The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  "No, the other most beautiful girl."

  "Ah. She's at the house with her nurse right now—" meaning the house the Shikrons kept in the capital, a big place by the canal, "—and that's where I should be going, too. I'm in town for a week of shopping, so you'll see plenty of me yet, brother. 'Bye, Theo." And I got a peck, too.

  " 'Bye, Kylla."

  As she left I caught Tarkal Whoever Vellorin glancing in my direction. I smiled impassively. His thoughts were plain: Why had the first of Cormallon married a barbarian? I dress in the most irreproachable Ivoran clothes, but nothing can hide the fact that I tend to be the shortest and lightest skinned person in any room, and that my hair, instead of being black, is a red-brown color that always takes them by surprise. Ran and Kylla were both perfect Ivoran products: Tall, dark-eyed, vibrantly beautiful. Standing next to them, I tended to wonder what I was doing there myself.

  Fortunately Ran's tastes were exotic. One might even say perverse.

  Not that I'm complaining.

  "I've ordered supper from the Golden Oven," Ran said then. "I thought we might eat on the balcony over the courtyard. How does that sound?"

  "Excellent," I said, and took our client's outer robe like a dutiful wife, pretending not to notice the dagger in his belt, nor the more bulky lump by his lower leg. Actually I was fairly drooling by that time, as I hadn't had time for lunch.

  He must have called in his order early; the Net signaled someone at the door before we could show our guest upstairs. "We'll need a fork for the messenger," said Ran, making a quick detour through our tiny kitchen before joining me at the door. We opened it to find a boy in the livery of The Golden Oven, with a carton in his arms. A wagon

  out on the street was full of similar cartons; another boy stood guard over it.

  "Come in," said Ran.

  Tarkel Whomever was watching us, as was only normal. Ran took the buckets from the messenger's box and set them on the low table nearest the door. They both began methodically opening the containers, and delightful smells filled the room. Ran handed the fork to the messenger, who took a small bit from each bucket, put them on a plate, and ate them. Most messengers get all their meals this way; they tend to be healthy and well-fed, and only a small percentage come up unlucky.

  Ran was peering into the food speculatively. He pointed at a container of diced groundhermit and chicory; there was a piece there slightly darker than the others. "Try that one," he said, and the messenger dutifully ate it.

  While we gave the boy a few minutes to see if he would fall down dead, I moved in to spoon the food onto our good plates. As I bent over the sweetcakes I whispered to Ran, "Gentleman's wearing more than a knife." My eyes went to our client, and I tapped my lower left leg against the table.

  Ran nodded. So that our guest wouldn't think we were plotting, I called over, "Would you like brown rice or white?"

  "Brown, please, lady Theodora."

  He was certainly polite.

  By the time I'd finished laying out the meal, Ran had thanked the messenger and given him a tip. I motioned toward the street and Ran gave him an extra coin. "For the boy on the wagon," he said.

  "Thank you, gracious sir." He ducked his head and ran out.

  We picked up what we could and Ran said, "This way, noble sir—"

  Noble sir? Still, he might just be extra-polite.

  "We'll have to come back for the rest," I said.

  "Allow me," said our client, and he lifted one of the plates and followed us upstairs to the balcony.

  In Ivoran houses the courtyards are off the street, protected. Our house in the capital had only a tiny interior

  space with a dry fountain and two lonely coyu trees. Still, they were showing their leaves now, and the cobbles around the center were in good condition. And the grass around that was lush and cool in the late evening breeze.

  There's no taboo about discussing business over a meal, but our client didn't seem forthcoming; so we talked about horses (Ran's contribution), tinaje healing (mine), and even skirted the monotonous topic of Ivory's balance of trade with Tellys.

  "I suppose the barbarians are not fond of Tellys either," he said, near the end of supper. He'd emptied three of our painted winebowls.

  Ran raised an eyebrow.

  "No, I suppose they're not," I said. There are four habitable planets in this sector, and I'd habited three of them. Tellys was not popular with any of the others, but if you ask me it was sour grapes. Anyway, they couldn't hold on to their technological lead forever, and if they wanted to charge us all through the nose meanwhile, Ivory could hardly pretend that moneymaking went against their own way of life.

  Our client put down his last sweetcake finally and brushed crumbs from his hands. "An excellent meal, sir and lady, and only what I would expect from your distinguished house."

  "Thank you," I said, and Ran nodded his head politely.

  "Now, sir Cormallon, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, on a matter of business?"

  Ran had been half-reclining on a pillow with a cover of purple silk thrown over it. Now he sat up. He said, "Theodora is my assistant, noble sir. She's a complete professional."

  "That may be so," said the noble sir, "and I mean no offense. But when you hear my story you'll see that it's rather sensitive."

  Ran considered, then nodded. "Theodora, wait downstairs. I'll call you when we're finished."

  I rose at once, bowed to Tarkel Possibly Vellorin, and left the room. The egalitarians back on Athena would've had a fit, but Ran outranked me and in front of a client like this one it was important to maintain the illusion, at least, of discipline. His opinion of our abilities would de-

  pend in part on how well he thought Ran had control of his House.

  Anyway, I went straight to the downstairs study and turned on the monitor.

  "… several weeks ago. We didn't take it seriously at first, but our House has been going through a lot of changes lately, and when we'd had time to think it over it didn't seem a bad idea. My daughter says the boy is pretty enough, if that matters, and the Atvalids have always been good, solid members of the Empire."

  Ran refilled Tarkel's bowl. "Why consult me then, noble sir? You favor the marriage, and the alliance seems sound. What services can you want from a sorcerer in this instance?"

  Our client looked down at the wine, troubled. "This is in strictest confidence, my friend." He had just moved on to a term that was still formal, but more intimate than "gracious sir." Apparently we were getting to the good stuff. "The Atvalids are quite beneath us socially, however sound they may be. You might wonder why we even consider the alliance, when we could link with almost any family on Ivory."

  Ran said nothing, but looked open.

  Tarkal pursed his lips. "The fact of the matter is that our family does not enjoy quite the favor of the Emperor at this time, may he have long life. I don't want to go into the details, but we would prefer not to irritate him with an… ill-considered… match."

  I noted that our visitor appeared uncomfortable, and I didn't blame him. Politics can be lethal on Ivory, and politics, business, and marriage were all part of the same piece as far as the nobility was concerned.

  "Ill-considered?" prompted Ran.

  "I have had reports lately from Tuvin Province, reports of the boy's father. From what I hear he may soon be as unlucky in the Emperor's regard as we are, in which case…"

  "Yes," said Ran. "That would be unfortunate."

  "I need more information," said Tarkal. "There is still time to call off the deal—that is, the wedding—without a scandal. But we must know where we stand."

  "No doubt you've sent spies into Tuvin," said Ran.

  "We have. And they've come back with a lot of rumor, that's all. I'm not saying that rumor can't be as damaging as fact, but right now I very much need to know what the facts are. They say he's gotten involved with some unsavory elements in local politics—" here Tarkal lowered his voice, "—and he is the Governor, yo
u know."

  I smiled. Being the governor of an Ivoran province would put you well above ninety percent of the population; but still far below the Six Families.

  "They even say he's been making a fool of himself over some of the Northwest Sector outlaws. Really, can't he just hang them when he can, pay ransom when he needs to, and leave them alone? My people tell me he sees himself as the savior of the local farmers and ranchers."

  Ran made a sympathetic noise.

  Tarkal bent closer. "Your own estate, my friend, is very near the Sector; though on the southwest side rather than the east. No doubt you've had to deal with scoundrels fleeing through your lands."

  "Well, from time to time," said Ran. The Cormallon method of dealing with the "scoundrels" is to recruit them; but since that was a prison offense, it would hardly be wise to mention it.

  "Go to Tuvin," said Tarkal the noble sir. "I would be most beholden to you if you would. Find out what you can to keep my unlucky House from embarrassing itself further. Really, sir, we would be terribly grateful." He brought out a bag and laid it on the table; the bag jingled. He placed a rolled piece of paper over it, probably a money order.

  Ran put his hand on the bag, but more as though he would push it back to Tarkal. "I don't see why you need a sorcerer for this, my friend. Why not do it the old-fashioned way, with informers?"

  "Because," he said, "I've heard that sorcerers have tricks that can lead them to finding out things they need to know. Is that true?"

  "Possibly," said Ran.

  "Sending a few spies into Tuvin to ask questions about the family of the girl engaged to one's son is understandable. Having done this—having been seen to do it—well, to take the time now to set up informers within Tuvin would be perceived as… rude."

  "Whereas one or two sorcerers are a lot less noticeable."

  "You drill right to the center, my friend."

  "Thank you." Ran drummed his fingers on the table. "Saving the reputation of a distinguished House like yours would seem to call for a high compensation."

  "You haven't looked at the money order yet," said Tar-kal, leaning back.

  Ran unrolled it and read it. The expression on his face didn't change. He put the paper back on the table.

  "How long would I have?" he asked.

  Tarkal sat up again. "You must understand in full what it is we require. First, yes, a complete report on the provincial governor. But we could go to any sorcerer if simple information was all we needed, true? I want your expertise as a House leader, one who's spent time in the capital—I want you to include in your report not only the obvious, but what you think we should know. I mean that in the broadest possible sense. And I want your recommendation at the end, as to whether you believe an alliance with this family will be a good idea. I'm not saying we would follow such a recommendation, but we want it. You see why we come to you? We're contracting for not only the data, but your analysis of the data."

  This was unadulterated flattery, but it was based on truth, and Ran knew it.

  "How long?" he said again.

  "The earliest possible date for the wedding is next spring. We would need to settle firmly with the Atvalids well before then—before winter at the latest. We can argue over the monetary arrangements, of course, but probably the Feast of Enlightenment is the latest we could keep them waiting."

  The Feast of Enlightenment is in early fall. That gave us several months for this project—longer than some assignments, shorter than others. I was glad the Ivoran year was as lengthy as it was.

  Ran drummed some more. "I'd want a contingency fee if the matter wasn't settled to your satisfaction. Considering the time I'd have to devote to it, and that I'd have to be away from my practice in the capital."

  "Of course," said Tarkal, smooth as sugar icing now that he saw things going his way. "This amount here is for you

  to keep in any case. The rest will be paid on receipt of the information."

  For a moment Ran really did look startled. That money order must have listed a massive figure. I couldn't help grinning, but I hoped for his own self-respect he didn't realize how badly his facade had cracked.

  The crack only showed for a moment, though. Then he was showing Tarkal down the stairs. I hurriedly shut off the monitor, and before they left I heard him say, "I'll leave for Tuvin tomorrow, and give you a preliminary report from there. Nothing indiscreet. I'll hold onto the main things until we meet again."

  "I look forward to it, sir Cormallon."

  "My pleasure, noble sir Sakri."

  Sakri? Great gods, the Sakris owned half the planet. I heard the door close and Ran came into the study.

  "Did you get all that?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Sakri, huh? I guess the concealed weapons are understandable. He's probably used to a platoon of bodyguards."

  He took one of the few chairs in the house, and the only one with wheels, and twirled in it unhappily.

  I could tell you what he was thinking, and as a matter of fact I will: Ran wanted to bring more money into the House of Cormallon because he'd neglected his practice for the last Ivoran year. He'd spent that time on another world in our sector trying to convince an unreasonable barbarian— me—to be reasonable. That meant almost no revenue was coming into the House treasury from the capital. Oh, Cormallon was in no danger of bankruptcy; the other branches were all sending in their regular shares. But he, personally, wanted to bring things at least up to normal. He'd once been accused of stealing from the treasury and I think the whole topic would always be a sensitive one with him.

  On the other hand— "The money annoys you, doesn't it?" I asked.

  He looked even more annoyed. "I don't know what you mean."

  "An amount that big. It kind of gives you the feeling you don't have any option but to take it, and you don't like not having options."

  "You haven't even seen the amount."

  I was quiet. I wasn't going to tell him that his jaw had practically dropped to the floor on the monitor.

  He moved about forty-five degrees in the chair, and swung back again slowly. I said, "I wish you hadn't told him we'd leave tomorrow. I had an appointment for dinner with an old friend."

  His eyes gradually focused on me. "What old friend?"

  "Octavia ~ of Pyrene. She's here with the trade delegation."

  "Oh. Pyrene." He dismissed it. I told you he didn't have a lot of interest in my past. Then he said, "You want to run the cards on this?"

  "It's a little late, isn't it? You've already accepted."

  "All right, don't run them," he said. And he got up and went upstairs.

  I pictured my partner and quarter-husband as he'd just looked, sitting in his "thinking chair," considering his latest sorcerous commission. With his berry-and-white robe pulled back, his dark eyes weighing the pros and cons, his feet tapping with suppressed energy. Brought up in the paranoid splendor of Ivory's upper classes, Ran found it difficult to share his thoughts even with his allies.

  What was I doing on this planet, with a people so long divorced from the main river of humanity that they might be literally another species? "When I look at Ran, sometimes I see an alien," I once confessed to Kylla.

  "All married people feel that way," she responded, casually flicking soot from the gold silk collar that hung in folds around her shoulders.

  Two weeks ago, on the night of the moon-and-a-half, we'd baked cakes of sugar and flour and vanilla and cinnamon, and given them to each other in a room facing the raising moons. When we ate the cakes, it meant that we were one-quarter married. Then we'd made love for the rest of the night, though it wasn't required for the ceremony.

  Four consecutive months make a marriage. Witnesses aren't even necessary, though it's good to have them if you ever plan on going through the confusing system of Ivoran divorce. When people talk about attending weddings on Ivory they mean the wedding celebration, which is after the

  fact and pretty much a good excuse to gather together a large group and cut
loose.

  Four months make a marriage. And two people. Maybe love wasn't enough, or maybe I did have cold feet. Anyway, there was still time to pull out.

  Chapter Three

  "He didn't ask us to kill or sabotage anybody," I pointed out.

  "Yes, a refreshing change."

  Ran likes to go fast. I can stand it in an aircar, but we were on the ground, heading north on the Tuvin Road. There are sand swamps for about two hours of the journey between Avernith and the beginning of the Iron Hills—I kept trying to blank out this mental picture of the car zooming off the road into the swamp, leaving nothing behind but a burp.

  Aircars aren't a great lot of use in the part of Tuvin we were going, or in the Northwest Sector in general, as the winds over the High Plateau are treacherous and highly variable. Anyway, I bit my tongue until we reached the section that runs by the river, a green and pleasant stretch of land, and I said, "If you don't like the project when we get to Shaskala, you can always return the money and call it off."

  This was my way of saying I could run the cards for us when we got there. I was beginning to regret not having done so back in the capital—though Ran could always have run them himself now, since the deck was no longer cursed.

  "I'm going through with it," said Ran, not looking at me.

  This was his way of saying he was going through with it.

  Fine. After a minute he said, "I think Grandmother left the deck bonded to you when she removed the curse. You're better at running them than anybody else."

  Implying that it was my duty to read them, then, not his. I let that one lie as well, and watched the scenery for a while.

  Those of you who have been following my little adventures may be wondering just what I was doing back on Ivory, anyway. I wondered myself, a lot.

  When I took the outbound liner away, I had every intention of never coming back. But fate, as always, had a few more custard pies up its sleeve. I suppose that considering how badly my life had derailed from my well-laid plans before, I should not have been surprised.

  Custard pie number one was Ran showing up on the ship. But I was strong, I was firm… actually I was in a continual state of confusion, but I did manage to get off the ship when we grounded. I figured Ran was gambling on my taking the round trip back with him—he was first of Cormallon, he couldn't afford to be away from home for long periods.