by E G Manetti
Parting ways at the risers, with Chrys’ and Lilian’s slates silent, Rebecca gives a small smile and says, “I am pleased for you both.”
»◊«
Exiting the public transport shortly after the ninth bell, Lilian continues to struggle with the events of the day. Engrossed in her thoughts and focused on avoiding the puddles left by the recent storm, Lilian does not notice the three men moving her way until they are almost upon her. Led by Patrick Volsted, the three warrior scions have been very public in their disdain for her.
Shoulders twitching in recall of thrown rocks, Lilian glides to the curb, searching for an opening in the light evening traffic. Across the boulevard, Mr. Hidaka’s café is open. She can take refuge there. As Luck of the Second would have it, the traffic flow surges briefly. Before Lilian can escape, a hand grabs her by the arm and swings her around.
“Do not be in such a rush, doxy,” comes from behind her as Max grabs her other arm, pinning her to his chest to face Patrick and Sven.
“Not servicing your master? Is Mercio bored with you? Perhaps you should entertain us instead.” The blatantly drunk men taunt Lillian as they crowd into her.
Max pushes her deeper into the shadow of the transport stop. Beyond the transport stop is an alley. Are they able to pull Lilian in there, none will witness what is happening or come to her aid.
Patrick’s leer is as foul as his breath as he leans in, “Let us discover what you have that we might enjoy.”
As Lilian turns away from his noxious breath, Patrick grips both her blouse and jacket. With a hard jerk, he rips them open to expose Lilian’s breasts encased in silver silk and lace. To sounds of encouragement from the other two, Patrick grabs the tender globes in crushing hands.
Ignoring the pain, Lilian spits full in the drunkard’s face.
Patrick’s backhanded blow splits Lilian’s lip as she brings her right heel down Max’s instep. With a hard twist she frees her left arm so she can spin around behind her captor. Using her momentum, and his imbalance, Lilian sweeps Max’s feet and lands him on the pavement.
Pulling her thorn, Lilian slashes it across Patrick’s face striking at his cheek and ear. The slashing strike continues on toward Sven. Sven dodges out of the path of the striking blade while throwing up a hand to protect his face.
Free of her tormentors and heedless of the traffic, Lilian darts across the street to Hidaka’s café. Sven is only a step behind her. Before she can make it through the doorway, she is cut off by Sven and forced into the corner of the patio. The other two have recovered and block the sidewalk.
At the disturbance, Mr. Hidaka comes to the door and yells at the thugs to be off. The elderly and diminutive café owner is forced to dodge one of his own patio chairs hurled by Patrick as the enraged warrior yells, “Stay out of this old man.”
Using the patio wall to protect her back, Lilian employs her thorn to hold the three drunken men at bay until the Militia, summoned by Hidaka, arrives.
Sevenday 16, Day 4
Honor is my blade and shield. Honor knows not fear. Honor endures.
Lilian mentally repeats the Warrior Litany again and yet again as she waits for the eighth bell to chime. Has milord read the Militia Sergeant’s report, milord is likely to be angered. If milord has yet to discover it, she will need to voice the matter.
This day. I will not fall.
It will not serve for milord to learn of this after she has had an opportunity to inform milord of events. The problem is that Lilian does not wish to discuss it. She does not even wish to think about it. Attempting to quiet her churning innards, Lilian continues her mental recitation.
Honor acts as duty commands.
It lacks several minutes until eighth bell when the scarlet door opens. Milord towers in the opening, anger emanating from the rigid stance and harsh expression.
Milord has read the Militia report.
Rising Lilian walks to milord, her mental recitation changing. Do not be ill. You cannot be ill on milord’s rug.
When she reaches milord, milord sets a hand to her chin and tilts her face for examination. The split has closed, but her lip remains swollen and tender.
Releasing her chin, milord leads Lilian to the couch and seats her. Wordlessly, milord stands gazing down at her. Unable to bear milord’s scrutiny, Lilian drops her gaze to her knees. In a desperate attempt to keep control of her rebellious stomach, Lilian focuses on the weave in her skirt. No amount of intent regard is able to improve the quality.
Milord’s words, when they come, are gentle, completely counter to the harsh expression, “How came you to be armed?”
“The public transport, milord. I use it at all bells.” The mostly true answer comes readily to her lips. Do not be ill.
“Where is your thorn, now?” Milord’s voice retains its soft tone.
Lilian cannot quite quell her flinch at the question. Silently she hands milord her slate satchel. As an apprentice, Lilian is forbidden to bear a weapon of any type in her master’s presence. She is treading the edge of the crevasse to have it in the chamber even though it is secured in the satchel.
It only takes a moment for Lucius to locate the sheathed weapon in the interior compartment behind the slate. There is no possibility that Chin failed to note it when searching for the wafer box. Filing that thought away for later examination, Lucius focuses on Lilian's small weapon. It is attached to a slender black leather belt.
Taking up the sheathed thorn and belt, Lucius examines them for a moment. Pulling the blade free Lucius evaluates its weight, balance and finely honed edges. The blade is remarkably fine, the bronze and silver hilt ordinary. There is no question it is an antique. It is likely a family blade.
That Lilian is competent with her blade does not surprise Lucius. She was raised warrior and Trevelyan has attested to her skills. That she was able to fend off three men with a thorn suggests Shade intervention.
After another moment's examination, Lucius sheathes the thorn and secures it and the belt in Lilian's bag. Depositing the bag on a table, Lucius joins Lilian on the couch. Clasping her shoulders, Lucius turns her to face him.
At milord's touch, Lilian raises her face. Milord's countenance retains its harshness. Honor endures.
“Is that your only injury?” Milord refers to her lip.
Milord's voice remains gentle, as does the grip on her shoulders. Nor has milord confiscated her thorn. Milord is angry, but it is not with me. The churning in Lilian’s stomach begins to subside.
Shaking her head, Lilian responds “I pulled my right shoulder during the fight, milord. There is also a strap burn along my neck from the slate bag. Otherwise I am unharmed.”
“I would see,” milord wills.
Obediently opening her jacket and then her blouse, Lilian exposes several inches of dark red burn along the left side of her throat.
With two fingers, Lucius carefully traces the mark on Lilian’s neck while he considers the marks on her breasts that could have only one source. “There were three of them. The Militia report affirms you blooded two and broke the instep of the third.”
At Lucius’ words, Lilian raises a startled and suddenly bright countenance, “I broke Max’s foot? Good.”
Her response surprises Lucius, and then pleases him. Intrigued, he offers, “You took part of an ear from another.”
“That would be Patrick Volsted, milord.” Lilian identifies an assailant and then adds with barely hidden contempt, “He has always been overly fond of his image.”
Lilian's satisfaction is as discernable as her contempt. Did she dare? Lucius’ grip tightens as he demands, “Lilian, did you deliberately scar that lout?”
“No milord. I used the thorn and the pain to drive them back so I could run. It was Luck of the First that I took a piece Patrick’s ear. Had it been deliberate, I would have taken the entire ear,” Lilian’s voice holds noticeable regret.
It is regret Lucius shares. Lilian’s dispassionate, spare recounting cannot diminish
the desperate bell her words invoke. Easing his grip, Lucius admits, “I hear the regret in your voice and I share it. Nonetheless, it is better that you did not. They can make no claim of excessive defense.”
At Lilian's mystified expression, Lucius continues, “You took reasonable measures to protect my property, which in this case happens to be your person. Had you taken that man’s ear, by chance or intent, it could be claimed as excessive defense and give rise to a charge of assault. Not that the indictment would prove. You were outnumbered. Nonetheless, it will be better this way.”
During his explanation milord has released her shoulders and closed her blouse. Now milord leans back against the couch signaling Lilian may do the same. For a moment, relief makes Lilian lightheaded and she closes her eyes.
They cannot charge her with assault. They will not cane her.
Milord continues to speak providing Lilian with a moment to gather her wits and emotions. “With no valid counter claim, I can demand the full force of stricture with my charge. Given your status, they will not be caned. The fines will be heavy.”
Lilian feels the sofa yield as milord moves. Opening her eyes, she turns to meet milord’s questioning gaze. “You clearly know these men. Have they reason to hold you in special despite?”
Lilian cannot imagine how the information could be relevant. It matters not. Milord wishes to know and the information is readily discovered. “I have known them all since childhood. Patrick Volsted has always suffered from an excess of beauty and a want of intellect. He is also a bully. The last time he tried one of his nasty games with me, I broke his nose. The others have always been overindulged and are easily led.”
“The man whose ear you damaged has assaulted you in the past? Tell me of this.” The anger that had been reduced to a simmer begins to roil within Lucius. He cannot recall signs of abuse, but it is difficult to be certain. Lilian is commonly adorned with a variety of training bruises.
“The Gomez family keeps a maze in their garden. I was fourteen, Patrick was sixteen.” Lilian's gaze is focused inward with her recall. She does not notice the emotions that flicker across Lucius' face as she begins her tale.
Lucius’ rage cools as he learns that Lilian's history with the dishonorable warrior is a decade gone. He is also delighted to have an avenue into Lilian's past. She is frustratingly adept at avoiding all discourse on the topics of her family or her history.
“There was a party. It included a game in the maze,” Lilian continues. “I found a cul-de-sac that I believed everyone would recognize as a dead end. I retreated to it to read while the game finished. Patrick found me there and decided he would prefer my briefs to the prize at the center of the maze.”
Releasing her inward view, Lilian raises her eyes to milord. With warrior pride she completes, “When he tried to take them, I broke his nose with my foot.”
Milord’s face is considering, not angered. Encouraged, Lilian completes the tale, “When his father found out how Patrick’s nose came to be broken, he had Patrick belted. I suspect it was for being bested by a weaker adversary and not for his nasty little game.”
Lilian searches milord's impassive countenance. She should have left that last unvoiced. It is effrontery for an apprentice to imply criticism of a senior in rank let alone a warrior.
“I concur with your assessment of Kenneth Volsted,” Milord says absently, dismissing Lilian's anxiety without ever noting it. Eyes sharpening, milord states, “It was Volsted who marked you.”
“Milord?” Lilian returns. Marked?
In response, milord strokes the curve of her breast with a gentle finger. Oh. Lilian had noted the bruises when she dressed. They do not hurt, so she refused to dwell on them. Nodding, Lilian admits, “Yes, milord.”
Milord’s next question is unexpected, “How is it you had the skills at fourteen to so ably defend yourself?”
It is not common for female warriors to be so skilled at such an early age. For several centuries, custom has dictated that females do not begin martial training until the age of thirteen or when their cycles commence.
Relieved at the change in topic, Lilian readily reveals, “My mother initiated my training at ten, as she has done with Katleen.”
Milord is clearly taken aback. Lilian cannot resist adding, “As is common with the sons of the elite.”
At Lilian’s last remark, milord’s eyes narrow, but he leaves it unchallenged. The clever mind is sifting her discourse, intent on a new path.
“The café owner testified that he was certain that you faced imminent harm and that in the moment it took him to alert the Militia, you freed yourself like ‘water falling through a sieve’.” Milord’s statement is a question.
Lilian greets milord's words with dismay, “I did not know Mr. Hidaka could view us so clearly, milord.”
Milord’s frown at the equivocation has the force of command. Yielding to the imperative, Lilian reveals her strategy. It is not that she expected to hide her abilities from milord. Trevelyan trains her. She would prefer her neighbors remain unaware.
“I beg pardon milord. Had I known Mr. Hidaka could behold us so clearly, it would have altered naught. They were three. All of them over reach me and they were drunk. I knew Patrick would strike at me when I spit on him. It provided me the space I required to break free of Max while I pulled the thorn to drive back Patrick and Sven. I counted on the drink hindering their balance and making them slow. I did not allow for the drunkenness reducing fear and pain.”
Lucius is well aware of the potential outcome had Lilian been less able to defend herself and the café owner slower to summon the Militia. Momentarily setting aside his rage that his apprentice was assaulted, Lucius considers the morning's revelations.
From Trevelyan’s assessment, he knew Lilian competent with her thorn. Competency in training does not always translate into combat. That she was able to devise and execute an effective battle strategy in moments reveals much about Lilian’s nature. That she had the skill and training to do so at fourteen reveals even more. At one time, Sinead's Seer retained sufficient wit to indoctrinate her eldest in the deviousness that is the trademark of Sinead's house.
Reaching a decision, Lucius once again grasps Lilian by her shoulders. “Should you ever feel the need within these halls to draw your thorn, it is my will that you do so.”
In response to the young woman’s stunned expression, Lucius adds, “You should not have been forced to it within three blocks of your home in the Garden Center. I cannot assume you will not need to do so here.”
“Yes milord,” Lilian is barely able to find her voice for the rote response. Not only is the thorn to remain in her possession, she may keep it accessible when not attending milord. It is wondrous grace. The Five Warriors and Adelaide be praised.
Lucius is unconcerned by Lilian's weakly voiced courtesy. Her relief is evident in the softening of her rigid shoulders and stiffened spine. Nor is he finished. None will question his right to protect his property after the prior evening's events. “In the future, when you are late at the Cartel, you are to use your transport token.”
“My thanks, milord.” This second instruction provides almost as much relief as the first. With the adjustment of her duties after the stimulant incident, Lilian is rarely within the Cartel after eighth bell. When it is necessary, Lilian cares not for the deserted public transport stations or sparsely populated conveyances.
As milord is pleased to be indulgent, Lilian dares to ask, “If milord pleases, should any inquire, I would put it about that my split lip is naught but a training incident.”
The assault is part of the public record and is likely to become common knowledge. Lilian prefers to provide as little fodder to the Cartel’s appetite for gossip as possible. She endures enough comment as it is.
“Master Trevelyan and Master Chin will know the truth of the matter. None else need know unless you so choose,” milord agrees. Maintaining his grasp on Lilian's shoulders he asks, “Would you return home for
the remainder of day?”
Milord's indulgence is exceptional. Lilian’s assignments require her attention and she would rather have the occupation. “I would work for a time, milord. With milord’s permission, I would depart by fourth bell. Katleen will be returning home and she will have heard.”
“As you please, Lilian,” milord releases her.
Sevenday 16, Day 5
“I cannot voice that I am surprised Mistress Lilian was able to defend herself. That girl trains as if she expects to battle demons. Which, I suppose she does.” At Lucius’ impatient gesture, Trevelyan delves to the heart of the report he has prepared.
“All the information we collected since yesterday confirms the report from this past sevenday. The despite against Lilian and her family had begun to abate. For the most part the warrior elite have settled for shunning them, as have most of the secondary families. The house was being defaced regularly, but that ceased recently when Sinead’s Devoted took to publicly cleansing it. Those who have the courage to spit at a girl of twenty-four are less willing to draw the ire of the Shrines.
“There is a small and vocal group among the warriors who have extended themselves to harass Lilian and keep the despite active. Monsignor will not be surprised to learn that a number of these had close commercial or social ties with Gariten.
“The three drunkards she blooded have been at the center of the worst of it. The tavern talk runs to their being over penalized for taking a few liberties with a doxy. The condemnation of Socraide’s Keeper Virgil is well remembered. There are those who consider it the Shades’ Will that Lilian be tormented.”
During Trevelyan’s report Lucius has been standing, watching the heavy rain flood the Garden Center. The hot knot of rage that formed when he read the Militia report has not eased. It was too close. If not for that thorn, Lilian would have been badly abused, if not slain. “Have you identified all the members of this group who are targeting her?”
“Yes monsignor. Have you means to put a stop to the insult and harassment?” Trevelyan is well aware of the power wielded by this warrior.