?’

  Apparently it is Chrys’ turn, “The Master Medic is known to put anyone caned on restricted duty for two days. No training exercises, no more than eight periods of commerce, and in the case of an apprentice, no attendance requirements. It is unusual. Most consider the attendance requirements after a caning part of the correction.”

  For a moment Lilian struggles to comprehend what she has been told. Lilian does not lack understanding of the darker aspects of passion. Such activities are games. Clarice's ordeal was in no manner erotic. “Am I to believe that without the Master Medic’s intervention, there are those who would expect Clarice’s attendance? Now?”

  Both Chrys and Rebecca nod as Chrys concludes, “There are those who find corrections stimulating.”

  With that, Rebecca’s slate chirps. With a shrug, Rebecca observes, “It is well we are back at the entrance. In Clarice’s absence they shall wish substitutes. We should hurry, mine chirped first, but it may not be the last.”

  Almost simultaneously Chrys and Lilian respond, “You do monsignor an injustice.” “Seigneur is not so inclined.”