Of all the places that Inyanna visited with Sidoun on these leisurely afternoons and evenings, though, her favorite was the Gossamer Galleria. That mile-long arcade, hanging high above street level, contained the finest shops of Ni-moya, which is to say the finest in all the continent of Zimroel, the finest outside the rich cities of Castle Mount. When they went there, Inyanna and Sidoun put on their most elegant clothes, that they had stolen from the best stalls in the Grand Bazaar—nothing at all to compare with what the aristocrats wore, but superior by far to their daily garb. Inyanna enjoyed getting out of the male costumes that she wore in her role as Kulibhai the thief, and dressing in slinky and clinging robes of purples and greens, and letting her long red hair tumble free. With her fingertips lightly touching Sidoun’s, she made the grand promenade of the Galleria, indulging in pleasant fantasies as they inspected the eye-jewels and feather-masks and polished amulets and metal trinkets that were available, for a double handful of shining royal-pieces, to the truly wealthy. None of these things would ever be hers, she knew, for a thief who thieved well enough to afford such luxuries would be a danger to the stability of the Grand Bazaar; but it was joyous enough merely to see the treasures of the Gossamer Galleria, and to pretend.
It was on one of these outings to the Gossamer Galleria that Inyanna strayed into the orbit of Calain, brother to the duke.
8
SHE HAD no notion that that was what she was doing, of course. All she thought she was doing was conducting a little innocent flirtation, as part of the adventure into fantasy that a visit to the Galleria ought to be. It was a mild night in late summer and she was wearing one of her lightest gowns, a sheer fabric less substantial even than the webbing of which the Gailleria was woven; and she and Sidoun were in the shop of dragon-bone carvings, examining the extraordinary thumbnail-sized masterpieces of a Skandar boat-captain who produced intricacies of interwoven slivers of ivory of the highest implausibility, when four men in the robes of nobility came in. Sidoun at once faded into a dark corner, for he knew that his clothing and his bearing and the cut of his hair marked him as no equal to these; but Inyanna, conscious that the lines of her body and the cool gaze of her green eyes could compensate for all sorts of deficiencies of manner, boldly held her place at the counter. One of the men glanced at the carving in her hand and said, “If you buy that, you’ll be doing well for yourself.”
“I have not made up my mind,” Inyanna replied.
“May I see it?”
She dropped it lightly into his palm, and at the same time let her eyes make contact brazenly with his. He smiled, but gave his attention mainly to the ivory piece, a map-globe of Majipoor fashioned from many sliding panels of bone. After a moment he said to the proprietor, “The price?”
“It is a gift,” answered the other, a slender and austere Ghayrog.
“Indeed. And also from me to you,” said the nobleman, spilling the bauble back into the hand of the amazed Inyanna. Now his smile was more intimate. “You are of this city?” he asked quietly.
“I live in Strelain,” she said.
“Do you dine often at the Narabal Island?”
“When the mood takes me.”
“Good. Will you be there at sunset tomorrow? There will be someone there eager to make your acquaintance.”
Hiding her bewilderment, Inyanna bowed. The nobleman bowed and turned away; he purchased three of the little carvings, dropping a purse of coins on the counter; then they departed. Inyanna stared in astonishment at the precious thing in her hand. Sidoun, emerging from the shadows, whispered, “It’s worth a dozen royals! Sell it back to the keeper!”
“No,” she said. To the proprietor she said, “Who was that man?”
“You are unfamiliar with him?”
“I would not have asked you his name if I knew it.”
“Yes. Yes.” The Ghayrog made little hissing sounds. “He is Durand Livolk, the duke’s chamberlain.”
“And the other three?”
“Two are in the duke’s service, and the third is a companion to the duke’s brother Calain.”
“Ah,” said Inyanna. She held forth the ivory globe. “Can you mount this on a chain?”
“It will take only a moment.”
“And the price for a chain worthy of the object?”
The Ghayrog gave her a long calculating look. “The chain is only accessory to the carving; and since the carving was a gift, so too with the chain.” He fitted delicate golden links to the ivory ball, and packed the trinket in a box of shining stickskin.
“At least twenty royals, with the chain!” Sidoun muttered amazed, when they were outside. “Take it across to that shop and sell it, Inyanna!”
“It was a gift,” she said coolly. “I will wear it tomorrow night, when I dine at the Narabal Island.”
She could not go to dinner in the gown she had worn that evening, though; and finding another just as sheer and costly in the shops of the Grand Bazaar required two hours of diligent work the next day. But in the end she came upon one that was the next thing to nakedness, yet cloaked everything in mystery; and that was what she wore to the Narabal Island, with the ivory carving dangling between her breasts.
At the restaurant there was no need to give her name. As she stepped off the ferry she was met by a somber and dignified Vroon in ducal livery, who conducted her through the lush groves of vines and ferns to a shadowy bower, secluded and fragrant, in a part of the island cut off by dense plantings from the main restaurant area. Here three people awaited her at a gleaming table of polished nightflower wood beneath a vine whose thick hairy stems were weighed down by enormous globular blue flowers. One was Durand Livolk, who had given her the ivory carving. One was a woman, slender and dark-haired, as sleek and glossy as the tabletop itself. And the third was a man of about twice Inyanna’s age, delicately built, with thin close-pursed lips and soft features. All three were dressed with such magnificence that Inyanna cringed at her own fancied shabbiness. Durand Livolk rose smoothly, went to Inyanna’s side, and murmured, “You look even more lovely this evening. Come: meet some friends. This is my companion, the lady Tisiorne. And this—”
The frail-looking man got to his feet. “I am Calain of Ni-moya,” he said simply, in a gentle and feathery voice.
Inyanna felt confused, but only for a moment. She had thought the duke’s chamberlain had wanted her himself; now she understood that Durand Livolk had merely been procuring her for the duke’s brother. That knowledge sparked an instant’s indignation in her, but it died quickly away. Why take offense? How many young women of Ni-moya had the chance to dine on the Narabal Island with the brother of the duke? If to another it might seem that she was being used, so be it; she meant to do a little using herself, in this interchange.
A place was ready for her beside Calain. She took it and the Vroon instantly brought a tray of liqueurs, all unfamiliar ones, of colors that blended and swirled and phosphoresced. She chose one at random: it had the flavor of mountain mists, and caused an immediate tingling in her cheeks and ears. From overhead came the patter, of light rainfall, landing on the broad glossy leaves of the trees and vines, but not on the diners. The rich tropical plantings of this island, Inyanna knew, were maintained by frequent artificial rainfall that duplicated the climate of Narabal.
Calain said, “Do you have favorite dishes here?”
“I would prefer that you order for me.”
“If you wish. Your accent is not of Ni-moya.”
“Velathys,” she replied. “I came here only last year.”
“A wise move,” said Durand Livolk. “What prompted it?”
Inyanna laughed. “I think I will tell that story another time, if I may.”
“Your accent is charming,” said Calain. “We rarely meet Velathyntu folk here. Is it a beautiful city?”
“Hardly, my lord.”
“Nestling in the Gonghars, though—surely it must be beautiful to see those great mountains all around you.”
“Th
at may be. One comes to take such things for granted when one spends all one’s life among them. Perhaps even Ni-moya would begin to seem ordinary to one who had grown up here.”
“Where do you live?” asked the woman Tisiorne.
“In Strelain,” said Inyanna. And then, mischievously, for she had had another of the liqueurs and was feeling it, she added, “In the Grand Bazaar.”
“In the Grand Bazaar?” said Durand Livolk.
“Yes. Beneath the street of the cheesemongers.”
Tisiorne said, “And for what reason do you make your home there?”
“Oh,” Inyanna answered lightly, “to be close to the place of my employment.”
“In the street of the cheesemongers?” said Tisiorne, horror creeping into her tone.
“You misunderstand. I am employed in the Bazaar, but not by the merchants. I am a thief.”
The word fell from her lips like a lightning-bolt crashing on the mountaintops. Inyanna saw the sudden startled look pass from Calain to Durand Livolk, and the color rising in Durand Livolk’s face. But these people were aristocrats, and they had aristocratic poise. Calain was the first to recover from his amazement. Smiling coolly, he said, “A profession that calls for grace and deftness and quick-wittedness, I have always believed.” He touched his glass to Inyanna’s. “I salute you, thief who says she’s a thief. There’s an honesty in that which many others lack.”
The Vroon returned, bearing a vast porcelain bowl filled with pale blue berries, waxen-looking, with white highlights. They were thokkas, Inyanna knew—the favorite fruit of Narabal, said to make the blood run hot and the passions to rise. She scooped a few from the bowl; Tisiorne carefully chose a single one; Durand Livolk took a handful, and Calain more than that. Inyanna noticed that the duke’s brother ate the berries seeds and all, said to be the most effective way. Tisiorne discarded the seeds of hers, which brought a wry grin from Durand Livolk. Inyanna did not follow Tisiorne’s fashion.
Then there were wines, and morsels of spiced fish, and oysters floating in their own fluids, and a plate of intricate little fungi of soft pastel hues, and eventually a haunch of aromatic meat—the leg of the giant bilantoon of the forests just east of Narabal, said Calain. Inyanna ate sparingly, a nip of this, a bit of that. It seemed the proper thing to do, and also the most sensible. Some Skandar jugglers came by after a while, and did wondrous things with torches and knives, and hatchets, drawing hearty applause from the four diners. Calain tossed the rough four-armed fellows a gleaming coin—a five-royal piece, Inyanna saw, astounded. Later it rained again, though not on them, and still later, after another round of liqueurs, Durand, Livolk and Tisiorne gracefully excused themselves and left Calain and Inyanna sitting alone in the misty darkness.
Calain said, “Are you truly a thief?”
“Truly. But it was not my original plan. I owned a shop of general wares in Velathys.”
“And then?”
“I lost it through a swindle,” she said. “And came penniless to Ni-moya, and needed a profession, and fell in with thieves, who seemed thoughtful and sympathetic people.”
“And now you have fallen in with much greater thieves,” said Calain. “Does that trouble you?”
“Do you regard yourself, then, as a thief?”
“I hold high rank through luck of birth alone. I do not work, except to assist my brother when he needs me. I live in splendor beyond most people’s imaginings. None of this is deserved. Have you seen my home?”
“I know it quite well. From the outside, of course, only.”
“Would you care to see the interior of it tonight?”
Inyanna thought briefly of Sidoun, waiting in the whitewashed stone room below the street of the cheesemongers.
“Very much,” she said. “And when I’ve seen it, I’ll tell you a little story about myself and Nissimorn Prospect and how it happened that I first came to Ni-moya.”
“It will be most amusing, I’m sure. Shall we go?”
“Yes,” Inyanna said. “But would it cause difficulties if I stopped first at the Grand Bazaar?”
“We have all night,” said Calain. “There is no hurry.”
The liveried Vroon appeared, and lit the way for them through the jungled gardens to the island’s dock, where a private ferry waited. It conveyed them to the mainland; a floater had been summoned meanwhile, and shortly Inyanna arrived at the plaza of Pidruid Gate. “I’ll be only a moment,” Inyanna whispered, and, wraithlike in her fragile and clinging gown, she drifted swiftly through the crowds that even at this hour still thronged the Bazaar. Down into the underground den she went. The thieves were gathered around a table, playing some game with glass counters and ebony dice. They cheered and applauded as she made her splendid entrance, but she responded only with a quick tense smile, and drew Sidoun aside. In a low voice she said, “I am going out again, and I will not be back this night. Will you forgive me?”
“It’s not every woman who catches the fancy of the duke’s chamberlain.”
“Not the duke’s chamberlain,” she said. “The duke’s brother.” She brushed her lips lightly against Sidoun’s. He was glassy-eyed with surprise at her words. “Tomorrow let’s go to the Park of Fabulous Beasts, yes, Sidoun?” She kissed him again and moved on, to her bedroom, and drew the flask of dragon-milk out from under her pillow, where it had been hidden for months. In the central room she paused at the gaming-table, leaned close beside Liloyve, and opened her hand, showing her the flask. Liloyve’s eyes widened. Inyanna winked and said, “Do you remember what I was saving this for? You said, to share it with Calain when I went to Nissimorn Prospect. And so—”
Liloyve gasped. Inyanna winked and kissed her and went out.
Much later that night, as she drew forth the flask and offered it to the duke’s brother, she wondered in sudden panic whether it might be a vast breach of etiquette to be offering him an aphrodisiac this way, perhaps implying that its use might be advisable. But Calain showed no offense. He was, or else pretended to be, touched by her gift; he made a great show of pouring the blue milk into porcelain bowls so dainty they were nearly transparent; with the highest of ceremony he put one bowl in her hand, lifted the other himself, and signaled a salute. The dragon-milk was strange and bitter, difficult for Inyanna to swallow; but she got it down, and almost at once felt its warmth throbbing in her thighs. Calain smiled. They were in the Hall of Windows of Nissimorn Prospect, where a single band of gold-bound glass gave a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the harbor of Ni-moya and the distant southern shore of the river. Calain touched a switch. The great window became opaque. A circular bed rose silently from the floor. He took her by the hand and drew her toward it.
9
TO BE THE CONCUBINE of the duke’s brother seemed a high enough ambition for a thief out of the Grand Bazaar. Inyanna had no illusions about her relationship with Calain. Durand Livolk had chosen her for her looks alone, perhaps something about her eyes, her hair, the way she held herself. Calain, though he had expected her to be a woman somewhat closer to his own class, had evidently found something charming about being thrown together with someone from the bottom rung of society, and so she had had her evening at the Narabal Island and her night at Nissimorn Prospect; it had been a fine interlude of fantasy, and in the morning she would return to the Grand Bazaar with a memory to last her the rest of her life, and that would be that.
Only that was not that.
There was no sleep for them all that night—was it the effect of the dragon-milk, she wondered, or was he like that always?—and at dawn they strolled naked through the majestic house, so that he could show her its treasures, and as they breakfasted on a veranda overlooking the garden he suggested an outing that day to his private park in Istmoy. So it was not to be an adventure of a single night, then. She wondered if she should send word to Sidoun at the Bazaar, telling him she would not return that day, but then she realized that Sidoun would not need to be told. He would interpret her silence correctly. She me
ant to cause him no pain, but on the other hand she owed him nothing but common courtesy. She was embarked now on one of the great events of her life, and when she returned to the Grand Bazaar it would not be for Sidoun’s sake, but merely because the adventure was over.
As it happened, she spent the next six days with Calain. By day they sported on the river in his majestic yacht, or strolled hand in hand through the private game-park of the duke, a place stocked with surplus beasts from the Park of Fabulous Beasts, or simply lay on the veranda of Nissimorn Prospect, watching the sun’s track across the continent from Piliplok to Pidruid. And by night it was all feasting and revelry, dinner now at one of the floating islands, now at some great house of Ni-moya, one night at the Ducal Palace itself. The duke was very little like Calain: a much bigger man, and a good deal older, with a wearied and untender manner. Yet he managed to be charming to Inyanna, treating her with grace and gravity and never once making her feel like a street-girl his brother had scooped out of the Bazaar. Inyanna sailed through these events with the kind of cool acceptance one displays in dreams. To show awe, she knew, would be coarse. To pretend to an equal level of rank and sophistication would be even worse. But she arrived at a demeanor that was restrained without being humble, agreeable without being forward, and it seemed to be effective. In a few days it began to seem quite natural to her that she should be sitting at table with dignitaries who were lately returned from Castle Mount with bits of gossip about Lord Malibor the Coronal and his entourage, or who could tell stories of having hunted in the northern marches with the Pontifex Tyeveras when he was Coronal under Ossier, or who had newly come back from meetings at Inner Temple with the Lady of the Isle. She grew so self-assured in the company of these great ones that if anyone had turned to her and said, “And you, milady, how have you passed the recent months?” she would have replied easily, “As a thief in the Grand Bazaar,” as she had done that first night on the Narabal Island. But the question did not arise: at this level of society, she realized, one never idly indulged one’s curiosity with others, but left them to unveil their histories to whatever degree they preferred.
Majipoor Chronicles Page 30
