by L. K. Rigel
“You don’t have to worry about such things,” Sister Marin said.
“I’m not worried. I’m curious. Somehow, the cloth breaks the influence human beings have on the Empani. Is that it?”
“So it would appear.” Sister Marin closed her office door and led Mallory to the window. “Look.”
A white heron flew up Corcovado to the area below the Redeemer, the place where she had thought she saw Pala. When the bird landed, the afternoon sunlight gave the tree leaves a pastel metallic cast. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t place it.
“The Empani are birds?”
“Probably not. That might just be the shape they’re most comfortable taking when they’re in civilization. Empani are intelligent. They have language of a kind. We’re not sure if they actually speak, or if they communicate telepathically. But they have no industry.”
“And?” If that was meaningful, Mal didn’t catch the meaning.
“In other words, someone is making this cloth for them.”
“That’s ... alarming.”
“To say the least. This stuff is dangerous. It seems to work on membranes, separation states. It provides a barrier to the Empani where they have none and frees them from the power of human will. At least, that’s my theory at present.”
Sister Marin went back to her desk and picked up the cloth. “Watch what it does with a human.” She spread the cloth over the back of her neck.
Mal could see the Golden Wasp in the harbor. She touched her slider to get a better look. The crew bustled with activity, but they should be on shore leave. Had Edmund recalled them?
She looked for the heron again, but it had gone. There were other birds in the bay, but no herons. A pelican landed on The Golden Wasp. She had forgotten to ask Edmund to say hello to Counselor for her, and now it appeared he was going to leave. Sister Marin hadn’t asked her to wait, had she? Maybe she could reach the ship in time.
“You see?” Sister Marin dropped the cloth on her desk. She hadn’t gone anywhere. “It doesn’t quite render a person invisible, just not noticeable.”
“Great gods.”
“Indeed.”
In the Board Room
The hubbies met for a late lunch in the bistro. They had been full-fledged breeders for a month now, with individual private quarters, but habit imprinted by years of living together didn’t fade so quickly. Maybe they’d always think of themselves as one hub.
Today they were celebrating: Nin was beginning the second month of her proof pregnancy.
“Champagne for my hubbies – except you, Ninny.” Mal asked a proof for a bottle of the best champagne.
Nin had been right. Her bounty had been available to her all this time. No one had thought to mention it because it never occurred to anyone that she didn’t already know. Because of her settlement background, all had assumed that the base allowance had been enough to keep her happy.
Which it had been.
Nevertheless, her newly found loot had led her to another discovery: the art and pleasure of giving presents.
The champagne arrived, and when she popped the cork the dogs all started yapping. Mal picked up Beastie and gave him a kiss. “We should wait for Roh, but tell us, Nin: male or female?”
“Male. I personally don’t care, but the sisters seem to want males these days.” Everyone agreed they would choose the same.
Claire drummed her fingers on the table. “I should have gotten a proof during the rites,” “I don’t know why I listen to the Citizen after – you know.” The Citizen was her sarcastic nickname for Lady Drahan.
“But she wasn’t guilty of polluting your system.” Dear Nin, ever the defender of family ties. “The tribunal issued a finding of no fault.”
“But they didn’t say not guilty, did they? And now I’m in the queue without proof that no damage was done. No one is going to bid on me.”
“It’s early days yet,” said Mal. “No one’s bid on any of us.”
“Too bad the proofs are sterile,” Kairo said. “You could get a proof off a proof.”
“Eww,” Nin said. “What about Luis in the bistro kitchen?”
“A commoner.” Kairo grimaced.
“Luis is yummy. And for a proof, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’ll get bids.” Kairo had a momentary slip of kindness. “The Citizen was right. None of us needs a proof. Nin only chose to because she wants to limit her contracts and a proof will boost her starting price.”
“Here comes Roh.” Mal poured out another flute. “Be happy, Claire. We’re celebrating.”
“Mal, you won’t believe it.” Roh was out of breath. Strange, considering the shape she was in. “You’re the first. Edmund of Allel has put in a bid on you.”
Mal must have heard that wrong, except that everyone looked as shocked as she felt. Kairo looked shocked and unhappy. Claire looked downright stunned.
It had to be a mistake. “A very low bid, I’m sure.”
“Well, yes,” Roh said. “But it’s a bid. Aren’t you excited? I mean, you don’t have to take it. I always thought Kairo would be the first.”
“Let’s go watch.” Nin stood up.
No, no. This made no sense. “Watch what? Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Come on, Mal.” Claire was also on her feet. “I’ve never been down to the board room. It will be fun to see one of us on the wall.”
“That’s awfully gracious of you, Claire.”
“Not really. I’ve learned from Roh. I don’t want a contract near the Citizen. I regret what I said to you before.”
Mal gave Claire a big hug, and Kairo groaned. “Oh, come on! Hearts and flowers, ick.”
Suddenly everybody had to see the place where active bids were displayed. Mal felt sick to her stomach, but they were all laughing, even Claire. They emptied the bottle into their glasses and called the dogs and laughed all the way to the basement in the main building.
“Hey, why haven’t we come down here before?” Roh jumped down the last few steps in one bound and set her empty glass on the bar.
“Maybe that’s why.” Mal pointed to a hand-lettered sign someone had tacked on the wall beside the door: Bored room.
Despite the sign, this was apparently the place to hang out. No bleeders allowed. Guards and sisters as well as chalices were sitting around, having snacks and drinks, some playing cards, some just talking or reading.
Someone said which one is it as they walked into the main area. Mal felt like they were intruding on a secret society, but the hub belonged to the society now.
“Mallory, dear.” Harriet waved them over to where she was sitting near the board wall. “Isn’t it amazing?” Mal’s board indeed showed a bid from Allel.
It wasn’t as low as she’d expected. Edmund was a real gentleman. “Amazing that Allel bid on me? I guess so.” Was Harriet surprised she should get a bid?
“Not Allel.” Sister Jordana handed Harriet a glass of red wine and lifted her glass to Mal in salute. “Garrick.”
Now she really felt sick. This was an elaborate joke. How could Harriet think this was funny?
“That can’t be right!” Kairo scoffed.
“Oh, Mal.” Nin squeezed her arm. The board made a bloop sound, and the bid from Allel was replaced by a higher one – much higher – from Garrick. It looked genuine.
“That’s the third time Garrick has raised Allel,” Harriet said with pride. The board blooped again, this time with a bid from Versailles. Was the world going mad?
A pretty chime rang on the other side of the room, very soft, but everyone went dead silent, even the bartender. The penthouse lift had come down to the board room. The doors slid open, and the only sound was the electronic bloop of another bid going up.
Mal recognized the woman who stepped out of the lift. Sister Jordana wasn’t afraid of her, but everyone else was.
Durga.
Not surprising, she wore black. Black boots, loose black pants, tight black vest, and a black sleev
eless mantle with an ornate, stand-up collar. Her famous red hair was out of the turban, bound up on top of her head with a net of white and black cords.
She had that completion tat in addition to the traditional roses, but it was impossible to imagine any man brave enough to enter this woman.
Mal had never forgotten the red dagger over Durga’s eye that plunged to the cheek. Her eyes were cold and dull. She didn’t look cruel. She didn’t look kind. Perhaps she’d mastered all her emotions. Except spite.
“Mallory,” she said as if they were long-time friends. “You look well.”
Mal felt her hubbies quiver.
“Jordana. I am told Garrick is bidding on this one. Apparently he’s heard the rumors?”
“Started them is more likely,” Sister Jordana said. “But your appearance here would seem to confirm them, Durga.”
Rumors?
“Not at all.” Durga chuckled. “It’s Garrick I’m interested in. Not some settlement trash who got lucky.”
Mal felt her face go red, and she bent down to pick up Beastie. She hoped Garrick would bid her up to an outrageous amount before he dropped out, just to irritate the Matriarch.
Another bid came in from Allel.
“Is Celia mad?” That from Sister Jordana.
“It’s not Celia. She’s no longer regent.” Despite her loathing for Mal, Durga seemed to enjoy the bidding war. “This is Edmund’s doing.”
“Allel can’t afford that, can they?”
“That is not your concern.” Durga actually hissed when she said concern. Mal wanted to laugh, but had enough sense to hold her tongue. “Nothing is more important to a city than the stability natural heirs bring. A high bid shows a commitment to world order.”
How convenient for us. Still, Edmund couldn’t afford it. She wouldn’t accept him if he were left hanging that high. Surprisingly, the decision gave her pain, like the time Beastie got lost in the compound. If she refused his winning bid, he could never bid her in the future unless he bid higher.
Garrick knocked out Edmund’s bid. Another bid came in from Versailles. Then Hibernia. Hibernia? Then Garrick again. Then Sidney.
“This is madness,” said Sister Jordana.
Durga chuckled. “Everybody thinks they know something.” The bidding continued, faster, madder, like corn popping, and then slowed as bidders fell out until only Garrick remained. Thank the gods Edmund had long quit the frenzy.
“We have a record.” Durga smirked. The board room exploded with applause and whistles.
“You can’t mean to approve this insanity?” Sister Jordana said.
“Why not? Records are broken all the time. And Garrick can afford it.” Durga looked at Mal as if reevaluating her. She made a dismissive sound, and returned to the lift. When the door closed, everybody remembered to breathe again.
One of the guards sent over a bottle of the best champagne. Kairo looked like she was in shock, and Mal didn’t feel much better.
“Great gods, Mal,” Nin said. “Garrick.”
Like Clockwork
The curve of a raptor talon glistened with the beaded sweat on Prince Garrick’s clavicle. Mal traced the black tattoo with her red fingernail and pressed her lips to his skin. His muscles were tempered, hard and supple.
This was their third time together, and she still felt a little thrill of fear when he touched her. She rocked against him and squeezed, taking him in.
His eyes were closed. She traced his strawberry blond eyebrow, ran her finger down his cheek to his lips. She murmured ah and drew him deeper. He had talon tats on his wrists. He was beauty and beast altogether; she kept her own eyes open so the beauty wouldn’t evaporate.
Behind black gauze curtains where her Ladies of the Hours observed the proceedings, Beastie whimpered and panted. Mal moaned for Garrick a little, and then a little louder for the watchers’ benefit. Let them know what a fine lover their prince is.
And Garrick was fine. Precise. Intense. Built for it.
She pushed against his chest, and he lay on his back for her, smiling with satisfaction, eyes still closed, and she rode him. He made her work for it. He wouldn’t let go. She bent over and licked one of his nipples, then sucked, the hard knob rising off his smooth skin. He groaned and responded to her rhythm, and she rocked with him until he did release everything to her and she took what she needed.
She rolled over again and pulled him on top of her. He shuddered and collapsed, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
As she was trained to do, she visualized a pulsating, green ball of light at a point between her fallopian tubes and brought up her temperature. Garrick uttered something between a laugh and a harrumph and stirred inside her; he felt the heat too. And she knew. It was as magical as Sister Marin had told them it would be.
A human body had started to grow inside her that would be a vessel for another soul in this reality. At the ceremony in six or seven months’ time, someone else would come into the material world. Thank you, Asherah.
She almost purred with satisfaction.
The prince lifted his head and raised his eyebrows. “I think you’ve become pregnant at this very moment.” His voice was softer and more delicate than she remembered, as if here in his own city he was conscious of his every word being watched and judged.
“It will be a while before your KPs can confirm it, but yes. You have done the deed.”
“Good girl.” He pulled out, laughing, flipped her over and slapped her bottom. “And not before time.” He leaned over and kissed her on the back of her neck, then slid his pants up over his muscular legs and his still-swaggering cock.
He strapped on the calf harness that sheathed his sister’s dagger. Over his bare chest, he pulled on a silk robe emblazoned with a red-eyed black dragon. He strode barefoot out of the room, beautiful, confident, on to his next princely duty.
He was not yet king. His father, also called Garrick and nearly fifty, showed no signs of letting go of his life or his power.
“Beastie! Beastie, sweetie!” The little ball of fur and muscle and tongue burst through the curtains and jumped up on the bed. The Days were not far behind him.
“My lady, how wonderful.”
“Are you well?”
“Can I bring you anything?”
As advised, she didn’t call them by name. In her mind, they were Day One and Day Two and the night ladies were Nights One and Two.
“I need some time alone to enhance my well-being.” This catch-all phrase was proving to be too convenient. They both slumped like disappointed puppies. “But do order tea, and have a KP join us.”
That got them going. They couldn’t wait to spread the news that she might already be carrying Garrick’s future Counselor. One left to call for the tea and the king’s physician, and Two slipped back behind the curtains. Another thing about being in country, as chalices called it: alone was a relative term.
“Poor Beastie, you’re so lonely.” There were no messages on her gridcom tablet. “We’ll be home soon, and you can play with Kronos.”
Beastie wasn’t the only one who was lonely. She had been so excited to see the richest city in the world, the place she’d heard stories about all her life, but now she couldn’t wait to get out of it. She longed to have lunch with her hubbies in the bistro and breathe clean outdoor air.
When she arrived, instead of stairs down to the tarmac, the royal jet had attached to a sealed boarding bridge which extended from the citadel like a giant silver worm. And that was fine; because of the oil refinery, Garrick’s air was filthy.
The city’s common life took place under ground. Vid screens on every wall coordinated to give the effect of windows looking on a pristine outdoor environment.
The citadel proper towered over the city, taller than the refinery towers. Technology infested everything, and it all worked perfectly. Every room had a clock. Every hall had a clock. No one was ever late for anything. Or early.
All light came from gas lamps or electrical
bulbs. The rooms were heated by coal, great gods. It was an affront to everything humanity had learned from the Environmental Cataclysm. Coal on grates!
Mal would never again travel without a supply of beeswax candles. The glorious City of Garrick was close to a clockwork hell, if anyone cared to know what she thought.
But no one did.
The prince, however, was delicious. Sex was fun! After all the lectures on biology and history and service and learning to manipulate her body temperature and hormones, and despite the experienced chalices’ crude jokes in the board room, nobody had bothered to talk about the animal pleasure of having a man inside.
Edmund had surprised her with physical intimacy where she expected pantomime.
Now Garrick showed her another side of sex. It could be an exciting game of psychological power, of conquest and surrender.
She had no sense of Garrick as a person when they were together, which was a relief. She didn’t want feelings about a client. “No, no, no.” She rubbed foreheads with Beastie. “No feelings at all. Except what Nin said. Lust, yum.”
Garrick was nothing more to her than a client, as was proper. A beautiful prince destined to be the most powerful king in the world, and it was her job – her sacred duty – to enjoy him. She scratched Beastie behind the ears and kissed his little pug face again.
She would have Garrick’s mark put on her forearm or wrist – somewhere she could see it easily. If she contracted with someone repulsive – over a long career it was bound to happen – she could always refer to the talon, and remember.
It took a week for one of the king’s physicians confirmed her pregnancy. “I’m bored, Beastie.” Mal threw the ball for the thousandth time that week. The formal announcement was scheduled for tonight, and tomorrow she’d be on a flight back to Red City.
But at the moment she was bored, bored, bored.
Garrick apparently trusted her judgment because he had quit coming to her when she told him she was probably good to go. She was proud of her fertility, but she wouldn’t have minded a few more sessions.