by TylerRose.
What was it like to live in a place that allowed for so little creative thinking? So little use of imagination?
Then she stumbled on a section for crafts. Books on needlework, carvings in wood, stone, pottery, textiles. Art. Here was the imagination’s outlet, and it was extraordinary.
Religion was a remarkably small section. There were only so many ways to write the official story. The Philosophy shelves next to it were far more extensive. Easily a thousand volumes of House Mondragoons. She grabbed the one her hand closed on, not reading the name, and took the huge, heavy book to the nearest podium. Opening to an earlier page, she read. Within a few pages, she was reading the same poem she’d already read once today.
Shaking her head at herself, she put it back and took down a different one. The House of Jelesp, a thousand miles to the West. She read early pages and then flipped to the end to read in the last twenty pages, gauging old and new. The book ended with the date of the Gar’s death, some twenty years ago.
“The Mondragoons are reprinted on a Gar’s death?” she asked. “To include his pages?”
“Yes,” Saber whispered, glancing nervously to the attendant.
There was to be no speaking in the libraries. She said nothing more, respecting the quiet, and put the book back. Leading the way out, she paused at the bikes and glanced around.
“Where is the market here?”
“I know where,” Ch’Wik said, and took the lead turning left out of the lot, then right onto the first street. Two more streets up and they pulled into a parking lot.
Bikes parked side by side in one car-sized spot, they dismounted. Other bikes were similarly parked.
One man on either side or front and back of her, she browsed the market at her leisure.
“Answer me, damn you!” came Mankell’s voice from Ch’Wik’s pocket.
“How long have you been ignoring him?” she asked.
“Since halfway through the library. It’s illegal to use a hand held communication device while driving and the bikes don’t have patch-throughs.”
“So answer him.”
He got the device out of his pocket. “We were inside a Library and then on the road,” he said by way of answering.
“The Rosaas are coming to the House tonight. She must be here to receive them with me.”
“I do not think ‘must’ is a concept with her, Gar Mankell; but I will inform her.”
He ended the call and relayed the message.
“You’re right. Must is not my strong suit. Tell me I must and I’ll usually do the opposite or something else totally unexpected,” she said, taking a corner in time to see a man punch a woman in the face.
The woman went down to her knees, begging forgiveness as a slave to a Master. She was property.
“So it seems this society is not quite so elevated as they would have me believe. I was told slavery had ended.”
“The law says so, Lar Tyler, but it is not enforced. Sale and purchase of females is common,” Saber said.
She had seen enough for one day.
“Let’s head back. There was another village on the other side of the Tihi creek. I want to see it.”
They both balked at the idea.
“What?”
“Gar Mankell would not approve. There is bad blood between the two Houses,” Ch’Wik said.
“I give fuck-all what he approves,” she said, and stopped suddenly to admire a shawl.
She felt an energy stop at the same time. Someone was watching and following her. Someone whose energy was much more palpable to her than anyone else.
A lovely purple shawl with flowers very similar to roses woven into the length and width. She wanted it.
“Is there a gold buyer around here somewhere? I need to exchange some gold for cash.”
Ch’Wik looked at the tag and dug into his pocket. “I have it. It’s only twenty.”
“And should be three times that,” Tyler said to the old woman at the loom. “At least.”
Coins handed over, Tyler folded up the scarf and put it into her shoulder bag. They started walking, the energy moving with them. She went around the next corner and pressed back to the end of the row of stalls to wait. A Voranian man came around the corner and she stepped directly in front of him. He was light gray, not spotted, kept his hair short and his neck shaved, rather like Shestna did.
“You’ve been following me since we got here. Why?”
“Prince Shestna has assigned me to watch over you,” he said in K’Tran. “I am Pisod, one of his brothers. He would trust no one within the Congress, so called me from our Father’s service.”
“Why?” she repeated.
“Because a Deek’Traiian named Solomon escaped Quarint this morning. My brother fears for your safety and so does Julian.”
“They suspect someone from the Congress helped him escape?” she asked.
“Yes. Our father agrees and so I am here.”
“Shestna doesn’t think the men of K’Tran are capable of protecting me?”
“They are formidable warriors,” he acknowledged. “But they do not have the weapon I do, Lar Tyler.”
He touched her hand and she felt it. A zap like she’d gotten from Jerome their night together. The crystal Shestna had told her about, that the warriors of Voran III took power from to fend off an invader.
“The threat is very real and comes from more than the one source,” he said much more quietly.
She stared hard at him, unable to read his mind, but reading his soul instead. He was about the most honest man she could ever meet. Very close to her own age but with a particular seriousness of duty common among royalty.
“We are about to leave the market,” she decided.
“My grav-bike is parked with yours.”
“You’ve been here before? With Sta?”
“A few times, during the application process, yes. I am astonished he lets you shorten his name,” he said, walking alongside her. “He is very formal, being First Prince.”
“Wanting a woman does strange things to a man. It makes him less formal with me.”
Onto their bikes and headed back down the twenty mile road, left turn followed by a quick right and they were on the decline into the village. She stopped at the bottom of the hill, looking around to the almost desolate street. This village was very different from Mankell’s. These people were not happy, were not proud. A dark cloud surrounded the first two houses on the creek side.
“It’s like a different world,” she said, seeing the derelict buildings.
“Not all Gars keep their villages in prosperity,” Ch’Wik said.
“So I see,” she said, seeing a rather well-dressed man leaving the clouded house.
A whorehouse, and the girls were kept prisoner through debt just like on Crecorday.
“You are of Mankell’s House. What are you doing here?”
“Osan. Lar Tyler is come from the Celestial Congress to investigate K’Tran for admittance to the Congress.”
She recognized that expression. Blatant lust that would take every opportunity.
“You just fucked a slave whore. Don’t you even think of me,” she spat, and throttled the grav-bike up the hill to the road.
Pisod was right behind her, Ch’Wik after him.
“Where is she from?” Osan asked Saber. “What planet?”
“Fuck if I know. Gar Mankell has told us no. We cannot work for you.”
“Of course he did. I leave on my next trip in four days. You have until midday that day to show up.”
“I’ll tell them,” Saber said and flew up the hill to catch up at the corner of the road to the South.
Ch’Wik was taking her around to access the main drive, as was proper, rather than going through Gar Mankell’s village and garden again. She and Pisod parked in the space nearest the portico while the two escorts turned left to park across the drive.
An old man with a carved walking stick came out to greet her.
“Lar T
yler, I am to inform you the Rosaas are due to arrive at the twentieth hour to talk with you further.”
“You are Houseman G’Ven?” she said, seeing the jeweled key on a chain around his neck.
“I am,” he bent as much of a bow as his old and injured back would allow.
“Is there a sitting table outside in a garden somewhere?” she asked. “A place I can sit in quiet and not be bothered?”
“I can make such a place for you if you will give me quarter of the hour?”
“Thank you, G’Ven.”
She breezed into the place as surely as she owned it, going to the corner steps in the rear and teleporting up. Pisod and Saber jogged up while Ch’Wik split off to report their return to Mankell’s next youngest brother. He and Saber were given the rest of the night off, to report back to diplomat duty in the morning. Two others replaced them outside her bedroom door until the evening hours.
Pisod went inside with her, watched her spark a lighter to a pipe and smoke a pungent tobacco that was different from the cigarettes Shestna had said she smoked.
She was putting a short pile of clothes onto the shelves of the closet, on top of little piles of identical items.
“Is your first day here what you expected?”
“In more ways than one,” she replied, holding her breath before exhaling.
She toked again and took a small white pack from the closet and put it into her bag. A trip to the toilet and they left to find two new faces outside the door. More of the younger men with so little to do, discontented with life on the farm when there was a universe out there to see.
“Who are you two?”
“Lar Tyler, I am Volf. This is Cresp. We are to accompany—“
“Yeah, yeah,” she groused, and teleported to the bottom of the stairs in that corner.
The corridor to the East House had a door to access the garden, and Kellina was on the path. The two guards ran to catch up.
“Lar Tyler, I will show you where Houseman G’Ven has placed the table,” Kellina said.
“I saw it from my window. Thank you. I don’t want to be bothered.”
Down the paths to the southeast, away from the village, the round table had been put in the shade of a stand of tall trees. A large umbrella reached two feet around the perimeter to protect from falling debris, rain and sun. A pot of tea was waiting for her along with two mesh covered plates of bite-sized snacks.
She sat with her back to the road side of the land. Book and pen ready, her cigarettes and lighter in hand, she conjured up an ash tray. Cigarette lit, she opened the book and started writing. Pisod sat opposite her, remaining silent. The two K’Tran kept to a perimeter.
She wrote page after page, smoking one cigarette within five minutes of ending the previous. She sipped tea that constantly went cold in her largely ignored cup. She didn’t touch the food. Intent on her writing, she passed several hours before antsy energy began to intrude on her solitude.
“What is it?” she asked irritably.
“The hour of the nightly Gathering draws near, Lar Tyler. The Rosaas are to come.”
“Yes. And?”
“It is past the time we should go in to clean up and change clothes.”
“So go in,” she said, continuing to write in the journal.
She crushed out the cigarette and leaned on her fingertips, continuing to write words that flowed from her pen in a torrent.
“Lady Tyler,” Pisod said gently in Voranian. “They are only doing their job as they know it. To break the way of things is hard for them. They will get in trouble and be chastised by the Gar though it is your doing.”
“Then the Gar needs to get the stick out of his ass.”
“Lady Tyler, is this how you would treat the President of your own country?”
She stopped. He’d gotten her with that one. Her eyes lifted to see him passive but making his point in the plea of his eyes. She closed the book.
“Fine.”
Book and pen put away with the cigarettes, she stalked up the path to the building.
“Thank you,” Cresp said to Pisod. “We heard what she did earlier. We’re told she hits hard.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about; but I have no doubt that she does.”
She ported up the steps again and shut Pisod out of her room. He hadn’t been intending to go in anyway. She needed privacy to change clothes and he wanted to freshen up a bit. His room was only feet away from hers, the first door on the connecting corridor.
She had already selectedthe purple and gold pants and tunic with shining embroidery down the back and sleeves. She would wear the purple strappy shoes with three inch heels in a thicker, blockier style able to take a good stomp during a Promenade. Eyeliner and shadow on, hair pinned up as she would do for a fancy night out with Thomas, she was ready within half an hour. Cigarettes in her clutch with a lighter and her freshly packed pipe, shawl around her shoulders, she opened the door to find Pisod waiting with two more new faces.
“Who are you two?” she blurted.
“Tegun.”
“Docku.”
“We are to escort you until you retire for the night, Lar Tyler.”
“Of course you are.”
Houseman G’Ven came out from the Hall’s balcony door, his gentle energy a comfort.
“Lar Tyler. If you will come with me, I have something to show you.”
He took her the length of the corridor to the steps in the front corner, and gestured down to those steps. Half-steps had been put in, shortening the very tall steps into more manageable ones.
“When did he do this?” she asked.
“While you were out. This way you can use the steps with ease. Might I accompany you down?”
The half-steps were wide enough for him to offer his arm and let her use the railing.
“How many Gars have you served?” she asked on the way down.
“Three. I was brother to Gar Mankell’s grandfather and first took the position of Assistant to the Houseman on the day I would have moved into the South House.
“Why does he not want to let the boys go to space and travel?”
“That is too long a topic for this walk down the steps, Lar Tyler.”
She let it drop as they turned on the first landing and took the three steps, which were now six, to the next landing.
“If you would permit me to, I would very much enjoy painting you while you are here.”
“I’ll allow you to paint me so long as you answer every question I have during that time.”
“I call that a fair agreement, Lar Tyler.”
They reached the bottom and turned onto the corridor. A group of Mankell’s soldiers (as their thoughts said they preferred to be called) were standing around the entry talking. Mankell had several brothers, of course, most of them half-brothers. His full blood brother was the one in charge of his South House. They were expecting her to walk the length of the front of the building and then go into the far doorway.
She turned unexpectedly into the near doorway instead, and caught Mankell with his hand in the hair of one of his North House residents. He had been going to step away from her to receive Tyler on announcement of her arrival.
Tyler much preferred not being announced and this was precisely why. The woman was being appeased. Given a promise that she would be in his Favorite’s room after Tyler had moved out of the room. Shoving him off the bike had only made him want her more.
It was getting tiresome. Already.
He left the woman and she backed away from the seating. Those two throne-like chairs and that sofa. Only women used the sofa and women only used the sofa.
Mankell bowed to Tyler, took her hand to kiss the back of it.
“Lar Tyler, welcome to the Ancient House of Meathe. We welcome your visit in the name of the Rosaas.”
“Thank you, Gar Mankell,” she replied.
He gestured her toward the sofa and she stayed put. She looked at the low-backed sofa designed
for reclining beside the Gar, looked to him.
He took the hint and showed her to the companion chair instead. His own was a tall-backed throne with a dark blue and green cushion and wide arms for his cup to sit upon. The medallion at the top of the dark wood back was a mosaic of two bears fighting. She recalled G’Ven’s key had a bear’s head at the top of it, and was surrounded by jewels.
“Thank you,” she smiled, hearing the music change. “I’d rather dance for a while. Is it too early for the important people to dance?”
“Not at all,” he smiled.
“Good,” she turned her back and walked away from him, toward the bench seats where several of the young men were huddled while trying not to look huddled. “Ch’Wik, come do a Promenade with me.”
Five heads lifted to look at her, four pair of eyes turning to him.
“If you like, Lar Tyler.”
He left the seat and took her into hold for the starting position.
“Do you actually know this dance, Lar Tyler?”
She grinned up at him. “Just dance, Chi.”
Together they astonished the room by performing an excellent Promenade complete with hard, loud stomps that thundered through the Hall. The dance was one of walking in time, turning in unison, stomping. The balcony above filled with servants and the room applauded them when it was over. She kept him for the next, which was more a waltz.
“I’ve had three different sets of escorts today alone. How many more sets of new faces will hound me?”
“I cannot answer, Lar Tyler. It is at the Gar’s discretion.”
“I want you and Saber to be on the job. Can you manage it, or would that be too difficult?”
“Madame, it would be a distinct pleasure to follow you around and stand guard all day. I don’t want this to sound rude, but anything other than idling away on the farm with daily exercises. Please.”
“Then consider yourself hired. I know you and the other boys want to go to space. I understand why, but why do I sense from Osan that his operation is less than above board?”
“Because he’s also a smuggler and a pirate,” Ch’Wik said quietly so no one else could hear. “Have you heard of other ships being attacked and looted?”