Zotikas: Episode 1: Clash of Heirs (5 page)

As Kieler progressed higher, there would be many other
varieties of entertainment, both finer and coarser.

He moved to one side of the plaza and his eyes were
drawn to a tower shooting up some distance away. This tower, its three-spired
top blocked from view by a tangle of skyways and suspended terraces, supported
the palace of the Executive Chair. Tonight, every family with power would be
celebrating the New Year in that palace by special invitation.

Kieler had written his own invitation.

From the darkened alcoves of the surrounding
buildings, shadows stirred to life, roused by the opening of the Dragon’s Gate.
Kieler’s identity as Geren was probably known to these watchers, and his
disguise should abate their desire to kill him. After quick consideration, he
decided he could use their pursuit to wrap up a few loose ends. As he headed
purposefully for a narrow alley, three of the shadows resolved into the forms
of seedy men.

To them, Geren was a black market business lackey,
supposedly a lowly magal worker by day, but well connected. And that was
Kieler’s cover, a man who chummed the water so that bigger fish could make
deals and move contraband outside the official channels of Avertori’s
controlled economy. He was small fry, tolerated, but always tailed because of
the people he connected. There was no way of knowing whether they would follow
him because he was Geren, or because they somehow suspected his real identity.

The constricting space of the alley allowed him to
exactly mark the three men following him. Two were short and the third was of
medium height and far less nervous.

Kieler cursed. Bottom feeders. He expected company but
losing three tails might be a problem.

The curving alley led to the crusty base of the
nearest tower. Once an elaborately decorated entryway to a posh hotel, the
heavy door was now coated with grime. Inside the formerly grand lobby were many
establishments considered disreputable, even in this part of The Glums. As
Kieler walked across the age-worn black and white tile floor, he glanced up
into the hollow center of the tower. Stretching up into the darkness was a
shaft ringed by six broken-down elevators. It was like looking up the barrel of
a maggun.

After striding directly through the center of the bank
of elevators, Kieler walked boldly into
The
Bottom of the Barrel
,
a pub with a high opinion of its lowly status. He had to walk around the
smashed shell of a fallen elevator car, showcased as the centerpiece of the
pub’s twisted décor. He moved directly to Ogard, the bar-keep and a regular
informant for all sides of the black-market trade.

“G’day, O’!” Kieler greeted Ogard. Being loyal to
everybody (and therefore no one), Ogard was neither friend nor enemy. Both knew
their roles and played them well. Ogard poured a drink, and Kieler threw him a
coin.

“G’day, Geren,” Ogard returned. “You look as though
you’re about a weighty errand on this day of light-hearted drunkenness.”

“Perceptive as always, Ogard. I’m
headin
’
out. I
gotta
take a trip to Govian to see about
getting a supply chain set up. We found a group of farmers willing to trade off
the grid.” It was a total lie, but Kieler just wanted everyone to know he was
going to be gone for a while.

Ogard nodded, making his mental notes so he could pass
it on.

“Anyway, the goons are going to miss me.” The three
tails had entered and stood by the bar rather conspicuously. “My assignment is
remote and my little excursion will take some months.”

This was news indeed to Ogard, who showed some
surprise. “Look on it as a holiday.”

“That’s how I figure it,” Kieler nodded. “I’ve never
been out of Avertori before.”
Though if things go as planned, I’ll still be
here,
Kieler thought
. Just not in The Glums.

 “I’ll pass on the tale, Geren, true or no,”
Ogard said with a wink.

Kieler regarded him with a smile. Ogard was a good
lot. He knew the game, managing to stay in business, stay alive and stay in the
good graces of both the familial goons and the goons like Geren. Kieler decided
he might actually miss him.

Kieler leaned in confidentially. “If you can hold on
to that news till tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. They don’t like my sort
traveling out of sight.” He slipped Ogard a few silver ril, the more valued
currency of the black market. It was considered an insult to use the paper
dras, the official currency of Avertori, for a bribe.

Ogard nodded, quickly removing the coins from sight.
It was generous for such a short delay.

As Kieler looked at Ogard, he realized how many people
in his usual haunts he wouldn’t be seeing for a while, if ever.

The awkward pause was noticed and prompted a vague
though genuine smile by the barkeep, “Fare you well then!”

Nodding, Kieler turned and made his way out of the pub
in such a way as to keep the crashed elevator car in between him and his
unwanted companions. By doubling back, Kieler didn’t give them the chance to
talk to Ogard. They had to follow him now or lose him.

The
Bottom
of the Barrel
was actually on the ground floor of one of the taller towers
in Avertori, reaching some hundred and fifty stories. Kieler noted the irony of
this: it would have been fastest to go straight up, but the elevator car in the
middle of the pub was in no condition to make the trip. Typical of lower
Avertori.

Residents who could afford to live on the upper levels
saw little value in maintaining easy vertical access. As a result Kieler’s
route would have to be highly circuitous.

Now that the news had been planted that he would be
gone a while, he needed to get gone. He needed to cut off his tail.

He walked briskly to the nearest InterTram station. He
had to laugh at the agents following him. They wanted to be discreet, to blend
in, but all other foot traffic was exiting the station to join the festivities
in the plaza. They stood out like new guys, which they were, except for the
third one. On another night he might have played a little game of
chasey
with them, but tonight… he just had to dump them.

He walked onto the tram and stood next to the door.

Two of them followed him aboard and took up separate
positions on the tram, looking like perfect strangers. They had even chosen
spots as physically far apart as possible. More experienced agents would have
realized the conspicuous situation and pretended to be friends. The odd agent
didn’t board but stood a step outside the doors as nonchalantly as if this
wasn’t the train he was waiting for. Kieler frowned internally.

Just as the doors closed, Kieler jumped off the tram
and let the other two embarrassed agents enjoy their ride to the next station.
It wasn’t a subtle move, but Geren was not subtle.

The train started off and Kieler allowed himself the
pleasure of looking back through the windows at the men scrambling for the
door. Discarding the masquerade of pretending not to notice his pursuers,
Kieler turned and looked the remaining man up and down, outwardly scowling now.
At first the man seemed to be pretending to ignore him, but then Kieler got the
distinct impression that the man was bored and genuinely uninterested in what
Kieler did.

The man struck him as odd, though Kieler couldn’t
place exactly why. His clothes were old, though of good quality and tailoring.
He was shorter than Kieler, and his ears and nose were larger than normal.
Though Kieler had never seen him before, the man’s jet-black hair obliquely
reminded Kieler of Movus.

Kieler stroked his fake beard and considered. This was
inconvenient. He had to lose this guy before he changed his identity. Then he
could pursue his goal on the higher levels of the city without unwanted
company.

Striding over to the tram going the opposite
direction, Kieler pretended to be unphased. But the cards were on the table,
and right now the black-haired man had the better hand. Again Kieler thought
this would have been entertaining if the stakes were not desperately high. He
would not get a chance like this until the next New Year. No, he thought again,
the opportunity wouldn’t even be there next year.

Kieler and Movus had painstakingly prepared the ruling
houses for his arrival by implanting false credentials with key people. The
rumors were peaked; the stage was set. This was his only shot.

Velirith stood at a bay window in the top floor
apartment of Vel-Taradan and looked out over Plaza Floreneva. The triangular
central plaza reminded her of the Theater Tri back home in Velakun. There were
many differences, but both plazas were the center of social activity in their
respective cities.

Plaza Floreneva was surrounded by three tiers of
arched colonnades which provided covered walkways to the myriad of shops and
cafés surrounding the plaza. Many of these were closed now, victims of the
various monopolies enforced by the trade houses.

In each corner of the triangular plaza stood a
magnificent structure with layered accents of a style that was both dramatic
and suggestive of indulgence beyond mere functionality. The Arena, the
cathedral and the Oraflora Theater; all were built to bring people together.
She noticed, not for the first time, her inward revulsion and intentional
ignoring of the Arena.

She forced her gaze east, up the Stair to the left,
and sighed a small sigh as she looked upon the claw-like spires that pierced
Garrist Ring and supported the Executive Chair’s overdone palace.

That palace was her destination this evening. That her
habiliments not only made a subtle statement of confidence but were practical
as well, placed her in the position of being ready early, allowing her this
time for reflection. She felt a strange mix of nervousness, peace and
excitement in the unhurried interval before heading up the Stair to the Gala.

As majestic as the view was, she closed her eyes and
shut it out. She needed some introspection before facing the people she would
face tonight and doing the things she would do.

Concentrating, she pictured herself, dressed as she
was for the New Year’s Eve Gala. Velirith had prepared for this evening’s party
in a very different way than just the primp, preen, and pomp of most of the
“noble” ladies. Certainly she had dressed well, wearing the silver-lined, deep
blue of House Vel. In an unusual twist of creativity, she had chosen a very
feminine adaptation of Vel’s traditionally male dress uniform. The long coat
preserved some of the flow of a dress, emphasizing her form nicely, but pants
gave her more freedom of movement. She wore her dark hair a bit short, curving
around to frame her oval face.

I look good,
she decided internally, smiling to herself. It was an unselfconscious,
non-arrogant assessment. She had, she thought, a more handsome than delicate
beauty. And she was happy with that.

She focused further, imagining looking into her own
reflective, silver eyes. She noted the smile that played around the edges. She
took measure of what she saw;
humor, judgment… mischief.

I don’t like the judgment,
she concluded, resolving that was something she could
change.
But I like the mischief.
And she grinned a beautiful smile of
straight white teeth.

Mischief.
Usually
Velirith despised these parties, but she had to admit, she was more excited
about tonight’s New Year’s Gala than any she had ever attended. It wasn’t the
fancy clothes, or the fine food, or the “important” people. Certainly every
family with any economic influence would be in attendance. But Velirith
detested these shows of narcissism.

 Her excitement had begun two days earlier with a
visit from Moshalli MgFellis. Moshalli was the same age as Velirith. The two
had played together as young girls when Velator, Velirith’s father, had spent
much more time in Avertori.

But Moshalli’s house was not of the same class as
Velirith’s. That didn’t matter to Velirith or her father, but it did matter to
many. MgFellis had served the House of Ek as a proximal house for hundreds of
years. When House Ek was elevated to Executive Chair, leader of the Omeron of
Zotikas, the MgFellis house was, in its own way, elevated as well. Moshalli was
unashamedly proud of the fact that her family lived in the tower quarters below
the Executive Chair’s palace and was always well informed of the happenings in
the palace and throughout Avertori.

So two days before tonight’s party, Velirith had been
writing a play. She was stuck. It seemed to lack the heart of true
Theatre
Velaki
. The script lay spread out on the low table before the bay window
overlooking Avertori’s Grand Stair. The same window before which she now stood,
playing back the scene.

Moshalli had surprised Velirith, visiting her chambers
in the Vel apartments at the top of Vel-Taradan. The three tower complex of
Vel-Taradan served as the ambassadorial and economic headquarters of the Vel
family in Avertori. Though very comfortable, Velirith much preferred their home
in Velakun, deep within the mountains of Ardan to the northeast.

“Velirith, it’s so wonderful to see you again!”
Moshalli had bubbled, embracing her. Her excitement was genuine, Velirith
decided, if not a bit exaggerated. Moshalli liked associating with those
considered influential. Being able to say that she used to play
Heroes and
Kovars
with the only heir of the house of Vel and that they were “best
friends” elevated her status—at least in her own eyes. Velirith invited her
playmate of youth over to the window.

Velirith smiled at her. “Good to see you too, Moshalli.”
And it was, even if Velirith was a bit annoyed to have her creativity
interrupted. She looked into the round, plain face of her friend. The eye
make-up was new and Velirith saw that Moshalli was going for a more exotic
look.

“It’s been, what, two years? Last year’s party I think
you were sick?”

Velirith laughed. “No, I was just stubbornly immature
and refused to go. The rumor was I was sick, but I’m sure you knew better.”

“Well, I had heard you and Velator had a fight about
it.”

“Amazing,” Velirith shook her head. “My father and I
did have words about it, but we were the only ones in the room. You certainly
keep well informed.”

Moshalli beamed. “We MgFellis’ are at the center of
everything. We are trusted to be discreet and yet sometimes, if our family
didn’t know what was happening,
nothing
would ever get done!”

Velirith regarded her talkative friend and agreed
there was a good deal of truth in what she said. Moshalli, however, played it
up.

“Like now,” Moshalli continued with a melodramatic
sigh, pulling a sheaf of papers out of a small satchel. “You know my mother is
the events coordinator for the Executive Chair. She assigned
me
to order
the dancers for the Family Harmony Dance. My stars, Velirith! Do you realize
how difficult this is? How important?” Moshalli’s mother, Fechua, was not one
to overlook her daughter’s social training.

Eyes wide with amused concern, Velirith shook her head
slightly.

“Well, think of it! What if Forcheso Parchiki were
accidentally paired with Feleanna Cortatti, who everyone knows is trying to
bring down his fabric trade by having that awful Sindia Corch intercept his
cloth shipments? Or if I accidently paired Feleanna with this mysterious
Ortessi heir, who was supposed to be dead and now shows up twenty years later?
Could you imagine the consequences?”

Imagine
.
Velirith had actually put her mind to work visualizing the scene. Feleanna was
a wicked witch with way too many years and ambitions left in her. If she were
paired with a leader of a house she was currently trying to eliminate, the
result would be dramatic, if not explosive.
It could make the whole event
worthwhile
, Velirith thought.

“Or imagine the Executive Chair himself, dancing
majestically around the outer circle and ending up with Balfani Telander, that
big woman married to the prime of the power plant house? After the faked magal
shortage was exposed, they hate each other!”

Velirith felt the excitement of a new idea coming on.
“How do you arrange the dance so that no one is paired with someone they don’t
get along with?”

“Well, the dance represents social order, families
caring for each other—“

Velirith let out a snort of laughter.

“What?”

Between spasms of laughter, Velirith managed to get
out, “Come on, Moshalli! You just told me how much everybody hates each other.
You don’t see the irony of a dance that symbolizes families ‘taking care of
each other’?”

By her frown, Moshalli evidently hadn’t looked past
the tradition to see the reality. “In the old days, the groups were completely
random. They would just dance with whoever they ended up with. Now we are more
careful.”

Calming herself, Velirith said, “Go on. Please.”

“Well, it’s also called the Mystery Partner Dance.
You’ve seen it, but this is the first year you can actually dance in it, now
that your father has declared you heir-apparent of house Vel. You know the men
are in the outer circle and the women in the inner circle. The two circles move
opposite each other, everyone switching partners until a third of the way
through the music. Then the music changes, the circles stop rotating, and they
dance with that partner for the rest of the song. That way the new partners can
talk and get to know each other better.”

Controlling her rising excitement, Velirith pictured
what a fouled dance plan could produce in this time when families were anything
but caring.

Ignorant of Velirith’s inner humor, Moshalli went on.
“The hard part is sorting out who hates who. Once that is figured out, it’s
actually easier than you think to keep feuding families apart. There are two
groups of dancers that never mix; my mother just puts rivals in separate
groups. Like Feleanna will be in group ‘A’ and both Forcheso Parchiki and the
Ortessi mystery man will be in group ‘B’. They’ll never get paired together.”

“How does that work?” asked Velirith, suddenly
curious.

“Look.” And Moshalli explained, placing a sheet of
paper with diagrams on top of Velirith’s script. The outer and inner circle
consisted of about forty dancers each, but as they counter-rotated, Velirith saw
how they skipped a person after each short dance interaction, creating the two
groups, odds and evens, or “A”s and “B”s. As long as the groups were equal in
number, everyone would always end up partnered with someone from their own
group. Though simple, it was an elegant, beautiful dance, Velirith admitted,
and very old, dating back to when Velik himself had united the diverse tribes
living all over the three continents.

But she also saw, more by intuition, that if either
circle lost a single dancer or a couple from the same group, group ‘A’ dancers
would be forced to partner with group ‘B’ dancers. She also noticed the pattern
was mathematical. If a specific dancer was taken out at the right time, a
preset arrangement of the dancers that
looked
random could actually be
arranged to partner specific dancers with an exact predetermined match.

One sheet of the diagram held blank circles that were
to be filled in with dancers’ names.

“Moshalli,” Velirith asked suddenly, as the patterns
of the dance began to come together, “May I help you fill in the names?”

Moshalli was thrilled. “That would help a
lot
!
Sure! It shouldn’t be
too
hard since mother already separated the groups
so there won’t be any conflicts. We just have to make sure that every other
spot around the circle is filled with a group ‘A’ dancer and that they are
across from another group ‘A’ dancer.”

Her mind racing, Velirith dictated the names to
Moshalli who wrote them into the blanks. Spinning the circles in her head,
Velirith figured out just who would be paired with whom. And, more critical to
her mischief, she figured just which dancers needed to be taken out to alter
the results of the “random” dance.

Giggling for different reasons, the girls had a
delightful time. Moshalli was in her element, gossiping and seemingly planning
this important event. Every tidbit of gossip, Velirith turned into a dance
couple, appearing to rearrange at random the names Moshalli blithely tossed
out.

“So Callia and Ferdando
used to be
this hot
couple, but when neither Ferdando nor Callia were willing to go over to the
opposite family in marriage, you can bet the elements heated up! If
I
were Callia, I mean, she’s
so
pretty and has some of the most
elegant
dresses, I would never let a man as handsome as that Ferdando get away.”

“That’s incredible, Moshalli. The stupid things people
do. Let’s move Ferdando over to this circle on the opposite side of Callia.
It’s still in his same group.”

“Okay.” And Moshalli penned it in.

Of course, with the rotation of the circles, and one
couple dropping out at just the right (or wrong) time…
Velirith paused and looked over at her friend. This
dance was important to Moshalli, too important. She didn’t seem to realize how
superficial all this was, and that she was looking up to these puffed-up frauds
as heroes, people she wanted to impress. If Velirith could show her how ugly
these personalities really were, Moshalli might see that her own qualities, her
enthusiasm and sweetness, were actually more authentic and noble than the false
fronts of the people she looked up to.