The Tattooed Tribes (4 page)

Stacey
Wainwright was squeaky clean and on paper the perfect choice, but
for some reason she made his skin itch. He was fairly certain this
far-from-satisfactory candidate would cause him a hell of a lot of
problems, but he did not raise a rash.

Of course
there was the problem of the parents to be overcome, and the fees,
and the approval of The Guild.

The fees he
could solve from his own pocket; it would make a dent in his bank
balance, but what else had he to spend it on? The Guild could
probably be blindsided by some fast talking, so only Ma and Pa
Devlin remained.

“
Okay, I’ve never taken an apprentice,” he
said slowly. “But as a Master TLO, I’m expected and required to
train at least one. I suspect if I don’t choose a candidate soon,
someone will be wished on me.”

Lucien stopped
breathing and trembled with anticipation.

“
Don’t get over-excited just yet,” Jon
warned him. “I have to speak to my Guild Master and see if he’d be
prepared to accept you.”

Lucien’s eyes
went huge. “Do you mean it?” he asked. “Really mean it?”

Jon
nodded.

“
But why? Why would you do this for me? And
what about the fees?”

“
I’m not sure why I’m doing it and I may
come to regret it,” Jon replied. “But for some reason I don’t want
to see you go to the devil. The fees don’t need to concern
you.”

Lucien’s eyes
glowed and his mouth fought for the right words. “I … I …”

“
It’s okay,” Jon said with a smile. “I
know, but you’ll only feel embarrassed trying to find the right way
to say it and I’ll feel embarrassed listening to it. And we still
have the problem of your parents’ consent.”

The wide grin
spreading over Lucien’s face was replaced by a mulish expression.
“I’m not asking them!”

“
No, you’re not,” Jon agreed. “I
am.”

“
I’m not going to tell you how to find
them,” Lucien said. “They’ll just ruin it.”

He gave an
involuntary start as Jon’s hand came crashing down on the
table.

“
One of the first things an apprentice
learns is obedience!”

Lucien’s chin
came up and he gave Jon a speculative look, assessing how serious
he was; there was just a suggestion of a challenging grin, which
was the main cause of Jon’s reservations.

Their eyes met
and held.

Lucien’s fell
first, but there was no hint of surrender.

“
Have it your way,” he said quietly, but a
small smile still hovered.

“
I suggest you keep in mind who’s in
charge, my lad,” Jon said sternly. “This is not a game to be
undertaken lightly. You’ll be an apprentice, there to learn and
obey orders until such time as I decide you’ve gained enough
knowledge to take your place as a member of the guild.”

“
Yes, sir,” Lucien replied, but could not
disguise either his excitement or his triumph.

Chapter
3

Jon left Lucien
with instructions to retrieve his cash from wherever he had stashed
it, and to use some of it to buy new clothes.

“
I’ll get myself a decent knife as well,”
he said, showing the small blade he carried in his
pocket.

“
No, you will not,” Jon stated.

“
Why not?”

“
Because I’ve no idea if you know how to
use one safely and until I do, you won’t be carrying anything
bigger.”

“
But ...”

“
The door is that way. You’ve not signed
any papers yet and are free to leave any time you like.”

“
Oh, all right!” was the sulky reply, but
he went off cheerfully enough.

Lucien might
have been confident and cheerful, but Jon was more sanguine. He
knew he was going to have a bit of a fight to get Lucien
apprenticed. The Guild would not look favourably upon his record,
especially when there was an eminently more suitable candidate
available.

And he could
not put his doubts about Lucien completely to one side. He wondered
if he was doing this merely because he did not want to take on
Stacey Wainwright.

Yet there was
something about the boy, something underneath the swagger and the
fast mouth and the unfortunate tendency to insubordination, faults
Jon had every intention of correcting; there was a dauntless
courage, humour in the face of adversity and a resourcefulness well
beyond what might have been expected in one so young and
untried.

Before he went
to the Grand Master and made his request, he needed Lucien’s
parents to agree. Much would depend on who they were and what they
were like.

Armed with the
address, Jon made his way across the Settlement, leaving the simple
log cabins where he chose to make his home, and out into more
established suburbs where there were paved streets and lighting and
the houses had a more permanent look.

He went on and
arrived where wealth had its outward face and being. He whistled
softly as he stopped in front of a double fronted dwelling that
spoke of comfort and money and probably servants.

It was
possible Lucien’s people were the servants, hence the reluctance to
find the large sum required, but he knew he was clutching at
straws; there was nothing servile about Lucien.

The front door was opened by what he
recognised to be an indentured maid and he was asked to wait while
she found out if Mr and Mrs Devlin were ‘
at home’
.

Left alone in
the hall, Jon looked about him and something on one wall caught his
eye. It was a deer hide, beautifully tanned and stretched and
painted with the image of a stalking lynx. The artist was highly
skilled and understood his subject completely.

It was also a
totem skin and by tribal custom not to be shared with
outsiders.

As he looked
further Jon saw other examples of tribal art, a carved jade, a
ceremonial quiver inlaid with shell and several baskets of the most
exquisite weaving.

They could be
legitimate trades, albeit fantastically expensive ones, but the
skin and the quiver put a crease between his eyebrows.

“
Mr and Mrs Devlin will see you,” the maid
announced.

The man who
rose to greet him was Lucien all grown up, the same long lean body,
the same hazel eyes and the same shock of fair hair, although here
tamed and trimmed.

Fashionably
but casually dressed, he exuded an air of calm authority and
well-simulated interest. He held out an immaculately manicured hand
to Jon.

“
Marcus Devlin,” he said, and indicating a
slender woman seated on a sofa behind him. “My wife
Miranda.”

Jon shook the
proffered hand, very aware of how he must appear in this drawing
room setting.

“
This is unexpected,” Devlin continued.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting a real Tribal Liaison
Officer before. What may I do for you, Master Harabin?”

Jon felt
suddenly like he was in a poker game; there were a lot of chips on
the table and he faced a player who not only knew the odds, but was
a master of the bluff, and he had no idea why.

He decided to
call the play.

“
I’ve come about Lucien.”

He should have
kept a weather eye on his host to see how this was taken, but his
gaze had involuntarily gone from the pale wood of the floor, so
pale it was almost white, to the tribal blanket casually flung
across the sofa, and stopped at a delicately carved horn resting on
the mantelpiece.

“
Lucy!” the woman on the sofa asked in a
sharp, anxious voice, distracting Jon from a further search of the
room. “Is he all right?”

Despite his
concerns about what he saw, Jon had to hide a smile at this; his
potential apprentice would not want that sobriquet spread
about.

“
Yes, ma’am. He’s fine.”

She was the
same picture of well-groomed sophistication as her spouse and Jon
wondered why they had come to this world, the antithesis of all
they appeared to be.

Miranda Devlin
gave her husband a quick glance, seemed about to say something, but
stopped and returned to her pose of controlled elegance.

“
Why has our son brought you to our door?”
Devlin asked. “I presume he’s been indulging his odd passion for
backwoods squalor somewhere he shouldn’t.”

There was
nothing but polite enquiry in the question, but Jon found himself
babbling slightly as he explained his mission. He had expected
urgent enquires about Lucien’s welfare and to encounter immediate
opposition to his plans; he had not expected to be listened to with
faint amusement.

Plus, he was
off balance. Half his mind was dealing with Lucien, but the other
half was distracted by all he saw here.

The tree that
had supplied the wood for the floor was not common and it must have
taken a large number of them to produce enough wide, flawless
planks to cover this room.

The blanket
was from the loom of a master weaver and he was not happy about
other small, choice items he spotted on shelves and occasional
tables.

“
How interesting,” Devlin said when the
account ended. “May I offer you refreshment? Touch the bell,
Miranda, and tell the girl to bring coffee.”

Any attempt by
Jon to decline was brushed aside as if unheard.

“
I see you’re admiring some of my
treasures,” Marcus said, picking up the carved horn that had first
caught Jon’s attention, and handing it to him.

It was of a
quail with her brood of tiny chicks following her down the natural
arc of a horn.

“
Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“
Yes,” Jon agreed. “Where did you get
it?”

Devlin
laughed. “So speaks the Tribal Liaison Guild. Quite legitimately, I
assure you. Everything in my collection has the correct
paperwork.”

“
I’m sure it does, sir,” Jon replied. And
he was; this was not a man likely to make silly mistakes. “After
all, it would be unfortunate if The Guild was forced to confiscate
any of it.”

“
Perish the thought,” Devlin said in mock
horror. “I think I would be quite devastated if such a dreadful
thing were to happen. I have my reputation to think of.”

Jon knew he
was being baited, but had no idea why. To openly display this
amount and quality of tribal art without the correct permissions
would be reckless beyond belief.

Before he
could speculate further Marcus Devlin had turned the conversation
back to Lucien.

“
Tell me, do you really consider my son to
be a suitable candidate for the honoured ranks of The
Guild?”

“
Yes, sir,” Jon replied, and hoped he would
have time to burnish that blotch off his immortal soul before his
end came.

Devlin gave
him an assessing look, perhaps sensing the hidden reluctance. If he
saw it, he chose to ignore it.

“
I’d never thought of it as a possible
career for him,” he continued. “However, it seems I may have been
wrong.”

“
Marcus ...” Miranda began.

“
Ah, the coffee! Will you pour, my
love?”

Her hand shook
slightly as she filled the cups and she kept darting scared looks
at her husband, but he seemed oblivious to them.

She offered
Jon a dish full of tiny cakes and as he accepted one their eyes met
for a brief moment.

“
Lucy always enjoyed playing in the woods,”
she said, softly. “I sometimes think he’s only happy when he’s
there.”

She looked
from Jon to her husband. Whatever was between Lucien and his father
obviously distressed her and her sympathies did not necessarily lay
with her husband.

Marcus was
watching her, eyes alight with amusement.

“
It seems all the mud and debris trailed
through the house may have had some use after all,” he said. “I
might have to re-evaluate my opinion of your son and his … er …
hobbies.”

He sat back in
his chair and regarded Jon with a speculative look.

“
Lucien as a TLO,” he mused. “Who would
have thought it? How
very
amusing.”

He gave a
chuckle and repeated ‘very amusing’ under his breath, but before
Jon could question this or even give it added thought, Devlin was
on his feet and walking over to a small side table.

“
Did you say the indenture fee was five
hundred and twenty?”

“
Yes, but he’s made ...”

This was
dismissed with a wave of the hand.

“
He can keep it,” Marcus said and handed
Jon a roll of notes.

“
Cash,” he said. “I hope that’s all
right.”

“
Marcus …”

“
Hush, my love. I’m investing in one of our
more tangible assets.”

Jon glanced
from one parent to the other and knew there was more, much more
going on beneath the surface. More than he perhaps wanted to
know.

“
The consent?” he said

“
Of course. How remiss of me.”

Devlin
returned to the table and scrawled a brief note.

“
It requires both of you to consent,” Jon
told him, which was not strictly true, but he wanted to see Mrs
Devlin’s reaction.

She took the
sheet and the pen. “You will look after him, won’t you?”

It was said in
a light bantering tone, suggesting the question was purely
rhetorical, but the anxiety in her eyes told another story.