by E G Manetti
3. Planet Exit
In the first centuries of Order, travel and communication between planets remained erratic. Transit was dangerous, requiring months for voyages that in the modern age are accomplished in days or sevendays. For the Five Warriors and others of significant estate, it was necessary to authorize trustworthy representatives to oversee distant commercial interests. Over the centuries, these arrangements became codified into the modern conservator and agent contracts. Conservator appointments authorize the conservator to oversee commercial interests as if he or she is the owner. It is a powerful trust and used only by the great cartouches, where the power of the cartouche and warrior honor can ensure the integrity of the conservator.
The agency arrangement is more common, whereby spouses and close kin are given access to accounts and property to administer in the place of the owner. Under the governing protocols, parents are agents for their offspring until they reach the age of majority. Similarly, guardians are agents for their wards until majority is attained. Agency fees, like conservatorship fees, are a matter of contract. Unless otherwise specified, immediate family members are not granted agency fees. ~ excerpt from Commerce Practices and Protocols, an academic text.
Sevenday 130, Day 2
“If we put my training garb and outerwear with my suits,” Lilian reorganizes a stack of black, “then the new frocks and after-commerce wear can go in a second travel bag.” Another stack is relocated on the bed. She looks at the arrangement and slumps. “And there is no place for the gown for the governor’s gala.”
“I will fetch my travel bag.” Katleen bounces from the reading chair. “You know it must be so.”
For over a bell they have attempted to organize Lilian’s Fortuna wardrobe into the two travel bags from the last voyage. It cannot be done. After Rebecca’s embarrassment at overpacking for the trip to the Western Continent Fisheries, Lilian was careful to take only the absolute minimum on the last Fortuna voyage. It was wise she did so; the servitor’s chamber in milord’s suite on the Shimmering Horizon barely held what she did carry. How she will fit a third bag is beyond her.
While Katleen fetches the bag, Lilian circles the bed, examining all that must go to Fortuna.
“Where should I put it?” Katleen swings the bag by the handle, her black eyes bright with excitement, the red-gold curls forming a nimbus around her heart-shaped face. Any change in routine is an adventure. With Lilian’s departure, Rebecca will take up residence, and she is prone to indulging the young girl.
“On the floor at the foot of the bed. It is small enough to fit under the bunk in the servitor’s chamber. I can use it for my training garb and outerwear. It will not matter if they are a bit crushed.”
Without being asked, Katleen starts to arrange the items in the bag. Setting the largest bag on the top of her chest of drawers, Lilian loads it with her two best suits, her after-commerce wear, and the new frocks.
“It is not full.” Katleen looks up from the bag. “Is there aught else?”
“The new ankle boots.”
Lilian will wear her third-best suit and commerce pumps. That leaves naught but her lingerie and the gown for the third bag. She can leave the bag with her outerwear and training grab packed and push it under the bunk. That will allow space in the miniscule clothes cabinet for her suits and the gown. The frocks can be folded in the drawers and steamed before use.
“What of your cosmetics?” Katleen asks. “And personal cleansers?”
“I will use the transport and guesthouse cleansers.” Lilian seals the gown into the bag. “My small cosmetics bag and milord’s brilliants chain will fit in my slate satchel along with the thorn.”
“Is it well with you?” At the open door of the bedchamber, Mrs. Zdenka stands at attention. With the house sealed, the regular patrols seem pointless to Lilian, but Seigneur Trevelyan insists.
“We are fine, Mrs. Zdenka,” Lilian replies, reaching for the two largest bags. “Need you aught?”
“I will take those.” The guard reaches for the bags.
“Katleen and I can take them.”
“I am returning to the courtyard.” Mrs. Zdenka tugs the bags from Lilian’s grip. Shouldering one, she reaches for Katleen’s.
“Thank you,” Katleen says with a sunny smile.
With a nod, the militiawoman turns for the staircase.
“She is not very talkative.” Katleen drops onto the bed. “Mr. Stefan and Mr. George are far nicer.”
“She carried the bags and it is not one of her duties,” Lilian replies, settling on the bed. “I find that nice enough.” Reaching for her nape ties, she adds, “You must rise a half period early if we are to ready this chamber for Rebecca before I depart.”
“It is not necessary,” Katleen says.
“Of course it is necessary.” Lilian reaches for her brush. The bell grows late, and she has little patience for her sister’s reluctance. “Rebecca must have clean linen. And the freshening closet must be cleansed. I will use yours on the morrow.”
“You misunderstand.” Katleen shakes her head. “We need not prepare your chamber because Rebecca will not require your chamber. She will not come at all.”
“What say you?” Lilian drops the brush. “Enough of this nonsense. Rebecca will not shirk her duty.”
“Peace.” Katleen holds up her hands. “That is not what I meant. Rebecca will not come because she is not required. It is Seigneur Trevelyan who will arrive with tomorrow’s eve.”
What says Katleen? The language is hers. The words are simple enough. There can be only one meaning and it is beyond astounding. “It is Seigneur Trevelyan who lies with Maman.”
Katleen smirks. “For one so clever you are capable of remarkable ignorance. The seigneur has favored Maman since Fenrir stole you. He is a very resourceful man. Maman capitulated shortly before the battle of Serengeti.”
Rolling, Lilian pins Katleen to the bed. “Two months and you voiced this not?”
Katleen is not intimidated. “Did Maman wish it known, she would have voiced it to you. I would not now, but you will not miss the signs on your return. I will not labor before dawn to preserve a deceit that will not outlast the rains.”
Rolling to her back, Lilian gazes at the cracks in the ceiling. Katleen is right. Had it been Lilian’s to know before this, Maman would have spoken. For all her youth and occasional bouts of temperament, Katleen has proven reliable in all matters of importance. Although she is young for it, it will simplify matters if Katleen has access to their accounts. “Your discretion is admirable. What say you to my agency?”
Katleen is silent. Has she erred? Katleen is not yet fourteen. Agency might well be viewed as burden, not a profound compliment.
“If it is too much, regard it not. The offer will remain until you are able to accept the burden.”
At her words, Katleen’s heart-shaped face rises over Lilian’s, the milky skin pale but for the dusting of freckles. “It is not too much. There is nothing with which you may not entrust me.”
Hugging her sister close, Lilian murmurs, “You have no notion of how precious you are.”
Sevenday 130, Day 3
With a fierce cry, Katleen charges Lilian, short sword swinging. Lilian spins away and the momentum sends Katleen into a stone pillar.
Rolling from the pillar, Katleen pulls free her mask. “Sinead’s spite!”
“Language, sweetling.” Lilian puts aside her mask and tips her sister’s face into the watery sunlight filtering down from the second-storey garden windows. A red welt mars the milky skin of Katleen’s jaw where the mask dug deep, but the bone beneath is sound. Under Lilian’s careful probing, Katleen’s eyes shine with tears that do not fall. Pleased at her sister’s control, Lilian says, “Tend this with ice. I must ready. Monsignor will not be long.”
Stopping in the entry, Lilian double-checks the closures of her travel bags. She hopes milord will not be annoyed by the addition of the third bag. At the sound of eighth-bell chimes, Lilian turns
for the staircase. Milord will arrive with ninth bell and she must be ready.
»◊«
With a period before her escorts are due, Katleen is more interested in icing her cheek and consuming her morning meal than she is readying for the day. Picking a berry from her oatmeal, she offers the tidbit to Gloribelle. A happy chirp greets the offering.
“You are not rotund,” Katleen says to the tree wombat and is rewarded by a flash of iridescent blue beneath the soft gray fur. The size of a small terrier or large cat, the little creature has a multihued undercoat that peeks out in response to pleasure. When she is ready to mate, she will be a breathing pyrotechnic. At the sound of entry chimes, Katleen drops her spoon and hurries through the gardens into the courtyard.
In the entryway, Mr. Stefan is by the door, his fireburst pistol in hand. Peering through the security monitor, she discovers a large man in Serengeti livery who carries the promise of violence like a scent. Mr. George. With a glad cry, she releases the door and greets the former prizefighter with an exuberant hug.
“Mr. George, you are come too soon!” Katleen is lost to all courtesy. “Monsignor is not to arrive for another half period. Lilian is not ready.”
“Peace,” Mr. George replies. “Monsignor is before the appointed time. Is this all that Mistress Lilian uses for travel?”
Katleen nods at the bags. “It is not too much, is it?”
“Not at all.” Mr. George gathers the three bags. “I will place them in the transport. Do not fret your sister. Monsignor is not impatient.”
Monsignor is outside. And it is not as if he has not been within and seen the barren conditions of her house. The formal words of hospitality cannot be withheld. “Mr. George, please extend my greetings and hospitality to Monsignor Lucius. Does Monsignor wish the comfort of my house, it is open.”
Monsignor’s transport is far more comfortable than the kitchen. He will refuse. I would.
»◊«
Lucius may sit in the comfort of his transport and review Vistrite productivity reports or he may indulge himself in investigation of the seer’s eccentric household. Before he can speak, Mr. George opens the transport door.
Not quite to her fourteenth year, Katleen is tall for her age, holding the promise of Lilian’s inches. Shooing her pet outside, she offers Lucius his choice of refreshment. Relieved the furry rodent will not be a guest at the table, Lucius accepts green tea. Sipping, he examines Katleen while she returns to her meal and places an ice treatment to a raised welt on her jaw. “A training accident?”
“Yes, Monsignor. Third day, Lilian instructs me in Adelaide’s Avoidance. Both she and Maman are insistent that the first victory in combat is survival.” Katleen shifts the ice as she opens her mouth to take a bite of cereal.
The injury is minor. It will bruise, but no worse than many Lilian has displayed. She is far more careful of Katleen than she is of herself.
Blushing, Katleen says, “Lilian insisted on the ice.”
Interesting. “Lilian is not so careful of her own injuries.”
“Lilian does not attend a Universalist school, Monsignor. The scholars are overly concerned by the violence of my house. We do not wish to distress them further.”
“Are they so easily distressed?” He cannot imagine how a bruised cheek could incite extreme concern.
“Since the battle of Serengeti, they have been very solicitous. Seigneur Aristides’ play for the media did not conceal Lilian’s ferocity in battle. It is fortunate the master scholar knows naught of Lilian’s duties since then. He already fears for my soul.”
What says she? He cannot imagine Lilian has violated security-privilege. Nor can he fathom her discussing the torture of the Despoilers with one of Katleen’s years. “Lilian speaks of her duties?”
Putting down spoon and ice, Katleen rises and begins to clear the table. “Lilian does not speak of it. With Lilian, it is not what is voiced, it is what is not voiced. Since the battle there is a great deal Lilian has not voiced.”
Lilian’s tendency to withhold is an ingrained habit, its roots in the trauma of her youth and the necessity for secrecy when she learned of Gariten’s dark doings. None of that can be undone. The wounds caused by the Despoilers are something he can address. With Lady Helena’s communication erratic, a silent Lilian must leave the young redhead very isolated. “You will find she is less silent when we return from Fortuna.”
“My thanks.” Katleen stows the leftovers in the foodkeeper. “It is not as bad as it was. Mistress Rebecca and the others have been with us the past few Seventh Days.”
“Lilian’s consortium,” he replies, hoping to lure more confidences.
“Yes, Monsignor, although Rebecca and Chrys are the best at lightening Lilian’s spirit.”
Before he can ask anything further, Lilian pushes open the kitchen door. “Monsignor’s transport is out front. I must depart. Have you all you require?” Lilian’s eyes widen as she glances between him and her sister. Pressing her lips together, she squares her shoulders. “What is milord’s will?”
Watching Lilian don apprentice decorum is charming. It will be delightful to tease or arouse her into discarding it. Repressing a smile at the wayward thought, he rises. “Take leave of your sister. I will await you without.”
He turns to Katleen. “Mistress Katleen, thank you for your gracious hospitality.”
As soon as milord’s footsteps fade away, Katleen says, “I had to offer the house, Lilian. Monsignor was before time and Mr. George would not let me disturb you.”
Milord’s will is extraordinary. Since the battle, it is often so. “Peace. Had Monsignor wished me sooner, it would have been made known.” Stepping to a window, she motions to Katleen. “I would see; turn your head.”
The mark has eased, and the swelling is all but gone. “You did well with the ice. The mark is almost invisible.”
Hugging her sister, she adds, “I need not instruct you to behave. With Seigneur Trevelyan in residence you will have no other option.”
“Truly, Lilian, I do not transgress on purpose.” Katleen lifts her head to meet Lilian’s regard. “I mostly do not know it is a transgression until afterward.”
“Well I know it, sweetling. I was much the same at fourteen. Require you counsel, fear not to send an alert. My duties are light on this voyage.”
“And now you must hasten. It will not serve to keep Monsignor waiting.” Katleen opens he kitchen door and Gloribelle scampers out of the shrubs.
»◊«
At the sound of the transport door, Lucius looks up from his slate. Lilian slides into the seat at his left, her gray eyes bright. Other than the lingering signs of fatigue, she shows no signs of stress. Trevelyan was right to keep the dangers of the odds managers from her. After the Fortuna voyage, when she has had time to recover, will be soon enough to inform her of the danger.
Stefan takes the seat next to George, and Lucius’ driver sets the transport into motion. It will be a period before they reach the stellar transport center. The Vistrite reports can wait. As the transport turns onto Metricelli Boulevard and heads south to Stellar Transitway, Lucius engages the privacy screen. Setting aside his slate, he pulls Lilian into his arms.
After a startled gasp, she relaxes in his embrace, her lips parting to invite entrance. The warm cavern of her mouth tastes of tea and melon and Lilian. Her tongue slides against his, and her arms twine about his neck, pressing her breasts to him as her strong fingers sink into his hair. His groin tightens with bliss.
Pressing her back and down, he slides a knee between her legs, pressing his thigh to her pelvis. She moans, arching against him. Senses heating, Lucius releases her lips to explore the silky skin of her throat while sending one hand beneath her jacket to cup her breast, savoring the taut weight and hard tip pressing against his palm through two layers of silk. The tightness in his groin turns to heat, his shaft thickening.
Beneath him Lilian shivers. The gray eyes are clouded, and it is not desire alone; trepidation
swims in their depths. If I continue, I will take her in the transport. As much as it would please him, he will not. She holds both George and Stefan in regard and would be embarrassed. Mastery of self. Reluctantly, Lucius sets her from him. The comfortable transport suite is within a period.
Dazed from passion, Lilian slides a hand along her warrior queue, confirming her hair is restrained. Milord’s embrace has left her aching with want, but she cannot help but be relieved that he did not pursue his pleasure. The transport is comfortable enough, but knowing Mr. George and Mr. Stefan are so close and would know is uncomfortable at best. Milord’s eyes are heavy with passion and warm with concern.
Milord reaches out, adjusting her jacket. With a nod of approval, he picks up his slate. The privacy shield retreats. Neither driver nor guard acknowledges it.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Forcing order on her thoughts, Lilian turns to the report from Fisheries Master Diana. The latest hybrid has reached a demand level that justifies the move from the development fishery to one of the production farms farther down the coast.
“What pleases you, Lilian?” milord asks.
“It is the Western Continent Fisheries, milord. The new hybrid is ready for production farming. Chief Diana will begin seeding the farm at Sinead’s Sound within the month.”
“Why so far south? The Crystal Bay farm is closer. The transport costs will be less.”
“Two-thirds of the harvest season coincides with the period when the deep-sea fish are spawning. The fleet returns with half-empty holds. Now they can stop and fill the balance of their holds with hybrids. The harvest costs will be half that of a Crystal Bay location and the fleet captains will benefit as well.”
“An excellent notion.” Milord nods. “Yours or Chief Diana’s?”
“Neither, milord. It was Master Raphael’s suggestion.”
Milord’s eyes sharpen. His elder son spent the dry season at the fisheries as punishment for some transgression. “How came Raphael by such an understanding of operations working the line?”