***
Viki sighed and leaned against the wall. Ambushed. She had not expected Jess to be in the library and adding insult to injury her young daughter was also present. The kid bounced on one of the couches singing in a shrill voice. And she was out of tune. Jess’s ineffective parenting included an occasional glance from the folio she was reading, an indulgent smile, brief wave, and returning to the pages before her. A servant offered the kid a picture book, futile and bordering on sacrilegious. Viky had seen Hannaraay’s stuffed toys. Not to mention she was cutting teeth and slobbering. Offering that child anything was foolish, offering a book was immoral.
The spacious library was imbued with nooks and private alcoves. Viky hadn't noticed Jess, or recognized whose kid was making the racket, until it was too late. It was futile to pretend she hadn’t seen the beckoning gestures. Stormblast protocol, now it would be inappropriate and rude to not address her sister.
“Jess, what a surprise. I don't see you very often in the library.”
“No, I am afraid Hannaraay makes frequent trips impossible. The D’char are wonderful, and one of them will always look after her when I try and read, but she disturbs other people.”
Disturb? That was one way of putting it. Viky felt agitated just looking at her and knew serious study was out of the question. Still, with the distraction Jess may not be as guarded and Viky could question her about the theft.
“She is very energetic; do you think she could be strength enhanced?”
Jess groaned. “I have considered it, but everything I've read indicates physical fractal powers only kick in once a child is over five. If she is powered, I would put my money on Endurance and Strength, she can keep going like this all day.”
What a horrifying thought.
“I've heard Strength can kick in under trying circumstances a little earlier. How old is Hannaraay?”
Jess laughed. “25 months, she will be one in a couple of nine-days. Too young by any stretch of the imagination.”
Vicki had to agree. She didn't know if offering condolences was appropriate, the kid, Hannaraay, was now launching herself off the couch and into the servants’ arms. No Fear, no calculations, just pure unadulterated trust. Terrifying. Viky removed her hand where for some reason it had gravitated to her own slightly extended stomach. Wasn't prepared to follow that line of thought and let her eyes drift to the folio Jess was examining.
“Are you very interested in fashion?” Viki asked, giving the pictures a cursory glance. Jess wasn't a flashy dresser like Isobeel and didn't go for classy Jiuliing outfits like Maddie. Each of Sheeli and Shaar’s outfits were unique, creative, and quite often had practical features Viky admired. Gabreel and to a lesser degree River wore traditional clothing from their respective cities of origin and Tushii’s outfits were sedate. Jess didn't have a favourite style that Viky could discern and wouldn't have picked the young woman as someone interested enough in clothing to be reading a folio on the subject.
“These are Hunnaal body chains. Notice in this detailed section you can see the interlocking links.”
Well, now she knew what she was looking for. Scrutinizing the pictures, she wondered at the term chains. If Jess had not pointed out the interlocking links, she would have thought the fabric had been knitted or possibly had been made of very fine tatting.
“Are they both body chains? The two pictures are very different.”
“Yes, I've looked all through this folio and no two are the same. Apparently, each set was unique, a different style, patterns, and construction. Some were worn over garments, but others, like Isobeel’s were a complete outfit. The only thing they had in common was the iridescent material they were made from.”
“And what was that?” Viky asked.
Jess was momentarily distracted as Hannaraay commenced playing a game of tag, chasing the servant around the couch. Chubby legs were no match for the servants’ lithe limbs, but they let themselves be caught and the child squealed in delight. How could something so small make so much noise?
“This folio doesn't say, and Isobeel doesn't know.”
“I may be able to find a manuscript with the information.” Viky needed to raise her voice to be heard.
“Maybe,” Jess didn’t look sure. “I asked, but most of the literature on the subject is written in the Huun language. That makes sense I guess but is it going to help us.”
“You could ask Isobeel.” Not that reading Hunn was a problem for Viky.
“Yeah, well good luck with that.” Jess grinned.
“Is there a picture of Isobeel's body chains in that folio?” Viky asked.
“Aha, yes,” Jess flipped a few pages. “It’s this one.”
“That’s a bit of luck, not a lot of leaves in the folio.”
“According to this, there are only 16 body chains known to be in existence. The folio has pictures of them all.”
Vicky raised an eyebrow. That put a bit of a different slant on the investigation. Valuable, old, and rare.
“How thick was the fabric? I'd thought the body chains might have been something that could be slipped into a satchel or hidden in your hand. How bulky was this?” Viky asked.
“It was very fine and light. When I first saw it, I thought the gems might pull or tear the fabric, but they didn't, it was durable. I don't know whether it was because of the way the garment was constructed or the fibre that was used, but the material had quite a bit of stretch in it while at the same time holding its shape.”
“How much room did it take up?”
“Isobeel kept them stored in a purpose made square box. It wouldn't have been much bigger than the length of my forearm.”
Viky examined the picture Jess had selected, willing the picture to share secrets with her. Hannaraay grew bored with chasing the servant, and laughing took off, disappearing between bookshelves. The servant wasn't laughing as they followed.
The woman modelling the body chains was of middle rotations and may have been a relative of Isobeel. Same beautiful full figure, liquid eyes, and perfect face. The chains consisted of an overall background leaf design all the colours of the forest. A variety of blossoms made from precious gems were sprinkled over the garment and crowded the ridiculous long trailing sleeve and hem edges. The bodice fitted to the waist with the full-length skirt below falling in layers. Cutouts exposed the shoulders. Nobody would be able to run in the outfit, walking maybe, but only with great care. Sitting was either impossible or fraught with difficulty as bending at the waist didn’t look like an option.
“It doesn't look very comfortable, and you'd have to be careful not to gesture and accidentally swipe anyone with those sleeves. The gems would make them heavy.” Not completely impractical, they could be used as impromptu weapons.
“Isobeel said the sleeves did take a bit of getting used to but overall the chains offered surprising mobility. I always thought it was amazing that the outfit fit her so well. Nobody else in the sisterhood could have worn it. Tushii is too tall, I am too skinny,”
“I’m too short.” Viky added with an ‘and I don’t care shrug’. “I see what you mean, it's not a tunic, one-size-fits-all, arrangement. You'd have to pray that the youngest daughter in each generation hit the genetic jackpot. I bet that didn't happen too often.”
“All the women in this folio look like there body chains fit them, but they may not be real women, just representing what the body chains would look like on a perfect figure.”
“How do you think they were stolen?” Viky asked.
“I don't know, and I don't know why. Isobeel is very generous. If anyone needed sequin they would only have to ask. I know she’s given one of our sister’s financial backings. The sister came to her for a loan, but Isobeel insisted she take the sequin as a gift. When our men are given a Commission, we will all be set up with everything we need. There's just no reason to be mean and steal from her.”
“Who needed financial support?” A last, a motive.
Jess bit her lip, blond hair cascaded across her shoulders as she shook her head, “That's not my story to tell, Isobeel didn't even tell me, and I'm her best friend, the recipient of her generosity told me herself. But it didn't surprise me, Isobeel loves to give.”
Easy enough to do when you had an excess of things you didn't want.
“Can you think of any other motive, apart from wanting sequin, that would prompt somebody to steal the body chains?”
Jess was thoughtful for a moment. She spent a few heartbeats watching the servant remove her small offspring from the top of a lofty bookshelf. How had the kid climbed that high? Maybe she had some inherited Speed enhancements? Although, neither Jess nor Jo-Joohn, had red in their hair.
“Not everybody agrees with the women of Hunnaal who choose to be polygamists. But each city or region has things about their culture that others think are strange, weird, or just outright wrong. Wars have been fought about things like that in the past. I guess it's not too big a stretch to think someone may want to make Isobeel pay, or perhaps even just the Hunn culture pay, for some perceived slight.”
“Yeah,” Viky agreed. So, Jess could think. The woman did have a brain behind her insipid smile. “I hadn't considered the racial perspective. It could work the other way too, someone from Hunnaal might think that their family has a stronger claim to the body chains then Isobeel. Inheritance issues can get complicated; do you know what would happen if Isobeel doesn't have a second daughter? Who would get the inheritance then? Her first-born daughter, or the second daughter of a male relative? Or what if two eligible male descendants both had a second daughter?”
“From my research it seems that historically all of the second daughters with body chains have produced a second daughter themselves.” Jess answered.
“That doesn't seem possible,” Viky said.
Jess blushed, “It's because of polygamy. Men are only allowed two male children, but in Hunnaal if a woman's first mate doesn't give her a daughter, or even if he does, she is free to take another life partner. Have two more son’s, increase her chance of getting a girl-child and repeat the process as many times as she wishes without the worry of having a son that will be made D’char.”
Viky shuddered. “And women choose to do that?”
“Apparently, it's not uncommon in Hunnaal.”
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Viki understood the appeal of not wanting subsequent sons forced into a live of servitude but there were other ways around that problem.
“What city were you from?” Viky wasn’t sure if it mattered, but the theft may be culture related.
“Amaraanth, or at least my mother was from Amaraanth, my parent was a merchant. Not sure where he was from, he travelled around a lot before bonding my mother.”
“Is it true the young women of Amaraanth let the Godmothers choose their life partners?”
“Not in every instance, but yes, having your bonding arranged for you is the accepted custom. I wish I hadn't been in a situation where I had to choose for myself. How could it be expected that with only ten rotations life experience I could choose as well or wisely as group of women each with nine-score of rotations behind them?”
There was an edge to Jesse's voice, the dusky shadow of sadness. Viky didn't like Jo-John, his superiority attitude was tainted with delusions of grandeur, and the dislike was reciprocated. She would have preferred to have lived with a slither than the man, but she hadn’t known Jess was also unhappy with her choice. But trusting others to make such a big decision, Viky could see how that situation could quickly escalate into a nightmare of epic proportions. How well could anyone really know someone else?
“The other day you mentioned having found it hard leaving all your family. Would you return to Amaraanth if you had the chance?”
“I'd love to see my family again, and when our men receive their Teams assignments someone in the sisterhood will end back in her home city. Tushii was sure we would be assigned and leave as soon as you were pregnant. All the other teams from the last rotation have left, and a couple from this rotation as well. Anyway, Tushii and I looked it up, there have been a few exceptions but traditionally teams stay at the capital until everyone has an heir.”
“Why was Tushii interested in when the team was leaving?”
Jess blushed, looking back at the folio she ran her fingers down the leaf. “She, she misses her family.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
The blush deepened. “Yes, yes I'm not very good at it. But Tushii’s reason is not a big deal to anyone but herself and has nothing to do with Isobeel’s body chains.”
Viky hoped Jess was right. It wasn't like she was fond of Tushii, but the tall woman spoke her mind without being aggressive. Admirable traits in any culture.
“Anyway, have a look through this folio, the garments are in chronological order starting with the ones first made and working through to those only made just before the Great War. It's fascinating to see how the styles evolved.”
“Are you very interested in history and traditions?” Viky said.
“Oh, I love history. My mother was a professional folklorist. She would have loved you, The Rifts’ and Chinquaar have the kernel stories for so much of our mythology.” Jess enthused.
Could that be the motive? Someone who loved history may very well want a garment steeped in it. Jess didn’t seem to be racially prejudiced, although it was something to take into consideration with other suspects, but the body chains were undeniably old. A demonstrable part of history.
In the near distance Jess' feral child continued creating chaos. There was a tension in the library, you could breathe it, each heartbeat suspended, pressurized, bottled up. Servants were patient, but even they had limits. Viky had just about reached hers.
“You are wondering if I have stolen the body chains.” Jess gave a half-smile, melancholy mixed with resignation.
Viky shrugged, didn’t disagree.
“I didn’t. And I wish I knew who did. Hanna keeps me so busy I know I don’t have much time to investigate. But the body chains are important and need to be found.”
In the distance the child was yelling, “No.” “No.” “No.”
“I’d better attend to her before she chucks a tantrum. ‘No’ is her favourite word and she can be stubborn when she wants to.”
Jess sighed, rose, and moved towards the disturbance; manuscript abandoned on the smooth wooden bench. It was too good an opportunity to miss. Viky sat and with fluid strokes started to sketch a replica of Isobeel’s body chains. Shutting her ears from the loud protests accompanying Jess as she left the library.
Viky wasn’t going to think about it. Had a few more months of freedom. Not all young children were as energetic and loud. At least Rift children hadn't been, although she'd never been particularly interested in them so perhaps she just hadn't noticed.
The figure below took shape, a general outline, the dresses style, then the details. Time slipped away and her hand cramped and back became stiff before the work was complete. Viky may have been hopeless at creating anything original, but wasn't a bad forger. She examined her work critically and was pleased with the result. It wasn't perfect but the pattern was right, she could research the species of plant depicted. The library had a large selection of excellent and interesting books on fauna and flora.
She had messed up the model’s face, the middle-aged woman staring back at her from the page did not have the facial features of a woman of Hunn decent.
Not in a Bright storm, not even close.
The broad features marked her from The Rifts.
Viky closed her eyes, contemplating wasting the parchment and screwing it up. Only she couldn’t. Not when she had drawn the figure in the body chains with the face of her beloved mother.
***
It was a testament to his improved health that Dereniik made it all the way to the Welcoloon statue between the junction of the tunnels between the Armoury and the Healers Hall with only two rest stops. Bracing his mind, a panic attack failed to materialize, and his search was rewarded. The twisted strand of Rustepheen fibre lay snared between rosy wood spikes. Removing the thread with care, he placed it in a specimen bag he had bought for that purpose.
Dereniik couldn't have said why the misplaced fibre had wormed its way to the forefront of his mind. A testament to his lack of employment as much as the niggling question attracting his attention. But the fibre was unusual, and in a place it should not be.
The capital was the administration centre of the world. Politicians and diplomats, academics and educators, and people involved in the legislative and judiciary activities abounded. But representatives of the trades and crafts were about but few and far between.
One notable exception was the animal husbandry involved in maintaining the Nisayaan roost. In some cultures, was considered subsidiary to the Merchant Trade and in others it was regarded as part of the service of Gathering.
The Armoury was the other exception. It offered employment to a select group of Commanders who forged raw materials into useful objects. The skills involved with shaping metal were as meticulously guarded as information about fractals and the capital was the only city where forging metal was permitted.
Ladies of course could follow professions as Makers, but at the capital politics and powerplay were the most actively pursued pastimes leaving little time to become skilled artisans. A few hobbyists pursuing such activities as recreation, as was socially acceptable for a Lady. But fibre like this had only been worked in his home city of Hunnaal. Curiosity peaked Dereniik decided to investigate.
As it was not an official investigation Dereniik had agonized on how to approach the situation, eventually deciding on a compromise. He wore the official Nisayaan skin kilt and cowl of a Deputized Operative Commander but without the epilates. Both nod to his profession, and the unsanctioned nature of his participation. Because the visit to the Armoury was premeditated, he also wore a double scabbard housing two knives.
The top throwing knife was short with a thick heavy grip, and a cross piece between the hilt and the blade. The metal was narrow the at the hilt and tapered sharply, becoming thicker and wider until three-quarters of its length and then narrowing again. The reverse taper created a razor-sharp point.
The second knife was longer, useful if an antagonist came within close quarters but most generally employed as a tool. The blade had a similar heavy grip, short sturdy cross piece, and heavy, straight, sharp, single edged blade.
The Armoury was a hive of activity, life being lived to the full. Industriousness he could see, hear, and smell. Scratches of files across metal, ringing of hammers, and straining bellows. Light streamed through belches of acrid smoke. A gruff man barked orders and the nasal whine of his companion’s answer was lost in clatter as material being hauled was released.
Dereniik stood at the doorway. He'd been to the Armoury before, and protocol demanded he not enter further than this point. Sooner or later, someone would notice and come to the entry.
Scythes were the dominant weapon Commands trained with and the only one issued to them on graduation. There was nothing like a Scythe for versatility. All cities were surrounded by forest, undergrowth swamped paths overnight and animals and plants could attack from any direction. A long handled slicing weapon was ideal.
Commanders who received supplementary training were also instructed in the use of additional weapons.
For the general population metal, let alone metal weapons, were unavailable. Depending on religious or cultural sensibilities metal was considered Cursed, God blessed and everything in between. During the seven months of Assaults, and profoundly during the months of Arch, Metal and Shift’s most metals reacted to changes in the environment, sparking with God's fire, sometimes with fatal results. At the first hand’s breath, on the first day, of the first nine day, in the month of Arch Assaults rituals and incantations were evoked as metal implements were bound in cloth and stowed away. In the capital, the Armoury closed.
“Commander Dereniik, what can I do for you?”
Commander Grehaal approached. He hadn’t changed much in the eight rotations Dereniik had known him. A little grey had crept into the neat trimmed black beard and a few traces of salt and pepper decorated his temples. The strong jaw, large nose, and dark eyes under heavy brows remained the same. A powerful face but not an unkind one. The fiercely competitive nature encouraged during the rotations they had trained together did not encourage close friendships outside one's own team, but Dereniik had always found while contending against each other Grehaal always played fair. Heavy muscles were a necessity working in the Armoury, but fond of food and drink, a little of his now considerable bulk could not be attributable to pure muscle.
“Well met Commander Gerhaal, it is a pleasure to see you again. I trust you and your family are well?”
The big man grinned. “Dereniik my man, always so formal. My family are well, and it's good to see you again, but you wouldn't have come for the pleasure of a visit. What do you want? Have you come to finally confess our throwing knives are better than that Xianees one you often preferred?”
Dereniik returned the smile. The statement was a lie, Gerhaal knew it. Today Dereniik wore the regulation issue throwing knife to dignify his fellow Commanders. It was a fine blade; the balance was beautiful. But the Xianees didn’t just make weapons, they crafted masterpieces, and having once been buried in his quadriceps his non-regulation blade held a certain sentimental value.
“I have come with an inquiry. Do you currently know all the projects being worked on in the Armoury at this point of time? If not, can you please direct me to someone who does?”
The big man rubbed his bearded chin with a thumb and forefinger has he considered the question.
“I know all the projects under construction in the Armoury. We are focused on getting Scythes ready this month. Most of the lads are working on them, a couple of senior fellas are working on small projects that have been requisitioned.”
“May I please inquire as to what these small projects are?”
Gerhaal shrugged. “Of course, I live to serve. Honourable Healer Flagsteen has commissioned a piece of medical equipment. Lots of small pieces that need individual moulds and forging. It's an interesting project and he is quite excited about it, found us the schematics in some long-forgotten journal. Another man is working on a metal lock mechanism for the Honourable Commander Ryukyaan. Honourable Commander Odeshaat has requested a large amount of long thin copper wire, couldn't tell you what that's for, he’s on the High Council, so we don’t ask. Any of that helpful?”
“Thank you for your consideration, do you know if any of these projects involve the use of Rustepheen web?”
“None of them do. Love to get my hands on some though. You know where there's a source?”
“No. I'm sorry I don't, but that's what I'm trying to find out. What would you use it for in the Armoury?
“Lots of things, some of the older blokes would be able to tell you more. I've seen it use it as a resist when etching metal, makes the finest decorative lines. And I’ve used it as binding, between metal plates, nothing beats it as a flexible metal fastening. Once it’s treated correctly. The difficulty is that it needs to be used and preserved immediately. Once harvested the fibres start deteriorating, becoming brittle and then useless within a day.”
“How often would you use the fibre?”
“Once, twice a rotation. Extracting anything from an animal as intelligent and aggressive as a Rustepheen is not a task to be undertaken lightly. Projects requiring the substance need permission from the Capacity Committee.”
Overseeing most commercial enterprises the script work connected with Capacity Committee rivalled his own department.
“You ever seen a Rustepheen?” Gerhaal asked.
Dereniik nodded, stomach backflipped and bowls churned. He couldn’t, didn't want to talk about it.
“Thank you for your time, Commander Gerhaal. If any information pertaining to Rustepheen fibre comes to your attention, I would appreciate you sharing it with me.”
“No worries, I'll ask about. All the best with your inquiries.”
Taking the required three back steps, Gerhaal was about to return to his work when another older Commander joined then.
“Are you discussing Rustepheen web?” The man’s voice sounded like he had swallowed gravel.
“I am, and you are?” Dereniik asked.
“Unimportant, by whose authority are you acting?”
The man’s features complemented the voice, face pitted and pocked marked. He looked like he had close encounter with a rock-strewn pillow.
Dereniik’s heart raced but he kept his voice calm and spoke slowly. “Commander Unimportant, I have authority. Do you have information about Rustepheen Web?”
The man had been working a forge and wasn’t wearing his epilates. Dereniik hoped he out ranked him.
“Seb, this is Deputized Operative Commander Dereniik, he's a decorated hero, sixth maybe seventh Maull.” Gerhaal noted the missing epilates, passed a moment of confusion, then shrugged. He wasn’t wearing his, unless it was an official function a lot of men didn’t. Dereniik always had while working a commission, but Gerhaal hadn’t known him well enough to be privy to that information.
“What no.” The man hesitated for a heartbeat, gave an insincere half smile. “I haven’t used any in rotations.”
“You haven’t used any in rotations. Have you seen or heard of anyone else in possession of the fibre?” Dereniik asked.
“No, of course not. It’s a restricted substance.”
Dereniik stared him down until he looked away. He was lying.
“And your name please?” Dereniik asked again.
The answer came with great reluctance. “Commander Sebusaaz.”
“Commander Sebusaaz, please do not leave the capital and be available for further questioning within the next few nine days.”
Dereniik had a few other avenues to pursue, he hadn't expected so much from his initial interview.
***