by Cheree Alsop
“The problem is that it hasn’t passed the required fifty-year living mark. You know that. If they can’t prove the standard practices and procedures in working form, they shouldn’t allow settlers to go there. It’s common sense,” the Quarian he faced shot back. The man’s four arms were folded tight enough that the cloth of his fancy suit looked as though it was about to rip.
“Now, gentlemen, let’s agree to disagree and put this argument behind us,” Lord Favreau urged. “Surely you’d rather focus your energy drinking more of my brandy than debating the intricacies of settlement. That would be a better discussion for a later date.” His expression suggested a date in which he was not a part.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you, Sir Grint,” the Quarian said. “Skip the discussion until you’ve already got your people there and can claim ownership by squatter’s percentages.”
The gray-skinned Sir Grint took another step forward. “Are you suggesting that I take a light regard for my people’s safety?”
“I’m suggesting your people’s safety comes second to your greed for planets,” the Quarian shot back. “Didn’t daddy ever teach you that the number of planets you own doesn’t equate to being a real man?”
Grint pulled something from his sleeve. The blade of a knife reflected the light of the blue-flamed fire in the nearby fireplace. “Shall we settle this like your ancestors, Quarie?”
The Quarian’s eyes narrowed. “You know that’s a belittling term, Grint. Say it again and you’ll have something real to worry about besides the size of your manhood.” He reached into the back of his suit vest and pulled out four knives, one for each hand.
I could feel my mouth fall open. Several of the men around us stopped talking. Cigar smoke hung heavily in the air as if it, too, had paused in its drifting to see the outcome of the fight.
“Now, gentlemen,” Lord Favreau began.
They ignored him as they circled each other.
While I was thoroughly entertained and wanted to see the outcome as much as the next guy, I knew by Kaj’s description that such fights were not considered standard entertainment during a ball. The panic on Lord Favreau’s face was plain. The servants stood close to the wall with matching looks of horror, and the gentlemen who ringed the fighters did so with expressions that ranged from fear to macabre entertainment. They may have wanted to see blood, but nobody was prepared for someone to die that night.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t at the ball as a gladiator, I was there as a lord. I stepped into the space the men had cleared and assumed the role that had been assigned to me.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, do we really need to settle our arguments with weapons?” I asked.
The Quarian pointed two of his four blades at me. “Stay back, Lord Gladicus. You don’t want to be involved. Trust me.”
I lifted my hands to show that they were empty and said, “I mean you no harm.”
Several of the gentlemen ringing the circle gave uncomfortable laughs.
“What is your opinion, Lord Gladicus?” Sir Grint demanded. “Whose side are you on?”
I chose my words carefully. “I am on the side of Lord Favreau who doesn’t want his magnificent event to end in bloodshed.”
Sir Grint rolled his eyes. “Coward.”
Inside, my gut clenched at the insult. Outwardly, I kept an expression of perfect calm. I made a show of turning my back on the armed men while keeping an eye on them in the mirror across the library.
“If a coward is one who chooses cigars to cutting throats and brandy to bandying meaninglessly about things that cannot be changed in a single night, then consider me guilty.”
A few more laughed at my grandiose proclamation, though gazes darted from me to the men behind me. Lord Favreau’s eyes widened when Sir Grint lunged for my back. It was the sign I was waiting for.
I spun and turned the man effortlessly, using his own momentum to send him past me into the waiting crowd. During the shuffle, I managed to snag the knife from his hand before he accidentally stabbed someone. I made a show of staring at the blade as though amazed I held it, and then set it, wide-eyed, on the closest table.
“Next?” I called out. I glanced behind me.
The Quarian shook his head. “I’ve no quarrel with you.” He slid the knives back into his vest. “And I’ll admit that the brandy got the best of us.” He raised his eyebrows at Sir Grint. “What do you say, Grinty? Care for a breath of fresh air?”
The gray-skinned man nodded. “Definitely.” He gave Lord Favreau a low bow. “I apologize for our little scuffle. It was not the time or the place to hold that conversation.” A self-deprecating grin spread across his face. “Your Eccian brandy is as strong as it’s rumored to be.”
Lord Favreau chuckled along with the rest of the men. “No harm, no foul, my boy. I’ll see that the servants bring you some water.”
Both Sir Grint and the Quarian surprised me by giving me a nod that was close to a bow when they passed.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Lord Favreau let out a loud sigh. “I’m going to have to water down that brandy,” he proclaimed.
Laughter followed his words and soon the men were back to their discussions. The Lord of the ball found me a few minutes later as I perused a gold-leafed book on Ashtonian Law.
“That was well done. What did you say your name was?”
I almost said my real name, but at the last second caught myself and replied, “Lord Covington Gladaris the Third of the Sundaris System.”
Lord Favreau nodded. “Ah, yes. The dashing young man on whose arm our fair Countess Loreander entered the ball tonight.” He gave me a searching look. “How on Vexus did you manage to snag her plus one?”
I didn’t know what answer Nova had been giving, so I put on my best actor’s expression of shock and said, “Honestly, I have no idea.”
Lord Favreau laughed again, a jolly, happy sound. “Good answer, my boy. Nobody knows what these women are up to. It’s better just to nod and go along with it, if you know what I mean.”
I grinned. “I agree, my Lord.”
Lord Favreau looked over my shoulder. I followed his gaze to where Sir Grint and the Quarian had returned to the room. Both appeared calmer after their confrontation.
“Remind me not to get in a fight with this one. He may just talk his way out of it,” someone said from behind me.
Lord Favreau and I both turned. A man with the pale purple skin of the Cray nodded to both of us in greeting. “Well met on this pleasant evening,” he said with a hint of a hiss to his words. The Cray people were born with a characteristic slit tongue that gave their words a bit of a lisp.
“Greetings, Lord Baccus,” Lord Favreau said. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Gladicus.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Lord Baccus said.
I studied him closely as I held out a hand. Nova had mentioned that he was our contact from Lady Winden. He watched me with similar interest.
“Lord Gladicus, didn’t you arrive with Countess Loreander?”
I nodded. “I had the honor, yes.”
His eyes brightened. “Well, then, it seems you and I have a similar interest.”
“In the Countess?” Lord Favreau said. “Beware, gentlemen. Her brother is known for his hot temper and protectiveness when it comes to his sister. Be sure to prime your weapons if you plan on making any advances.”
I held in my surprise that Nova had never mentioned her brother and made a mental note to ask her about him later.
Lord Baccus chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Lord Favreau. If Lord Gladicus is who I think he is, we are involved in a joint business venture, but nothing further.” He licked his lips with his split tongue. “Though I wouldn’t mind some extra time with the Countess. She’s the belle of the ball for sure, but she’s always been a little standoffish. Perhaps she’s just craving a little extra attention with a Cray.” He elbowed me in the ribs. “Get it, chap? Craving a Cray?”
It took some effort not t
o smash his nose in. The thought of the man spending any intimate time with Nova set me on edge, not to mention his sharp elbows. It took some effort not to show it.
“I hear she keeps a knife in a hidden pocket in her evening gown, so I’d recommend taking care if you do try to give her extra attention,” I said casually.
The Cray’s face paled. “Thank you for the warning.”
“Anytime,” I replied.
Lord Favreau glanced across the room and gave a small sigh. “I’d better make some small talk with Sir Henrish. It’s never smart to jilt one of his brood, if you know what I mean.” He smiled at us both. “A host’s job is never done. Please excuse me.”
“Of course,” Lord Baccus said.
I nodded and watched him join the company of a man with tentacles instead of hands.
“There’s a man I’d rather not speak to right now,” Lord Baccus said, drawing my attention back. “Meet the Countess and I by the fountain at half past.” His smile deepened and he said, “I hope I’m not overstepping to assume she would want you to be there.” His gaze shifted again, then he ducked away.
I followed the direction the man had been looking to a gentleman of small stature with dark fuzz covering the parts of his body that weren’t embellished in a white and silver suit. He held a cigar in one hand and scanned the room attentively as though looking for someone. It wasn’t hard to guess who as Lord Baccus snuck out the back door onto the main level balcony. I watched him climb over the railing and disappear.
A feeling of uncertainty ran through me. I didn’t like the idea of this Cray being Nova’s contact. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but he rubbed me the wrong way; if Nova’s mission, whatever it was, depended on him, I was worried for the outcome. I wished she would tell me what we were doing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t argue because it wasn’t really any of my business. I had been hired as a bodyguard and was grateful enough to get away from Roan Seven that I didn’t want to do anything that would land me back there.
But Nova was playing with fire. I had seen it in Lord Baccus’ eyes. He enjoyed whatever mischief he was creating, and I feared Nova was about to be on the receiving end.
“What would you have done if we had stabbed you?”
I glanced over to find the Quarian and Sir Grint watching me. Both held new glasses of brandy. Though I would argue that whoever gave them the drinks didn’t have the gentlemen’s best interests in mind, I wasn’t about to mention it.
“Stabbed you back,” I replied.
The Quarian’s eyebrows rose. “With what?”
“The fire poker would have made an excellent blocker while I used the mixer from Lord Favreau’s brandy and citrus to render you both, if not unconscious, then at least impaired enough to beg a release from the fight.”
Silence followed my words in which the sounds of conversation from around the room pressed against us. Both of the men looked behind me to ensure that the fire poker was there; I didn’t have to look because I knew it was. They exchanged a wide-eyed glance. I probably should have kept the comment to myself, but perhaps the thought that they had put themselves in danger with their reckless actions would make them think twice before putting their host out.
Finally, a smile spread across Sir Grint’s gray face. “Well played, Lord Gladicus. I’ll consider myself lucky that you were determined to stop the fight instead of join it.” He snagged a glass from a servant carrying a tray of them and held it out to me with a smile. “You deserve it.”
I accepted it. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” the Quarian said. He held up his cup. “To keeping your wits under pressure and allowing us to do the same.”
I clinked his glass with mine and took a drink.
The Quarian held out one of his four hands. “I am Lord Redden Fay.”
“Lord Covington Gladicus,” I replied. The name felt strange no matter how many times I said it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well,” Lord Fay replied. “It’s not often I get to converse with a Smiren.”
“A Smiren?” Sir Grint proclaimed. “What’s this?”
A chill ran across my skin. I kept my emotions from showing and gave Lord Fay a mild smile. “We’re not all that bad.”
Sir Grint’s eyes widened. “So it’s true?” He took a step back. “Then you really were prepared to stab us!”
Lord Fay merely took a sip of his drink. “Calm down, Apoltus. You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Sir Grint shook his head. “Possibly, but if I stick around here, I may not be much longer. I bid you both farewell.”
He set his cup down on the edge of an end table. It fell to the ground with a crash. The man didn’t stop; instead, he rushed to the doors as though someone had lit his coattails on fire. Others in the library turned to see him leave. Though a man at the door asked, he didn’t stop to give any explanation. I supposed I should have been grateful for that.
Lord Fay and I watched in silence as a servant cleaned up the broken glass. When the man moved on to dump his tray, Lord Fay gave me a searching look.
“I can’t say he handled that well.”
I allowed a small smile to touch my lips. “No, I wouldn’t say so.” I waited a moment and when he didn’t speak, I asked the question I didn’t want to. “How did you guess I was a Smiren?”
“No guessing needed,” he said. He tipped his chin to indicate my shirt. “You were smart to go with the darker colors. They hide your tattoos, yet I am a master at dialects and race genetic traits. The faint way in which you drop your t’s at the end of a word lets me know that you are from one of the near outlier systems. Your rare eye color of brown so dark it is nearly black can generally only be found in one of three races. Put those two clues together with the way you carry yourself as a fighter confident in his stride, and landing at Smiren wasn’t too hard.” He gestured around the room. “Smirens are rare here, as everywhere. I imagine you have the full trinity?” He paused, then said, “Forgive me if my Smiren lore isn’t fresh. Is inquiring after one’s tattoos considered rude?”
If he had been another Smiren, I would have laid him out cold on the floor for asking; however, given the fight I had just broken up, I felt as though a bit of tact was called for.
“Under different circumstances, my answer would be yes.”
His eyes tightened slightly, but I was impressed with how he kept the fear from his expression.
“But considering that we have just met and your inquiry is out of pure curiosity and not a want to gain the upper hand, I will answer.”
He bowed his head. “My gratitude.”
I glanced around the ensure no one heard us, then said, “I have the full trinity.”
He gave a low whistle. “That must have hurt.”
I merely smiled at the understatement of the century. Being tattooed with skull beetle blood was one of the most painful trials an individual can endure. Other races have attempted to implement the same techniques only for their victims to die a very painful death. It was rumored that only one of the Smiren race could endure the process; even then, the last one had put me nearly on my deathbed. Death and I had danced for almost a week before I awoke from my coma.
“I was the youngest Smiren to ever complete the trinity,” I admitted.
I wasn’t sure why I told him. I hadn’t spoken to anyone about my tattoos besides competing proprietors vying to acquire me as part of their fighting stock. Smirens were rare enough, especially tattooed ones, that to acquire one was considered a great honor. There were also the pretty much guaranteed victories for those able to purchase quantities of skull beetles.
“Really,” Lord Fay said. The light of respect in his gaze told me he had at least heard enough of the process to understand the weight of that fact. He gave me a half-smile. “I suppose I should thank you for not joining the fight, then; especially if you have a skull beetle?”
His words were light, yet the question carried a heavier undertone that made me hesitate
to answer. I finally went with, “I was tempted. It’s been a while since I had a good fight.”
Lord Fay laughed at this. The jolliness to his laughter made me conscious of other men looking our way, but he didn’t seem to care. “As if Sir Grint and I would have offered anything more challenging than shooing away skitter flies to one with your training.” He grinned and patted me on the shoulder with his two right hands. “I’ll consider myself lucky to have escaped a brush with death this night.”
I chuckled at that. “I’m glad I could oblige.”
“So is Grint, wherever he ran off to,” Lord Fay said amiably.
We both looked after the man, but he had long disappeared through the doors.
“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?” I mused, keeping the concern out of my tone.
“I doubt he stopped to grab his cloak on the way out, let alone spoke to anyone before he fled,” Lord Fay replied. He glanced at me. “As for myself, your secret is safe.” His smile lessened slightly when he said, “I know how important secrets are, trust me.”
“I do,” I said with a bit of surprise. I seldom trusted anyone, yet this Quarian had not only offered me a drink after knowing what I was, he had stuck around for a conversation of small talk about a subject that was anything but that. It said something about the stalwartness of his character.
He gave me a searching look, then stuck one of his left hands inside his suitcoat. He withdrew a business card that gave a dark shimmer of iridescence when it caught the light. He held it out, but withdrew it before I could reach for it.
“I don’t give these out lightly.” His voice was low and his eyes shifted past mine to watch those around us. “In fact, it’s been over a year since the last one was returned to me.”
“You expect it to be returned?” I replied.
He nodded and his eyes shifted to mine. “This is a one-time pass to the Dark Universe.”
I hide my surprise and kept my voice as low as his when I asked, “Does the Dark Universe exist?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and replied, “Do Smirens exist?” He held out the card again. “Use it if you have nowhere else to go.”