by E G Manetti
“Could she identify a modestly priced tailor?” Chrys asks. “Seigneur Rachelle is to attend the launch.”
“Truly?” Lilian cannot contain her delight. “You are to travel to Fortuna?”
“True indeed,” Chrys confirms. “I understand fashions are more casual. Seigneur has gifted me with funds. Can you advise me?”
Dredging images of milord and the protégés from memory, Lilian replies, “On the transport, formal tunic and trousers will suffice. For the Bright Star and Serengeti receptions, a loose jacket.”
“Have you aught to offer on fabric or cut?”
“Monsignor favored silk,” Lilian says, knowing it is not much assistance. “It was cool, close to the rainy season, only without rain. It will be colder this time, similar to the dark season at the Western Continent Fisheries. Have you the means, you will require outerwear.”
“No challenge there. Troy was chill. The outerwear from that travel is but lightly used. What of the after commerce?”
“The tunic and trousers from Katleen’s last birth festival will serve.”
Chrys smiles. “I admit I enjoy stellar transit. There is something serene and compelling about that endless starry black.”
That Lilian finds it reminiscent of the abyss she keeps to herself, unwilling to dampen her friend’s enjoyment. Nor did she find the stellar transit joyless. It had any number of pleasurable aspects did she avoid gazing out the windows.
“This is far more entertaining than our investigations.” Rebecca reaches for her slate, aquamarine eyes sparkling. “Heels as well as frocks?”
“Yes, but not more than two inches,” Lilian says. Glancing at Rebecca’s fashionably clad feet, she adds, “And of reasonable width. How you manage on a heel no wider than my thorn tip is astonishing.”
Turning her ankles to display the elegant pumps with their delicate ankle straps, Rebecca laughs. “I must do something to offset all this subdued black.”
In the five seasons since Rebecca’s bond transferred to Seigneur Trevelyan, the style of her suits has shifted from the tight, flashy styles of a doxy to the understated elegance of a protégé. Only in her heels does Rebecca indulge her near obsession with fashion. Rebecca turns back to her slate. “Tabitha, what think you? Sling backs are becoming the rage.”
“Mistress Lilian, may we join you?” Nickolas, milord’s protégé, motions Lilian and her friends to remain seated. Green eyed, copper haired, and with a build to rival Chrys, Nickolas is handsome enough to turn heads. His rank coupled with a charming smile clears the next table. Taking the seat next to Lilian, he asks, “Have you heard from Hannah?”
On Lilian’s last voyage on the Shimmering Horizon, she struck up an acquaintance with the chief engineer’s mate that led to a free-boxing match. Lilian’s victory resulted in significant wager winnings for Nickolas and Fletcher, Seigneur Kemeha’s protégé.
Taking the seat opposite Nickolas, Fletcher offers the group a cool nod. Dark skinned, dark-eyed, and slender, the popular and charismatic moon racer has been distant since the battle, offended that Lilian did not call for him. Ignoring her hurt at Fletcher’s continued ire, Lilian pushes brightness into her tone. “It is confirmed. Hannah and I will combat the first full day in the beaconed expanse at fifth bell past midday.”
“How long before you toss her from the square?” Nickolas asks.
Lilian suspects the sparkle in his eyes is due as much to anticipation of renewing his acquaintance with Hannah as it as the prospect of successful wagers. Unable to resist the temptation to tease, she says, “I shall not.”
“What say you?” Rebecca looks up from her slate.
“Hannah outweighs me by almost two stone,” Lilian replies. “Should the Luck of the First favor me, I might topple her from the square, but I will not toss her.”
“Rimon’s saber!” Rebecca shakes her head. “Must you be so literal?”
Nickolas leans in. “Will you topple her before half a period?”
As Lilian shifts, toying with her fork, Rebecca says, “Lilian many not offer odds or anything that appears as odds.”
“Peace.” Nickolas flushes. “I meant no ill.”
“It is no matter.” Lilian knows the protégé meant no ill. Although she has forgiven Nickolas for his harsh treatment her first seasons, Rebecca holds a grudge on her behalf. Wishing to smooth over the awkwardness, she says, “Hannah and I have concluded that there is naught further to learn in an unarmed rematch of Adelaide’s Discipline against free-boxing. Our contest will be chalk thorn against free-boxer. If I mark her eight times before she drops me, or the time concludes, I will be the victor.”
Lilian can almost see the protégé’s pulse begin to race at the thought of the singular challenge and wagering it will incite.
“Can you do it?” Nickolas asks.
“I know not,” Lilian replies. “That is what will make it exciting. Neither Hannah nor I are certain of the outcome. She knows naught of the thorn. I know naught of free-boxing executed in a warrior square. We will both learn much. She is truly the most formidable woman.”
Both protégés flash avaricious smiles. In her last match with Hannah, the smaller free-boxing square gave the other woman an advantage. Nickolas says, “The crew will not be so easily marked as the last voyage.”
“We will need to work the passenger manifest,” Fletcher replies, without a glance at Lilian.
Oblivious of the tension, Nickolas asks, “Have you any other matches of note?”
“I will discover what the Third Hill Warrior Ring can provide, but that venue will provide no income.” Matches within shrine confines are religious rituals. It is blasphemy to place wagers on the outcome. Beyond the shrine discipline masters and Hannah, Lilian will have trouble finding a sparring partner acceptable to milord.
“Do I hear discussion of wagers?” Master Simon squeezes a chair in between Tabitha and Chrys.
“Lilian has a match on the transport,” Nickolas says. “Fletcher and I discuss wagers. Lilian does not.”
“Of course she does not,” Master Simon replies, as aware of the restrictions as the others. “Tabitha, what engrosses you?”
The two protégés glance between Tabitha and Simon. Cartel wagering does not favor Simon’s success in his pursuit of the spy. A few inches shorter than Lilian, Tabitha is comely with a graceful figure, lustrous brown hair, medium brown eyes and warm, olive-toned skin. All consistent with the mongoose of Maman’s vision panels. Master Simon’s gangly frame and large nose are equally consistent with Maman’s rendering of a stork. The unlovely stork is viewed as an unlikely alliance for the winsome mongoose. Lilian regrets apprentices cannot wager. Both Rebecca and she expect Simon to succeed. Their winnings would enhance Rebecca’s wardrobe and provide some much needed furnishings for Katleen’s house.
At a warning chirp from her slate, Lilian rises. “I must to Blythe.”
Master Simon breaks off his conversation with Tabitha and smiles. “I will commission Nickolas to wager on my behalf.”
Tabitha and Rebecca confirm their commitment to Seventh Day shopping while Chrys agrees to meet them at Hidaka’s if the rains hold off. Nickolas begs Lilian to seek another match on the voyage while Fletcher sits silent, staring into the distance.
As Lilian disappears toward the risers, Rebecca frowns at Fletcher. “Master Fletcher, will you not release your offense? Lilian has done naught to deserve it.”
Chrys drags his eyes from Lilian’s retreating form. “What know you of this, Rebecca?”
“The moon racer has taken insult that he was not called to the battle of Serengeti.” Her scathing tone and lack of proper address violate several strictures. She cares not. The protégé can complain all he pleases; Seigneur Trevelyan will ignore him.
Fletcher’s eyes narrow and his mouth opens. Before he can speak, she continues, “Do not make the mistake of believing Lilian has spoken of this. I had no need of it. It is clear enough when a man’s vanity has been pricked.”
&nb
sp; Chrys’ eyes narrow and a rough burr enters his tone. “I would that Lilian had called you. You could have had Mistress Irina’s place.”
Black eyes flashing, Fletcher’s face tightens with anger at the mention of Irina, his onetime lover and one of the battle fallen. “You transgress, Raven. Another word and Seigneur Rachelle shall know of your effrontery”
“I think not,” Simon says. Although he does not make a point of it, Simon is a master associate and outranks both protégés. “Your ire is misplaced. Mistress Lilian is in no way at fault in Irina’s death. Had it not been for her, Irina’s death would have been a great deal uglier, nor would Irina have had the opportunity to slay her enemies in battle.”
With a nod at Simon, Tabitha says, “Lilian worked herself ill in the pursuit of retribution for the fallen. You shame yourself with this sense of injury.”
Without another word, Fletcher rises and stalks off, leaving Nickolas to face Lilian’s defenders. With sudden understanding, Rebecca says, “You planned this, Master Nickolas.”
Nickolas nods. “Fletcher is very strong-willed. I have been unable to alter his mind in this matter. I thought it time for others to make the attempt.”
Sevenday 126, Day 4
With synchronized grace, Lilian and Rebecca lift the teacups from the tray and deposit them on the conference table, positioned to be within Trevelyan’s and Lucius’ reach but safe from accidental jarring. Lucius considers having Lilian seated; her appearance has not improved since First Day. Trevelyan’s discretion is unassailable, but he is not as certain of Rebecca’s. Her loyalty to Lilian is strong enough, but he has cause to question her judgment. It is not worth the risk. Lilian is too close to proving her bond. Any lapse in discipline or stricture could overset all. Looking at Trevelyan, he says, “What have you learned?”
“Mistress Lilian was correct,” Trevelyan replies, nodding over Lucius’ left should at her. “The men were once assassins. Now they are prize hunters, but she is not the prize.”
Socraide’s grace. This once, she is not endangered. Which begs the question, “Who or what is the prize?”
“A Grey Spear master associate.” Trevelyan reaches for his tea. “She has been engaging in gray commerce, smuggling goods into the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems.”
“Horatio sent prize hunters?” Lucius finds it difficult to credit. If Matahorn had evidence that one of Serengeti was undermining his trade rights, he would use it as leverage in Bright Star.
Trevelyan swallows. “Her suppliers. She did not pay for the last cargo, claiming it was pirated.”
“She lacks the funds?” Grey Spear master associates are as well compensated as those of Blooded Dagger. A single lost cargo shipment should be naught more than a setback.
Trevelyan shrugs. “She claims her suppliers tipped off the pirates. It might even be true.”
“Turn the matter over to Monsignor Hercules.” The Grey Spear preeminence can clean his own house. “Let him know Blooded Dagger expects a year’s income from the master associate for bringing prize hunters to Serengeti.”
Trevelyan makes a note on his slate. “That will set back her quest for a signet.”
Lucius nods at the probable explanation. The license fees for a seigneur’s signet are substantial. Even for a master associate it can take decades to amass the amount. A successful smuggling operation would shorten the time considerably.
Trevelyan glances over Lucius’ shoulder and frowns. Lucius turns, expecting to find Lilian swaying or otherwise in distress. Naught is amiss. Her posture is erect, her expression attentive, her clear gray eyes widening at his sudden attention. Confused, he turns back to his spymaster.
Trevelyan voices naught, his lips tight. For whatever reason, the spymaster does not wish Lilian to hear what he has to say. “Lilian, you may go.”
“You as well, Rebecca,” Trevelyan says.
Does Trevelyan share his concerns about the doxy’s discretion?
Trevelyan says naught, sipping tea until the door closes behind the two women. “Rebecca will break privilege no more than Lilian. I did not wish Lilian to suspect that our discussion concerns her, and she would have if Rebecca remained.”
Demon shit. What new challenge is this?
Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, Trevelyan says, “Lilian was not the target this time, but she may be the next.”
“We know this.” There are many who would see Gariten’s tainted offspring dead. While she is an apprentice, Lilian is vulnerable, property rather than a person.
Trevelyan shakes his head. “Not in the usual way. There is but a half year until her bond proves. The odds managers did not expect her to survive this long. First Settlement Day of the coming year, many will be bankrupt.”
Socraide’s sword! When Lilian entered her bond, the odds against her proving it were eighty to one. Tempted to place a large wager in her favor, he rejected the notion for fear it might be used as evidence of excessive consideration. Had he, Tiger Sylvester would have never escaped Lucius’ leash. Tiger! “Tiger would not dare.”
“He does not. It appears he has sense enough not to challenge you in this matter. Now, it serves him better for Lilian to succeed.”
Tiger having an interest in Lilian’s survival may prove useful, but it is a thought for another time. For now, “It is well you thought to have her dismissed.”
“Aye.” Trevelyan frowns at his tea. “It is ill enough she must also contend with the threat of Despoilers and now the Newtonites along with the legacy of contempt from Gariten’s crimes. To learn that half the odds managers in the Twelve Systems are eager for her death, and a smaller group may be desperate for it . . .” Trevelyan shakes his head.
“She is on the edge of collapse. You see it, Chin sees it, likely others as well. She is well guarded, and I will restrict her to the cartel and Katleen’s house unless she is escorted. There will be no more incidents of her waiting for her transport outside the safety of the cartel or her home. Is there aught else to be done?”
“Restrict her race training to the cartel and eliminate Katleen’s until after the new year.”
“Make her a prisoner?” Lucius considers it. If he so commands, she will obey, but, “Her home is a dismal place shuttered against the rains. It is like to do more harm than good to confine her. You know her routes and times. Add some additional watchers.”
“As you voice. I like not the notion of confinement. It is well you take her to Fortuna.”
The trip to Fortuna cannot come soon enough. Sharing his quarters on the transport and within the guesthouse, Lilian will be safe within the tight security that surrounds him. In those intimate confines, hidden from those would seek fault, he can also ensure she rests.
»◊«
Milord’s brief demonstration of the hull launch did not give justice to the full scope of Seigneur Aristides’ brilliance. Music swells as the massive reviewer in the Associates’ Hall displays fabulous vistas of the almost completed hull in a variety of lights from dawn to dusk, sunlight and shadow. The music fades and the voice of a well-known scholar discusses the challenges of construction and the dangers of the planned venture. As he speaks, LATs buzz about the massive hull, appearing no larger than birds. Informational in tone, it reaffirms the gallantry of the endeavor, the historic ties to the Five Warriors, and the extensive security that protects this important venture for the Twelve Systems.
Arrayed in the front rows, milord, Monsignor Hercules, Monsignor Elenora, and their seigneurs are as riveted as the protégés, associates, and apprentices arrayed behind them. Music swells again as the image shifts to the artistic rendering that depicts the hull tethered to four HATs. The HATs lift the SEV1 free of its moorings and pull it several miles to the edge of the atmosphere. There, at the threshold between the green of Fortuna and the black of night, the SEV1’s propulsion systems fire. The SEV1 pulls free of its escorts and, under its own power, breaches the atmosphere, crossing a gray-green horizon into the black.
There is not one viewing who does not wish he or she could be on board the SEV1 hull when it enters the night sky. In the restrained bastion of commerce, where stoicism and a blank demeanor are the marks of an effective warrior of commerce, the chamber breaks into a brief, spontaneous cheer of Serengeti.
As the cheers fade, Seigneur Aristides rises. He is pleased to report that they have succeeded in altering the entertainment contracts into a group entertainment with more than favorable terms. They have also licensed a pair of treatises on the origins and actions of the Five Warriors from Mulan’s Temple that will provide the entertainment with unprecedented historical accuracy. Preliminary research indicates that the SEV1 entertainment will exceed the initial offering revenues of every entertainment to date. Before it is released, before the hull launch, they must settle on a name for the SEV1. On the reviewer, four SEV1s appear, each emblazoned with a different name evoking warrior courage, gallantry, and martial success. “What is Monsignor Lucius’ will?”
“Two months gone, any one of these would have sufficed,” milord states. “Of late Serengeti has seen too much of battle and death. I would name the SEV1 with the promise of future benefit, not further strife.”
Milord pauses, and the chamber goes silent, waiting for his next sentence.
“The SEV1 shall be named Nightingale.” Into the stunned silence, he adds, “Sinead’s Seer wills it.”
Monsignor Elenora is the first to respond. “Sinead’s Seer? Added to the blessing from Sinead’s Keeper on the last Fortuna summit, that is a strong shrine endorsement.”
Aristides’ smile is gleeful. “This will help diffuse that lunatic Newton.”
“Even better, it shows Serengeti’s devotion to Rimon,” Monsignor Hercules says with that smile that makes him not ugly. “Brilliant, truly brilliant.”
At a bewildered expression from Aristides, he adds, “Aristides, do you not know? Before she was wed, the Lady Estella was known as Rimon’s nightingale. She owns the loveliest voice.”
As Aristides was not aware, neither was Lilian. Maman, what play is this?