by Andy Hoare
The elderly woman to Lucian's right turned out to be one of the most unpleasant individuals Lucian had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and he had in his time spoken with some highly unpleasant beings. Though she feigned an air of disinterest in her surroundings, she reminded Lucian of a haemonculus of the xenos eldar that he had once had cause to meet. She shared the eldar's apparent distain for other beings, clearly being of the opinion that all such lower creatures were a simple waste of flesh. Lucian was quite pleased when the Catachan face eater was placed before him.
Luneberg tapped his goblet twice with a silver spoon, the diners immediately hanging on his coming words. 'My friends, our finest chefs have prepared for us a dish of supreme delicacy. You have all seen with your own eyes that the creatures were in good condition, if necessarily sedated when presented to you. They have now received the tender mercies of our kitchens, and await your pleasure. Enjoy!
The servant lifted the dome covering the dish, placing the face eater on the table in front of Lucian. He looked around at the other diners, seeing that every one was nodding in appreciation, yet none seemed willing to eat first.
'My dear Lucian' Luneberg called from across the table, 'I trust such a dish is nothing exotic to one such as you' Every diner in the hall looked up at him, pleased, he judged, by the distraction.
Lucian saw immediately that Luneberg sought to test him. Fine, he thought, better men than him had tried. 'I have eaten many such dishes, my dear Culpepper' Lucian said, using Luneberg's forename deliberately, weighing up the risk in terms of breaching etiquette, 'though never so exquisitely prepared as this variant'
An appreciative murmur emanated from several nearby diners. Lucian had the distinct impression that they were enjoying the spectacle.
'Well' Luneberg leaned back in his seat, 'you will have to demonstrate the correct manner in which such a dish is consumed. We are but a frontier world, and the ways of high court are slow to reach us.
Now Lucian knew Luneberg was upping his game. What did the Imperial Commander have to gain from doing so? Did he seek some pretext under which to take offence at Lucian's deportment? Wars had certainly been fought over such trivial matters as which direction the svort was passed after dinner, so such a motive was certainly not out of the question.
'Certainly' Lucian looked down at the dish before him. The fleshy, translucent meat of the Catachan face eater lay on a bed of delicate green shoots. Lucian knew a little about the creature's habits, and knew, full well, how it had come by its name. When first offered for the diners' inspection the creatures were very much alive, though as Luneberg had stated, sedated enough to stop them from launching themselves at the guests. The creature spasmed, indicating to Lucian that he was expected to eat it alive. Fine, he thought, he'd eaten far more repulsive, though less dangerous creatures before, and would do so again were it to aid the survival of his dynasty.
That thought in mind, Lucian reached for an eating implement, judging expertly which of the score of utensils at his placing was set aside for the task at hand. He chose what he took for the filleting knife, guessing that he would need to make an incision that would incapacitate, as opposed to awaken, the deadly creature.
He raised the knife as a, literally, deadly silence gripped the hall. The face eater twitched once more. In one fluid motion, Lucian sank the knife into the part of its flesh that had moved, slicing away a thin morsel of still-convulsing muscle and popping it into his mouth. He chewed, as a polite round of compliments rippled through the diners.
'Well, I must say, that's one way of going about it. I prefer to wallop the blighters with a mallet myself!
The diners let out a nervous titter, picking up the miniature hammers set amongst the cutlery, and tapping the food upon their dishes nervously. Lucian chuckled inwardly as he saw that, in many cases this just served to make the food angry. Lucian noted, however, that Raffenswine, seated next to him, was eating the dish as Lucian had, and within minutes half the diners in the hall were doing the same.
'You've made quite an impression upon my court, my dear Lucian', said Luneberg. 'I hope the meat is to your taste?
Lucian nodded. 'Yes my lord. The dish is quite exquisite' he lied. In fact, it was quite tasteless. He saw immediately that Luneberg had served such a dangerous dish not for its taste, but for its entertainment value. Clearly, some form of ennui had descended upon the court, driving it to ever more contrived distractions, from its hyper-cultured mores to its culinary eccentricities.
The entree consumed, Naal had ordered the main course to be served. Lucian had scant chance to discover what manner of dish this might be, however, before a commotion at the far end of the hall caught his attention.
He looked around the table, catching Korvane's eye. His son appeared pained, yet none of the diners appeared to have noticed. Looking closer, Lucian saw that the other guests appeared to be concentrating especially hard upon their neighbours, heads nodding eagerly in determined agreement with the most insignificant of statements.
As the commotion grew louder, the diners turned their heads away from the direction from which it emanated, assiduously ignoring its source. Lucian heard a raised voice, and knew, an instant before she appeared, that it belonged to his daughter.
Relief flooded through him, for his daughter was safe. As she stepped from the shadows, exasperated servants trailing behind her, he made to stand to greet her. Before he could however, Korvane coughed, drawing his attention to his son. With the slightest of motions, Korvane shook his head, and indicated Luneberg, who was staring, red-faced, into his goblet. The Imperial Commander's servants were in some distress, for they appeared not to know where to look, so obvious was their master's displeasure.
Brielle walked straight past him, and then past Korvane, and sat, before the attendant servant had the chance to pull out her seat for her. She swung her legs up onto the table, and crossed them, resting them on its edge. The movement caused priceless crystal goblets to tumble and smash upon the stone floor, and the crimson liquid within spilled across the table's surface. She reached across the table and lifted a crystal decanter, pouring herself a glass of its contents.
Lucian stared straight at his daughter, unable to fathom her behaviour. The room was now utterly silent, every head turned discreetly away from Brielle, yet, every eye glued to her.
She lifted the glass to her lips.
Luneberg surged to his feet. His servants scattered in all directions and priceless goblets toppled, spilling their contents across the table.
'Lucian!
Lucian stood, guessing what was coming next.
'Lucian, this is a travesty! Take her away this instant!
Lucian did not say a word. He merely walked over to his daughter and proffered her his arm. She took it demurely, and together, they walked, heads held high, from Luneberg's dining hall.
CHAPTER SIX
'What by Vandire's hole is wrong with you, girl?
Brielle remained silent. She would weather the storm of her father's wrath. Only once she had afforded him the opportunity to fully vent his spleen would she be able to act. He had remained silent all the way from Luneberg's dining hall back to the stateroom, but Brielle had sensed his boiling, inner rage from the moment they had left the chamber. He had not said a word, even to Korvane, who had caught up with them having made his apologies to Luneberg, until the door of the suite had closed behind them.
'You know how much is hanging on this mission, and yet you stroll into Luneberg's court with absolutely no concern for etiquette. Have I taught you nothing?
Brielle bristled at that, for she held dear the memories of the lessons learned at her father's side, before Korvane had arrived. She remained impassive regardless, determined that any damage done would not be caused by her, despite the fact that her father was quite correct. Her actions had been contrary to all she knew of courtly etiquette, and deliberately so.
'If I didn't know better, I might have thought you'd done it-
'Father? Korvane broke in, calm in the face of his father's wrath. Easy enough for him, thought Brielle, for it was not directed at him. In fact, Brielle thought, he probably sought to turn it to his own advantage.
'What? Her father held Brielle's gaze for a couple of seconds before turning to face her stepbrother.
'Father, I think we need to plan what to do next. I've been studying the Chasmatans' traditions, and there's precedent to suggest they might have grounds to cancel any contract we might have entered into.
Lucian took a deep breath, before addressing both his children. 'Korvane, Brielle, you both need to understand something about the nature of our deal with Luneberg. As I explained after the initial talks, this is not the type of contract recognised by high law and enforceable in the courts. This is not simple trade. This isn't even a transaction, and Luneberg is neither our partner nor our customer. He wanted something from us, and as much as he needed us at the beginning, we're as good as competitors in the long run'
Brielle fought hard to hold her tongue, for as much as she agreed with her father's assessment, she felt even more strongly that he should never have entered into the venture in the first place.
'Luneberg needed us in order to gauge whether or not he was on to something good. The fact that we signed up, and have returned here, tells him he is. Lucian said.
'But still' Korvane spoke up, 'he needs us to move the goods on. Without us, he's surely just sitting on worthless merchandise'
Brielle thought back to the cargo still sitting in her hold. She knew it was far from worthless. She had seen it for what it was — a mere sample of goods to be provided in the future. She would keep this information to herself though, and only reveal at a time most suited to her own ends. Her deliberate behaviour at the dining hall would pay dividends in the long run, but had left her stock low in the short term.
'I need to speak to Luneberg' said Lucian. 'Try to patch things up and find out what he really wants from us. I know I can turn this to our profit, but I need both of you' he looked straight at Brielle, 'both of you behind me. We are, in case you have forgotten, Arcadius'
Brielle nodded, a vision of contrition, and her father visibly calmed. 'Korvane and I will get back to Luneberg. You', he squeezed her hand, 'stay out of trouble'
Only once her father and stepbrother had left the suite did Brielle allow herself a wry grin. She had succeeded in complicating the deal to the point where it might collapse entirely, but was unsure exactly where to go from there. When she had discovered the nature of the items in her hold, she had intended merely to steer her father away from the deal, souring it to the extent that it would collapse largely of its own accord. She thought of this as entirely unselfish, but had come to realise that her father, and certainly her stepbrother, would hardly see it that way.
If she was to be damned, she thought, she would be damned for good reason. If she succeeded in ruining the deal with Luneberg, she would need to make some kind of power play against her stepbrother, for he would never forgive her, even if her father did. That made Korvane a long-term enemy, and now, Brielle realised, was the best time to deal with him.
Brielle crossed to the tall, glass doors that formed one wall of the stateroom, hauling them open upon corroded runners. She stepped out onto the high gallery, and looked out on a panoramic view of Luneberg's capital city. The sun was almost set, the last of its rays turning the sky a deep bronze, and casting the air in a thick, golden haze. The city sprawled for many kilometres in every direction, distant, craggy mountains just visible on the horizon. Below her, the palace grounds were arrayed. She noted how these appeared overgrown and untended, not like the lovingly maintained ornamental gardens she would have expected to grace Luneberg's estates. Beyond the grounds, the merchants' quarter spread as far as the distant warehouses at the city's edge, its street markets alive with activity even at this late hour.
Brielle felt a sudden urge to be free of the shackles of responsibility, if only for a short time. Luneberg's court was a claustrophobic and stale environment, and little advantage was to be had skulking in the dusty guest suites. She looked out at the city, and then back towards the door of the apartment. She came to her decision.
While her father and stepbrother wasted time with Luneberg and his pet fops, Brielle would go out into his domain. She knew not what she might find, but she reasoned it had to be better than what she had here.
The household guards made no attempt to challenge Brielle as she strode through the main gates. They resolutely ignored her in fact, staring straight ahead, out into the city streets beyond. She reasoned that their task was to challenge those attempting to enter the palace. Her thus far limited experience with the Chasmatans' bureaucracy suggested that their vigilance did not extend to those attempting to leave. An interesting observation, and one that might prove worth remembering, she thought.
The city streets outside the palace were narrow and old, the buildings overlooking them of pre-Imperial vintage, blocky and pre-fabricated to some long-lost pattern. Brielle stood outside the gates, looking first left, and then right down the empty thoroughfare. She knew the mercantile quarter lay to the east, and so turned left, headed for the junction at the end of the street.
Reaching the junction, she noticed how the further from the palace she travelled, the more people were out on the streets. She saw no signs of law enforcement, which on most of the Imperium's more populous worlds was conspicuous, and proactive in keeping the subjects in line. Here, the enforcers were conspicuous by their absence. Was the populace so well behaved as to make enforcement unnecessary? She doubted that, for she knew that rebellion and heresy lay just below the surface on every world of the Imperium. Not a single world, least of all sacred Terra itself, was untouched by war, and most such conflicts were internal in nature, even when triggered by external factors.
Though rogue traders populated a rarefied world beyond the norms, if such a thing could even be said to exist, of human society, they only existed in reference to that society. While they conquered the stars and commanded vast private fleets and armies, they did so ultimately for the benefit of mankind as a whole. They could only bring the rule of law to the stars if they knew that rale would be upheld once established. To Brielle and her kind, the law was something that applied to others, but it was vital nonetheless. The thought that worlds such as Mundus Chasmata might fail in their God-Emperor-given duty to uphold the Pax Imperialis was, to Brielle, unsettling in the extreme. She checked the miniature weapons worn as jewellery on her fingers, just to be certain that she could enforce her own authority, should she need to.
Following no particular course, she rounded a corner. Yet more people were about their business as the day drew to a close. She walked casually, so as not to draw attention to herself. No doubt, many would mark her as a stranger, yet Brielle had learned from her father that it often paid to keep a low profile in such surroundings.
She studied the men and women travelling up and down the streets. There was something about them, something also evident in Luneberg's court, which made her cautious. She knew her father had noted it too, though she doubted the less worldly Korvane had. There was a tiredness about the people, and the place in which they lived, as if they had simply lost interest in their own lives. Why should this be, Brielle asked herself? Many of the Imperium's subjects lived their lives in hardship and toil, or in constant threat from marauding enemies. These people suffered no such circumstances, their world was prosperous and in no immediate danger of invasion. Perhaps that was the problem, Brielle thought. Perhaps the people of Mundus Chasmata had grown lazy and complacent without the crucible of war and poverty to unite them against an ultimately hostile universe.
Brielle saw that she was approaching the merchants' quarter, the streets ahead lined with covered market stalls and thronged with strolling people.
A gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked down, to see a man slumped against a doorway, looking up at her. He had addressed h
er, though she had not caught his slurred words.
The man repeated himself, and she realised he was not merely slurring his words, but speaking a heavily accented, local dialect, as opposed to the High Gothic spoken by rogue traders and by Luneberg's aristocratic court.
'You realise that upon any civilised world of the Imperium you would be shot on the spot for begging thus? she said, more a statement than a question. She made to walk away, leaving the man lying in his own filth, before noting that, although heavily soiled, the clothes he wore were of a very fine cut and material. Looking closer, she saw that this was no derelict beggar, but a gentleman of some means.
The man spat what Brielle could only take for a stream of particularly insulting local invective. She could decipher only one word in ten, and that related to an improbable biological function she was not prepared to undertake.
She shook her head, deciding to waste no more of her time on the man. She carried on towards the busy market place, leaving the local in a pool of his own making.
The street upon which the market was being held evidently marked the border of the merchant quarter, for Brielle could see crowds of shoppers filling the streets beyond. She came to the first stall, looking between the shoulders of the customers before it. Nothing of particular interest, merely locally made eating vessels. She moved on to the next, pushing into the ever more dense crowd.
The next stall stocked all manner of spices, a variety of pungent aromas greeting her as she approached. Wide-brimmed pots and smaller, stoppered bottles contained all manner of brightly coloured powdered substances, small parchment scrips detailing the source of the contents. Brielle read the hand-written label on a small, glass container holding a bright, blue substance. Extract of leg-fish proboscis, it read. Brielle let out a small snort of amusement.