Nightingale

by E G Manetti

  She’s right and he knows it. That doesn’t change the fact that the contractor is attempting extortion. “Drop your price by half. That will cover the tile.”

  “But not the workmanship!” The contractor pushes to his feet. “The tile layers are in high demand. Their guild will not negotiate, and you need all three kitchens completed by Settlement Day.”

  “Guild, you say?” He has extensive experience with rapacious guild bosses. “Give me the name. They will negotiate.”

  “Master Tiger.” One of the bodyguards stands in the doorway. “You have visitors.”

  “Visitors? We’re not open. Who is it?”

  The guard looks at the contractor and says naught.

  “Crevasse swallow it!” Tiger turns to Hilda. “Get the name of the guild primus and keep this dung beetle moving.”

  Storming through the door, Tiger asks, “Where? Who?”

  The guard lengthens his stride. “The main dining chamber. Seigneur Trevelyan and Master Malcon.”

  Reaching the chamber door, the bodyguard opens it and steps through, fire-pistol in hand.

  It is a pointless gesture. “Put it away. If Mercio wanted me dead, he wouldn’t send his spymaster in the middle of a commerce day.”

  Trevelyan lounges in one of the leather-upholstered booths in the recently completed chamber. Tall, well-muscled, his hair closely cropped, Serengeti’s champion and spymaster is as dangerous as Mercio, and a thorn in Tiger’s side. “If Monsignor wished your life, he would have had it long ago.”

  Standing, one elbow resting on top of the booth, Malcon says naught. His nondescript suit does not hide his menace. Two decades gone, his love of violence and commonplace appearance made him a perfect candidate for assassin training. With his medium complexion, medium build, medium brown eyes, and medium brown hair, a few minor adjustments can alter his appearance or make him disappear. The cartel may name him ‘spy’, but he remains the assassin Tiger trained him to be. Making it a point to ignore Malcon, Tiger slides into the booth opposite Trevelyan while his bodyguard mirrors Malcon’s position. “What does Mercio want?”

  “These men.” Trevelyan flips his slate to display two men circling Serengeti Headquarters. “Who are they?”

  Tiger flicks his fingers at the slate. “None of mine.”

  “Whose then?” Trevelyan withdraws the slate.

  “How should I know?”

  Trevelyan snorts. “Guild assassins in the Third System and you know naught? Are you not primus?”

  “What say you?” Tiger straightens. The guild is discreet, deadly, and expensive. Their targets among the most difficult. Not all assassins in the Third System are guild, but those who are pay a tenth to Tiger. Those who are not would not stalk Serengeti without his nod. “Impossible.”

  “The shorter one was part of Nova’s section,” Malcon says. “It has been half a decade, but I recognize him.”

  “Nova?” Tiger leans forward. “Let me see it again.”

  His treaty with his Seventh System rival prohibits sending enforcers or assassins into each other’s territory without permission. “Do you know where they can be found?”

  “We thought you would.” Trevelyan scowls. “We wish to know their target or their purpose.”

  Scanning the visual, Tiger spots a dark shadow flitting from the shelter of the Serengeti walls into the building. “Mercio’s doxy?”

  “Mistress Lilian is the target?” Trevelyan leans forward. “Why?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Tiger shrugs. “It appeared as if they were targeting her, but it is not certain. It could be reconnaissance for another purpose.”

  Malcon leans in. “He lies.”

  Trevelyan has his dagger free of its sheath and at Tiger’s throat. “Monsignor does not desire your death, but he will not regret it.”

  Tiger does not need to look to know that Malcon presses a fire-pistol to the guard’s head. Inching up his chin, he glares down the blade. “I’m no threat to the woman. She’s worth a fortune to me alive.”

  The blade eases back. “Odds management? You bet in her favor?”

  Tiger aborts a shrug that takes him too close to the blade. “Enough that I’ll make a profit if she lives to see her bond prove. I’ll do even better buying up the remnants of the odds managers that she bankrupts. Now there’s a group that would like to see her dead.”

  “Universe scatter it!” Trevelyan drops back into his seat, sheathing the blade.

  “Hadn’t thought of it myself,” Tiger allows. As much as it grates, this once it is in his interest to aid Mercio. “I’ll find out who sent your assassins and what they’re about. I need to protect my investment.”

  2. Travel Plans

  In the late eighth century and first half of the ninth century, free-trader dissent clashed with the consolidating power of the cartels. The discovery of the Eleventh System in 792 by Septimius Damaris offered the Governing Council the opportunity to resolve the escalating strife. The council brokered a contract between the Damaris Collective and the Matahorn Alliance that provided the collective with the funds needed to explore and develop the system in return for granting Matahorn a commission on every system import and export. Three decades later, when Cressida Mitchell opened the Twelfth System, the Mitchell Cooperative agreed to the same arrangement with Matahorn, adding an exception that trade between the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems be exempt from Matahorn controls.

  By the beginning of the tenth century, the migration of the free-traders was complete, and the two systems had created a secondary economy in which they could trade freely with each other, maintain a small university system, and vote as unit in the Governing Council. To avoid the commissions of the Matahorn Alliance, the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems developed independent industry and entertainment complexes. Their most notable exports are plants and minerals used in medicines, and a metal alloy used in communications satellites. ~ excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an academy primer.

  Sevenday 126, Day 3

  Lilian’s eyes open to a dark bedchamber. Grasping the thorn under her pillow, she listens for the source of her alarm. The quiet footfall in the courtyard signals Mrs. Zdenka has finished her latest patrol. Slipping from the bed, Lilian glides to the balcony. Dawn comes late in the middle of the rainy season, the sun often struggling to penetrate the cloud cover. No hint of gray lightens the second-storey windows that overlook the garden, the only natural light source for the courtyard with the rain covers in place.

  In the courtyard below, lantern glow on the stone bench nearest the entrance reveals Mrs. Zdenka, a tall, slender woman with a broad face, strong cheekbones, and fierce brown eyes in a face so dark it is almost one with the night. Back braced against a stone pillar, the militia guard taps her slate, no doubt logging the recent patrol.

  After a month, the muted sounds of the night guard’s patrolling no longer disturb Lilian’s slumber. Did the guard drop something or stumble? It seems unlikely. Lilian’s discovery of the assassins on First Day has her on edge, the knowledge that Newton has renewed the outcry against her only adding to the tension. It matters not that Seigneur Trevelyan is investigating the first and Seigneur Aristides is dealing with the second; hypervigilance has kept her alive thus far, and she will not relax it this day.

  At a touch, the slate on her bedside table glows fifth bell. A half period until she trains. Settling back onto the bed, Lilian reaches for her personal slate. Four years gone, it was the best technology available. Compared to her Serengeti slate, it is bulky and dated. It matters not. It is sufficient for managing the household accounts and those few private matters unsuitable for the cartel slate.

  »◊«

  With a quick counter turn, Lilian catches the hilt of the descending short sword with her thorn. A hard shove with her foot and Helena tumbles in one direction, the sword flying in another. Pursuing her advantage, Lilian leaps forward and places the thorn to her mother’s throat, a triumphant smile bursting forth. She has often battle
d her mother to a draw; this is the first unequivocal victory.

  “Peace, I yield.” Helena smiles back.

  Rising, Lilian reaches a hand down to assist her mother. The hand that reaches back bears a small purple tattoo at the base of the thumb, a contraception mark. Helena has taken a lover. It is not the first time Lilian has beheld her mother so ornamented, but it has been some years. Raising her eyes to her mother’s face, Lilian discovers a serene smile and silence. Lady Helena does not intend to discuss the matter.

  Helena’s defeat has ended the match early, offering the opportunity for Lilian to tend to other matters. “Maman, may I view the panels?”

  At Helena’s agreement, Lilian follows her up the stairs. There is no doubt that Maman is an attractive woman. Lacking a year to fifty, Helena is young in a society where warriors live past one-hundred-ten years. A few inches shorter than Lilian, she has the trim athleticism of Sinead’s Discipline Master. Her auburn hair holds no hint of gray. Her milky complexion, dusted with freckles on the high cheek bones, has the glow of good health. The only signs of first youth passing are the delicate crow’s feet at the corner of her gray eyes, the same color and shape as Lilian’s. Lilian can think of none of the current shrine attendants who would be to her mother’s taste. Who else might Maman have met recently? There are the Serengeti guards. Mr. Stefan would be to Maman’s taste, but Lilian would note the signs. Jonathan’s Prelate? It seems unlikely. Lord Gilead has been devoted to Lady Moira for decades. Katleen may know. She will interrogate her sister as soon as possible.

  As Helena pulls her training tunic free, Lilian examines the wall that faces the courtyard and holds what she terms the Lilian panel. Although most of the images that warned of the battle have been erased, the Lilian raven retains its thorn. Maman’s acknowledgement of Apollo anointing her as Adelaide’s Thorn? By canon and tradition, the anointing must be renewed annually at the Five Warriors’ Festival for the commitment to continue.

  A new figure has been added to the flock. The bright red and green bird is not much larger than a butterfly. Its rapidly moving wings are a blur of color as it hovers near the Lilian raven under the bemused gazed of the Chrys raven. Maman has added Pippa to the vision panel. That the two women have not met does not prevent Helena from making a perfect depiction of Lilian’s friend. Beneath the tree a mongoose gazes about, its bright eyes a prefect rendition of Tabitha’s. Darker fruit has joined the amber Mercium and green Vistrite in the orchard. The perfect spheres can only be flexible Vistrite. Evidence that Maman knew the lab would succeed. With a speculative glance at her mother, Lilian wonders if Sinead’s smoke was intended to assist with more than the loathsome Roger.

  Collecting a visual, Lilian scans the other walls and finds naught altered. Milord continues to hunt rats in a dark forest to the song of Lady Estella’s nightingale perched in a tree. Mr. George’s tree-troll protects his back, while Seigneur Trevelyan, disguised as a rat, mingles with the hunted. The partial nightscape on the wall holding the chamber entrance has not changed, nor the sketch of the waterfall located in a corner of the wall that holds the bed. “Maman, you have Pippa exactly. I believe she would be well pleased with the depiction.”

  Pulling off her boots, Helena nods. “Clever, clever little birds. Not as silly as they appear.” Trousers half off, she halts, her gaze turning distant. “The nightingale flies first. It is born for the night sky.”

  Not moving, Lilian is careful to keep her voice quiet. It will not serve to startle Maman. “The nightingale flies? It is not as you depict?”

  “The nightingale will fly into the night,” Helena insists.

  “Yes, Maman,” she replies, unwilling to abandon her mother during an episode but aware that she is out of time.

  Helena’s eyes brighten, and she steps out of her trousers. “What do you? You must not tarry. It will not serve to be late to the cartel.”

  »◊«

  Milord is not behind his desk. Lilian’s eyes move to the scarlet sofa and wall reviewer, her gaze skimming past his broad shoulders to the visual where a handful of shining objects move through a purple horizon and into black. She blinks, and the visual reassembles into an artistic rendering of the hull launch.

  Four high-altitude transports, or HATs, lift the SEV1 free of the construction site and rise through the sky, guiding the hull to the edge of the stratosphere, where its propulsion systems fire. The HATs drop away, leaving the SEV1 to rise miles through the thermosphere and into the edge of the black. When Lilian viewed the shell almost a year gone, it lacked grace and definition, reminding her of the great fish of Atlantis that occasionally are found dead on the shoreline. Launched into the night sky, the SEV1 bears a remarkable resemblance to a bird in song.

  “What think you?” Milord half turns as the visual halts.

  “The SEV1 is lovely, milord. I had not known how closely it resembles a bird.” Her severe restraint is cracked by awe.

  “A bird?” Milord frowns at the frozen image. “Where see you wings?”

  “A bird in song, milord,” Lilian explains. “The silhouette is evocative of a warbling bird . . .”

  “What is it, Lilian?” Milord prompts.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. Her response may well prove embarrassing. Squaring her shoulders, eyes on the reviewer and not milord, she replies, “It is Maman, milord. She was obsessed with a nightingale this morn.” Pulling her slate, Lilian executes a few quick taps to acquire the exact words. “ ‘The nightingale flies first. The nightingale will fly into the night.’ ”

  “Nightingale, Lilian?” Lucius probes. “You are certain the seer referenced a nightingale?”

  “Yes, milord. I used the recording device.” Lilian is certain she has her mother’s unreliable utterances captured exactly.

  “Very well.” Milord motions her to the sofa. “Report your status and then attend Mistress Marieth. She is preparing the travel plans.”

  »◊«

  In an unprecedented courtesy, Mistress Marieth offers Lilian a guest chair while they review the Fortuna travel plans and requirements. “As before, Monsignor will stop for you on the way to the stellar transport center.”

  Lilian is delighted to discover that they are to travel once again on Captain Gehrig’s transport, Shimmering Horizon. If Hannah is still among the crew, Lilian will offer the woman a rematch.

  “The governor’s gala after the launch is formal.” The executive servitor produces one of milord’s distinctive scarlet and black commerce tokens. “You will need a new gown. The one from the third among cartels celebrations is outdated.”

  Lilian is not convinced the gown is outdated, but she wore it for the reception the night of the Desperation disaster. She has no desire to be reminded of those ill bells or to offer a reminder to milord. Taking the token, Lilian startles at the amount. “What else do I require, Mistress Marieth? A gown, lingerie, and shoes will require less than half this sum.”

  “Two other frocks, one for the Bright Star reception and one for the Serengeti reception.” With a smile she adds, “You will also have two half days at liberty, as well as Seventh Day. It need not be livery, but it should be appropriate for Monsignor’s conservator.”

  Focused on preparing the Bright Star code and decision trials, Lilian had not thought about liberty or after commerce events. Her limited wardrobe was stretched to the limit by the last voyage. Had it not been for the frocks milord provided, it would have been impossible. Milord’s frocks. “The two reception frocks from the last voyage are but lightly used. Will they not suffice?”

  “They are from a year gone.” Mistress Marieth sniffs. “They will do well enough for the transport. For Fortuna, you must have others. You will also require outerwear. It will be winter at Fort Rimon, colder than when you were there last.”

  “Snow, Mistress Marieth?” She has not required outerwear since she returned to Crevasse City.

  “Not as chill as that. Temperatures are similar to harvest season on Mulan.”

  Co
nsidering the brisk days and chill nights of the harvest, she nods. “My thanks, I am lagging in this endeavor. I have not even thought to examine the environmentals for Fort Rimon.”

  “I serve Blooded Dagger and Serengeti.” Marieth dismisses the thanks. “You had other, more pressing duties.”

  Mistress Marieth’s unprecedented courtesy is explained. Milord’s executive servitor is privy to all and knows how Lilian passed the sevendays since the battle. With a cool smile, Mistress Marieth sends all the travel details to Lilian’s slate. “Should you require further assistance, you have but to voice it.”

  Lilian has a great deal of shopping to execute. The gown and frocks must be acquired the coming Seventh Day if they are to be fitted before planet exit. Confirming receipt of the travel plans, she taps out an alert. Raising her eyes, she finds Marieth’s eyebrows raised in question. “My sister, Katleen, will be thrilled with the apparel quest. By the time we rise tomorrow, she will have identified a dozen possible sources.”

  Her smile warming, Mistress Marieth says, “I believe your sister is near to fourteen years. Does she wish to consult, she should not fear to send to me.”

  It is a remarkable concession. “My thanks for the gracious offer.”

  »◊«

  “Over there.” Lilian nods her head toward the center of the fountain café and Rebecca’s unmistakable platinum-blonde hair. With Tabitha’s aid, she is holding the table for four, but not for long. Leading the way, Chrys pushes through the crowd, his broad shoulders clearing a path, an occasional jostle diffused by his charming smile and quick apology. The boxy black suit of a Blooded Dagger apprentice fades Chrys’ sandy hair and pale brown eyes, and the cut masks his strong build, giving the casual observer an impression of unthreatening deference. Having fought beside him on more than one occasion, Lilian knows it for a ruse.

  As Chrys places his tray next to Tabitha’s, Lilian takes the seat next to Rebecca. “Rebecca, Tabitha, well met. I am to acquire new frocks for the hull launch. Does is it please you to join us, Katleen has mapped a plan of attack for Seventh Day.”