Zotikas: Episode 1: Clash of Heirs (11 page)

Both these families followed sullenly as the Executive
Chair moved with his characteristic lack of urgency toward a nearby table.

“These are Borgus and Balfani Telander. They produce
the generators and control the power plants of our city,” Threzhel offered. Kieler
felt his chest tighten at the introduction. Every house in attendance had an
indictment against them, but
Telander
—his crime was personal. His secret
penchant for kidnapped women, particularly Bags’ wife, struck to the heart of
why Kieler was here.

The Telanders stood for the Executive Chair, and
Borgus extended his arm to grasp Kieler’s. The man looked very much like the EC
himself. Rounded, shrinking in stature with a puffy face, wearing the same
bored expression. Kieler knew that there was little love between these two men.
As soon as House Ek had taken office they had boosted the price of magal. And
just this year someone had revealed that the recent magal shortage claimed by
House Ek was actually a fraud enacted to raise the price yet again.

Movus had told Kieler that Balfani, Borgus’ wife,
resented the Executive Chair bitterly because his price hikes cut into the
profits generated by their power plants. Evidently, they also cut into her
rather extravagant life style.

Kieler noticed that despite the “hard times”, neither
of them had starved. He also noticed that Balfani, her face lined with angry
wrinkles, was glaring fiercely at the EC.

“I knew your father, Salman,” Borgus nodded, referring
to the former Ortessi patriarch. “Shame he died so young.”

“I’m told his name was Salasan,” Kieler replied,
recognizing the feeble test to his claim. “But I did not know him. He was
killed when I was only two.”

Borgus nodded, looking at him with the same
half-closed eyes that the Executive Chair used. “So you don’t believe the
prattle about an accident, eh?”

“No. Only a year ago I pursued what investigation I
could, being twenty years passed, and it did not even look like they tried to
fake it. It seems it simply couldn’t be proven that it was the Cortattis.”

“You speak plainly enough,” replied Borgus. “You’ll
never make a good politician.”

Kieler took a chance. “Neither will you, sir,” he
countered with a smile.

The Executive Chair laughed, thankfully, and as he
started to lead Kieler away, Balfani Telander made a rather bizarre comment.
She blurted, “Don’t think you can get in my good graces with empty flattery in
a silly New Year’s Note, Ek Threzhel!”

The Executive Chair gave her a curious look, but did
not retort. As they walked away, Kieler asked him what she meant.

 The Executive Chair shrugged. “Speak plainly or
speak and make no sense. I find it better not to speak much at all these days.”
Then he lowered his voice so that only Kieler could hear. “But don’t you get
too cheeky, Ortessi. We politicians still need fighters for the arena.”

Kieler turned his head to the Executive Chair, but the
man wasn’t looking back at him. The threat was direct, but the warning at least
made it very clear what Kieler’s limits were in this new relationship. It all
served as a reminder that the Executive Chair was no one’s friend. The Chair
had no knowledge that he had, indirectly, killed Kieler’s mother. Nor would he
care if he did. The man’s only concern was that Feleanna was getting too
powerful. Kieler should be able to use that fear to get into his good graces
and exploit him.

The frightening aspect of Kieler’s game was that the
Executive Chair had played it successfully for fifty-some years. Kieler was a
brash, no-name challenger.

Allies.
That’s
what Kieler needed.

“Should we go see Feleanna then?” offered the
Executive Chair rather cruelly.

“No, sir. I want to be clear which side I am
not
on,” Kieler answered.

“Good.” The Executive Chair seemed to treat the
subsequent introductions as a play put on for his own personal amusement. But
Kieler was not amused and neither was his alter ego Orlazrus. Nevertheless, the
fact that the Executive Chair was actually taking him around personally fitted
Kieler’s purpose nicely. He was introduced to several more houses.

His final introduction to the Bintles was eventful.
The eldest were in poor health and not in attendance. Their son, Carrenten
Bintle, a young man only a handful of years older than Kieler, was now in
charge of the Omeron’s financial system. His wife, Serru, was stunning in an
elegant but revealing gown.

“Pleasure, Ortessi,” Carrenten Bintle said grasping
his arm firmly. “You’ll shake things up around here!”

“What do you mean?” Kieler asked.

“I mean we’ll see some action. Undoubtedly, Feleanna
won’t let you dance in here like a stodgy old house incumbent. You’re going to
have to be on your toes to avoid them being stepped on.”

Kieler smiled. The man was arrogant and direct, but he
liked him. Only Borgus was as direct, but Borgus was jaded and cynical.
Carrenten was looking for adventure, if a bit recklessly. Kieler responded with
a prodding directness of his own. “Could my conflict with House Cortatti affect
House Bintle in any way?”

Laughing, Carrenten replied, “Well, it might blow the
tops off a few more of my buildings. But I don’t think so. You didn’t miss that
unplanned firework, did you?”

Kieler had no idea if Carrenten Bintle knew of his
connection to the explosion. Actually, Carrenten couldn’t know. But the banking
king was certainly amused by the detonation even though it would cost him some
dras.
But if you’re the guy that prints the money…

Kieler doubted he hid his own reaction very well to
Bintle’s words. He replied casually, “I may have caught part of it…”

Suddenly Kieler was aware of Serru Bintle, standing
just behind her husband, boring into him with her eyes. Not unfriendly, but
certainly aggressive.

“She likes mystery men,” Carrenten said, looking
sidelong at his wife, who was still staring at Kieler. “I should know. I used
to be one.”

She spoke curtly, “How did you get that cut?”

There was something not right about this woman.
Interesting that it was she who was first to ask about the cut he got in the
tree. “Knife fight in the elevator.” Kieler tried to look serious.

Carrenten laughed, but Serru Bintle just nodded and
licked her lips. “Looks like you fell out of a tree.”

There was another laugh behind him, a laugh that he
enjoyed hearing. He and the Executive Chair turned, and there, next to a
handsome middle-age man also in blue and silver, was the girl with the tree.

Still amazingly bored, the Executive Chair muttered,
“Velator and his daughter Velirith. This is Orlazrus Ortessi.”

Kieler gave a slight bow, keeping eye contact with
Velator and then grasping his arm in formal greeting. He knew instinctively that
Velirith had not told her father about the incident on the balcony below. He
also noted that unlike the other House Primes, Velator was not wearing a house
sigil.

“Pleasure to meet you, Verr Ortessi.”

“Sure,” Velirith cut in with a blatant scoff. “Conveniently
dropped in, didn’t he?” She didn’t believe he was Orlazrus.

The Executive Chair scowled at Velator’s daughter,
perhaps at her impertinence, but his next words were those of revelation.
“Ortessi, how
did
you get here? My men were at the palace tram station
to escort you up and bring you to me. Yet you arrived without them.”

“Sir, may I get by with the excuse that my course was
unconventional? With several unwelcoming parties, I may have to slip out the
same way.”

The Executive Chair consented with a grunt, but was
obviously unhappy that someone could actually sneak into his palace past his
personal guards and Feleanna’s thugs.

But Velirith muttered, “I’d like to see
that
departure.”

Kieler clenched his jaw to hide his embarrassment.
Velator gave his daughter a curious look but let it go, probably fearing the
answer in front of the EC.

“Ortessi,” said the Executive Chair in a dismissive
way, “You’ve been introduced. You’re in the dance, by the way, position
twenty-one. See me before you leave.” And he walked back to his booth.

Kieler bowed, and when the Executive Chair was out of
earshot, Carrenten said, “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

Grinning, Kieler replied, “Could be worse. I could
have fallen out of that tree your wife had me climbing.”

Carrenten Bintle laughed but pointed out, “Look
Ortessi, you’ve avoided a straight answer to every question.” Kieler smiled to
himself that Borgus had made the opposite comment. “What are you up to?”

“I’ll give you a straight answer to that one, Verr
Bintle. Coming out at this party has made me completely vulnerable. Feleanna’s
thugs will follow me wherever I go tonight and they will unceremoniously kill
me. So I’m looking for a refuge, a benefactor. Can you handle taking me in for
a while?”

Completely taken aback, Carrenten thought soberly.
Although he did not look at her, Kieler could tell he was thinking about his
wife. Perhaps he feared her attraction to “mystery men”. But Kieler thought it
something else, as if it was Carrenten’s nature to do something just this
risky, but at a cost to Serru’s stability.

“We’ll take you in, Verr Ortessi,” Velator spoke up
unexpectedly, taking the heat off Carrenten.

“No, father! He’s a fraud!” Velirith blurted with
complete conviction.

“Shush, Velirith,” Velator said in a steady voice,
obviously accustomed to her bluntness. “I have intuition too and I think we
should give him a place to stay.”

Velirith looked back and forth between Kieler and her
father, evaluating. Then she sullenly agreed, but not without a steady, accusing
look at Kieler.

Kieler made a mental note to be on guard with her. She
seemed to see right through him.

“True to the house of Vel!” exclaimed Carrenten.
“Gathering together the wanderers of the world.”

Fechua, the social coordinator, interrupted from the
front of the dance floor. “The Family Harmony Dance begins in just a few
moments! Ladies and gentlemen, take your assigned spots. My daughter and I will
assist in placing you in your starting positions. Get ready!”

Velirith spoke to Kieler as they walked out to the
center, “You
have
been coached on how to do the New Year’s Family
Harmony Dance, true? I’d hate for you to mess this up like your arrival. You
might end up dancing with someone ugly.”

Kieler assured her that he had been well coached, and
they split up, Velirith taking a position across the circle from him next to
Gamielle Mizgot.  The Executive Chair and his wife marked the top of the
circle nearest the EC’s booth.

Eighty dancers were marshaled into two concentric
circles around the center of the hexagonal dance floor; men in the outer
circle, ladies in the inner one. The numbers matched precisely, each man with
one lady.

When everyone had assembled, Fechua called out,
“Please face and address your partners…” The men and ladies bowed to each
other.

Kieler was paired with Balfani Telander, but knew that
the pairing would be short lived. It was the final partner with whom one spent
most of the dance. Kieler bowed, “My pleasure, Lhea Telander.” She bowed back,
still looking miffed about something. Kieler considered the strong possibility
that her scowl was a permanent feature. He also wondered whether Velirith had
cursed him with her “ugly” comment.

Fechua continued, “And prepare to dance with someone
new!” Some near Kieler smirked at the “someone new” part, knowing the dance was
rigged, and that everyone would end up with someone inoffensive. Occasionally a
single young lady would end up paired with a hopeful young man, and they would
get to enjoy an anticipatory thrill. But mostly the old couples knew they would
be paired with some old ally and not a hated rival.

With that, Fechua gave a quick triple clap and the
orchestra began playing the traditional, upbeat waltz that had been played for
centuries. After the intro, the men immediately skipped counterclockwise one
position, and the ladies did likewise in the other direction. Since both
circles moved opposite each other, the dancers always passed one person to end
up with the next. Thus the two groups, odds and evens, would never mix. If
Kieler was an odd, he noted mentally, then Feleanna was an even. They would
pass, but never dance. The social coordinator had done her research well.

After each one-position rotation the new partners did
a four measure pas-de-deux, bowed, and then rotated again.

Kieler knew he would be watched carefully. After all,
everyone one of the dancers except him had seen the dance if not participated
in it. They had likely attended this event since they were twelve years of age.
He had never seen it. They’d be watching to see if he messed up.

But he wouldn’t. Movus had been his coach. Knowing
that all eyes would be on him, he had practiced in the dim chambers of the
under-Plate until he was bored silly with the simple dance. By his third partner,
Kieler was sure enough of himself that he glanced around during the rotation.

The Executive Chair, he saw, was not “skipping” one
bit. He was sauntering, doing just enough to stay in position so as not to
disturb the status quo of the dance. Everyone played their part, practiced, and
rather dull. And this was supposed to be the highlight of the evening?

About a quarter of the way around the circle, Kieler
converged with Velirith. Wary and intrigued with the young woman, he
desperately tried to think of something to say in the four measures they would
spend together. So much about her was unusual:  She wore an attractive
variant of the Vel uniform and not an evening gown like the other young
debutantes. Her every behavior indicated she wasn’t going to play like the
other Omeron. And, looking into her face, her eyes were unlike anyone’s he had
ever seen. Where her father had the silver-grey common to house Vel, hers were
so silver they reflected colored light like crystal.

And right now, as they touched hands in the dance,
those eyes seemed to convey a very readable, barely-contained excitement. What
it meant, Kieler had no idea.

“So you don’t trust me,” he stated, wishing he could
have thought of something more positive.

But her casual answer was an odd denial. “No, truly, I
do trust you. I just don’t believe you. Whereas you should
always
believe me—just don’t trust me.” The smile on her enchanting face conveyed her
meaning almost better than her words.

Having nothing to say to such a cryptic comment, Kieler
watched Velirith spin away from him, still wearing that charming, roguish smile
matching the one in her eyes.

Though there were many more rotations before the
anticipated change in music from regal waltz to light and playful lilt, Kieler
knew he wouldn’t be dancing with Velirith again, and he felt an unexpected
twinge of disappointment.

It was shortly after dancing with Velirith that
something happened.

Kieler heard a short, startled scream and looked over
to see Gamielle Mizgot suddenly grab her current partner and press the shorter
man to her bosom. Her partner was easily half-a-head shorter than she and
instantly turned redder than Feleanna’s hair. While the rest of the dancers
kept on out of sheer momentum, Kieler wondered at
Gamielle’s
break from the age-old propriety of the dance. Then he saw that one of her
slender shoulder straps hung limply down to her waist.

Gamielle wasn’t the only one who couldn’t contain
herself. Kieler bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.

Gamielle half danced, half dragged her
runtish
partner off the floor and toward the nearest
corridor leading to the powder room. Kieler glanced across the circle at
Gippo
.
Gamielle’s
husband was
obviously concerned but not enough to risk looking bad by abandoning his
position to help his wife.
The dance goes on
, Kieler thought with
disgust.

The next rotation occurred almost smoothly as the
couples closed the gap and tightened the circle. Kieler couldn’t decide if that
was talented dancing or callousness toward the missing couple.

During the rotation, he happened a glance at Fechua
just off the dance floor. Her face was a frozen mask of utter horror, her hands
stopped in mid-air between claps. In a moment he understood, more instinctively
than logically.

This altered the pairings.
Would they now be truly
random?
That could be interesting. More alert, he wondered,
what could
be so bad?

With each rotation, spreading both ways from the
missing couple, odds were now dancing with evens, and evens were dancing at
odds.

Still, things were not horrible. After four rotations,
eight couples were
mis
-paired and none seemed to be
particularly bitter rivals.

But it was like a wheel of fate.
Where would it
stop?

Kieler saw Ferdando Ashperis looking down the circle. The
handsome young man caught the eye of Callia and they were unabashedly thrilled
that they were converging with a distinct chance they could end up together.
Callia actually raised her hands to her face to cover a surprised but excited
flush.

The onlookers from the sidelines were rising to their
feet in a growing buzz of excited murmuring. Other dancers were trying to
figure it out, looking ahead to see who they might get paired with. Kieler
spied Forcheso Parchiki, the look of concern on his face twisting into outrage.

As Kieler moved with each rotation, the crowd noise
around them grew. Everyone was on their feet.

He suddenly realized, as the music began to
transition, that this couldn’t be random; it was somehow cleverly deliberate.
And that begged the monumental question,
had the secret planner destined
someone for him?

The intensity of the music grew as if the musicians
sensed impending disaster. He tried to peer between the women but now didn’t
have the angle. There was a long fermata to allow the dancers to adjust their
steps to their final partner, the circle made its final rotation, and from
behind another large matron came his ultimate partner.

Feleanna.

Kieler lost composure, stumbling into position. This
whole thing must have been rigged just to embarrass
him
. But Feleanna
was just as outraged, if not more! And the other couples… Kieler didn’t know
all their histories.

The crowd around them was in uproar. Shouts. “What
nerve!” “How indecent!”

Face to face with Feleanna Cortatti, he and she were
supposed to bow in the extended notes before the next movement. Neither did.

Her features sharp and her deep red dress exquisite
and sensual, the heated flush would have been beautiful—had not every degree of
hatred been blazing to consume him. Her flint-green eyes shot daggers, and her
perfect smile was more of a smirk that said, “
this night’s not over till
you
are dead!”

Kieler was not prepared. He felt weak, but rallied his
bravado to counter her deadly glare with a look of arrogant amusement, trying to
pretend as if it were he who arranged this whole fantastic debacle.

As the music re-started, they, like puppets to its
lilt, came together for the first sequence, the men escorting the ladies around
the small domain in which they would spend the rest of their term. Thinking as
fast as his confusion would allow, he held her arm and looked at her like a
secret lover.

Fuming, Feleanna seemed to be gathering for an
explosion. But she held off, like a balloon filling beyond its limits. Her
first words, however, were not the vitriol he expected. “How did you get that
sigil through the magnetic Eks?”

Caught completely off guard, Kieler fought to hide his
surprise.

She bared her teeth again in disdainful mirth. “You
didn’t know, did you? Which means…” She trailed off, piecing something
together. “You ill-witted usurper. That sigil, and Vel’s, are the only ones
not
crafted out of precious metals. Velik and the first Ortessi hated the sigils,
so they mounted the jewels in a base metal, iron, to evoke humility. You’re the
first,
blatantly
arrogant Ortessi to ever wear a sigil to this gala.”
She spat a short laugh, letting it sink in that his mission of the night before
was, in a way, pointless.

Kieler knew he went red, but a retort came easy to his
tongue. “And of course, your contempt of sigils is evident by your coveted
collection.”

The reference to his intrusion of her home stoked her
rage. “No one violates
our
keep and lives. No one mocks
Cortatti!
”

As Kieler processed the information and the threat,
Feleanna took advantage of his distraction, and while ostensibly raising her
arms to twirl, she speared her fingers into his wounded shoulder.

Since landing in the tree, it hadn’t hurt much.

He clenched his teeth and writhed to stop from
screaming.

Thankfully, the next few measures had them twirling
away from each other followed by a hesitation. He used the respite to push away
the pain in his shoulder and regain his situational awareness.

Not far down the circle of paired dancers was the
ashen-faced Executive Chair and, raging red, Balfani Telander
.
Evidently,
Kieler and Feleanna were not the only victims. Balfani stood stock still,
refusing to dance and yet refusing to walk away. Ek Threzhel was lamely moving
through the steps, clearly baffled at how to respond to such a calamity. If
this had been a rebellion in his magal mines, he’d know what to do. But this
was a social crisis.

With a quick double-take to the other side, Kieler saw
Forcheso Parchiki and Sindia Corch dancing, if it could be called that, on the
floor—horizontally. There was no pretense as they all-out wrestled and punched,
the nasty Cortatti giving the older Parchiki an even match. Amazingly, no-one
tried to break them up. The guards looked at each other completely stymied.

Feleanna reclaimed his attention as the next moves
brought them close again. She added gloating and cursing as her repartee
degraded to base abuse. “You ignorant imposter! You coming here is like
checking yourself into a butcher shop on a hook. I’ll grind you up like kovar
meat!” she hissed. “Maggot infested, fetid, trampled, kovar meat!”

That barrage helped take his mind off the pain. He
had, after all, worked with underworld roughs since adolescence. He knew how to
insult. “What fetching words. Fetching Feleanna! And what’s that fragrance
you’re wearing? Eau d’grevon? Or have you been bathing in wine? It’s quite
becoming—”

She, evidently, had not acquired a tolerance for being
insulted, and her anger flared into a barely controlled assault. In between
what were supposed to be close and conversational waltz steps, she slapped him
at the finish of each turn. After the first two, Kieler knew when to duck. He
managed to catch and stubbornly hold her high hand, keeping his other hand
boldly on her well-muscled hip.

The verbal banter disappeared as they both
concentrated on dancing and bashing each other. Even as he did so, he wondered
why everyone continued the façade of the dance.
Propriety?!

She aimed an in-time, close-in kick to his groin, and
he had to let go of her hip and yank her to one side to avoid it. The crowd was
screaming. While continuing his defensive dancing, he could hear several
couples flat out yelling at each other.