The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  Three bowls. One would have meant Stereth was drinking alone, that I wasn't being offered hospitality and should begin making my will; two would have meant that I was being given guest-rights and might have implied a commitment. But three could just mean that Cantry picked up some bowls in a hurry and didn't count them. Since accidents don't happen around Stereth, what it actually meant was that he was being as annoyingly careful as ever. Considerate of my feelings, though—one bowl would have been more than I could have handled just then.

  He packed some bredesmoke into the pipe and took a puff. "All right, Tymon, talk. Tell me what you've been doing while we've been slogging up here from our nice dry home."

  So I told him everything that had happened since Ran woke me up two nights ago and suggested we escape. I thought he might hurry me along through some parts, once he had the gist of the story, but he seemed interested in it all. I managed to reconstruct most of the conversation with the Governor. Since Stereth refused to either cut me short or tell me what he wanted to hear more of, I even included what the Governor was wearing when he came down the stairs. Stereth just puffed and listened.

  It wasn't a large tent, and soon it was full of bredesmoke. My eyes, no doubt red already, began to water.

  When I'd finished he said conversationally, "So, did you have some purpose in coming back to us, or do you just seek to renew old ties?"

  I said—and there was just a touch of accusation in my voice—"Sokol is in jail because they think he's you. He's going to be executed because they think he's you."

  "Well, and that's no disadvantage to the band, is it? It should take some of the pressure off us."

  "Since when do you want the pressure off? I thought you wanted to be an irritant. Besides, all these farmers and ranchers you've allied with made their agreements with Stereth Tar'krim. Once the legend's gone, will they still cooperate?"

  He smiled. "Des did much of the wooing. No doubt he can continue."

  "It's not as good. You know that. This has been a public relations gimmick as much as anything else, and it's bad for public relations to kill a legend." He let out a smoke ring. I added, "I'm sure the Emperor will be reassured to hear you're dead. He won't have to buy you off." Two smoke rings. Three. Damn the man. "Besides, the pressure from the militia will be on again, the second they realize the tah blockade is still going. Unless you plan on letting that die, too."

  My head started to ache. Secondhand bredesmoke usually wouldn't make me high so quickly, but I was dangerously low on sleep.

  He said, "I take it you'd like me to get your half-husband out of custody. A risky undertaking at best, Tymon."

  "Not for somebody who robs tax shipments from armored cars." I hadn't meant it to come out quite so baldly, but the sentence seemed to go straight from my brain to my lips.

  Stereth smiled. Then he said, seriously, "If I took this business on, and retrieved our sorcerer from the enemy, I would expect him to be more cooperative in future."

  "He will be," I said. I couldn't commit Ran without making a Cormallon promise, but I didn't need to; the obligation to Stereth would drive him crazy until he discharged it.

  Stereth picked up a malachite bowl and set it between us, then put another beside it. "Care for some wine, Tymon?"

  "Thank you." He poured for us both. I raised the bowl and took a sip, then replaced it. Any more and I'd be sprawled on the gold and crimson rug.

  "One more thing," said Stereth. "Just as a matter of curiosity, and a favor to a friend, I was wondering if you would tell me Sokol's birth name."

  I was actually shocked at this coming from him. Outlaws

  don't ask their birthnames, I knew the look on my face was saying.

  Sue me, replied the look on his own.

  "Just a favor," he repeated.

  Manners required that I not refuse a favor, just as they required that I take a sip from the winebowl and sit there inhaling bredesmoke, when we both knew damned well he was getting me stoned deliberately. But he was crossing over boundaries now, and I had to make a decision.

  Under the circumstances, I would have liked to postpone it until I was awake and sober.

  "And please don't insult me with some pseudonym," he went on pleasantly. "I always know when I'm being lied to."

  That might be a magnificent bluff, but I'd been impressed in the past with Stereth's ability to tell truth from bullshit.

  All right. At the moment, Ran's life was the first priority. We would deal with the rest later.

  "Ran Cormallon," I said.

  "Hmm. That's what I'd heard."

  Was that also a magnificent bluff? I would never know.

  He said, "I suppose I should let you continue your nap. Sembet said you were resting."

  It was a dismissal, so I started to get to my feet. Unsuccessfully.

  "I can't stand up," I said.

  Stereth turned toward the tent entrance and called, "Sembet!" A few second later Sembet Triol entered and took my left arm. Stereth took my right. They lifted me up and helped me to the entrance.

  Just before he turned me over to his nobly born henchman, Stereth said, "Tell me, Tymon, what's your own birthname? That can hardly be a state secret."

  "Don't be so annoying, Stereth," I said acidly. "That can't possibly be of any interest to you."

  I felt a faint shaking in Sembet, as though he was laughing.

  "She's not entirely sober," Stereth explained.

  "Oh," said Sembet noncommittally. He was still vibraing gently, but apparently didn't trust himself to speak any further.

  "Oh, get her to bed." Stereth let us both go and went back inside the tent.

  I had quite a sleep that day, because I woke up many hours later—back in the monastery fort, on a pile of jackets and robes in the main hall. They told me later that they'd tried to wake me, and ended up loading me on a wagon with the provisions. I suppose it's a sign of Stereth's trust in me, or in his ability to really tell truth from falsehood, but he moved his base back to our old haunt. "Easier to hit Kynogin from here," pointed out Carabinstereth as she helped me wash when I awoke. My muscles were sore, from the bouncing in the wagon or from stress, and I felt thoroughly wrung out.

  I may have had as many nightmares as before, but this time I couldn't remember any. It felt as though I'd just climbed out of a pit.

  Carabinstereth went off to do other things, and Sembet Triol came in with a jar of water. Things suddenly came together in my mind, and I spoke as though we'd just broken off our conversation minutes ago.

  I tapped him urgently on the shoulder as he bent to set the jar down. When he straightened up I cried, "Torin Atvalid was Governor of Tammas District! Nor Atvalid's father was the person who imprisoned Stereth!"

  "Yes," said Sembet, "I thought you knew."

  But I was driving somewhere, and wouldn't get off the road. "Look, it was Torin Atvalid's policies that were responsible for the rebellion in Tammas. He gouged everybody—even Ivorans couldn't stand for it—and our Governor Atvalid—" I heard Sembet's voice in my mind, from the ride home from Kynogin that day: "Nor Atvalid never could stand his father. Whatever his father did, he'd do the opposite."

  I went on more slowly, "Nor figured that the way to avoid the kind of suffering they had in his father's province was to come down hard on the other side."

  "The Atvalids never did learn moderation."

  "But don't you see! Sembet—Torin Atvalid created Rice Thief!"

  "Well," he said, "it's nothing to get excited about."

  There's an expression they use on Ivory: It won't make

  dinner come any sooner. That was the consensus of the company on this topic. I even tackled Carabinstereth on it; surely her energetic nature would generate a little excitement over this. She was folding towels when I found her. She did look up briefly. "Oh, yes, Tymon. I think I'd heard that from someone."

  Theodora rides in, a day late and a penny short. Whenever I have one of my profound insights I find out later that somebod
y had it first in the fifth century oldstyle and it's been a cliche ever since. That sort of thing happens to me a lot. Back on Pyrene, whenever I found a piece of classical music that I liked I was usually told later that it was a big favorite centuries ago of the Poliker Secret Police, and they often played it when they were torturing people. Believe me, news like that can affect your self-esteem in all sorts of ways. That wonderful sense of joy and discovery of the new never seems to make it through untarnished.

  You're probably wondering what was happening to Ran while all this was going on. That was certainly in the front of my own mind at the time. Stereth told me shortly after I woke up that first day at the fort that Ran was still in Kynogin and still alive, and that a cage was under construction outside the winehouse.

  I wanted to question him further about his plans, but he brushed me off. "I'm working on it, Tymon. Don't be importunate. Isn't there enough here to keep you occupied?"

  Certainly there was. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but Des had returned from his tah raid with thirteen hostages. Thirteen. Stereth was furious.

  "We can ransom them," said Des pleadingly, aware he was in trouble.

  We knew Stereth was furious because he was spitting out his words with a precision even sharper than usual. "Why did you bring them to me, Des? Did you think I might benefit from meeting each one personally? What did you think I could do with them here?"

  "Here" was the monastery fort, by the way. Des and his crew had shepherded the prisoners (blindfolded) all the way down from the north. This spoke volumes of how careful he could be when he chose; also how far he would go to avoid unpleasantness.

  Killing was hard for Des, and much as he admired Stereth, he would sidestep the hard jobs if he could.

  The prisoners were still blindfolded, standing uncomfortably around listening to the debate. Ten men and three women, most of them pretty strong-looking, as caravan workers had to be. One of them was a little older and better dressed; probably the caravan-master, or the owner's agent.

  Stereth was going on. "And did you think I could spare people to stand guard on this bunch? Or were you assuming we'd just leave them blindfolded, and I could take each one by the hand and lead them to the privy personally?"

  Des looked extremely uncomfortable. It was the first time since I was there that I'd seen Stereth light into him publicly.

  The more prosperous-looking one stepped forward. His dark hair was shot with gray and there were small diamond studs in his ears. I was standing near enough to see sweat on his forehead, above the red rag of blindfold. The perspiration had activated his perfume; I could smell a cloyingly sweet scent mixed with the stink of fear.

  "Has this unworthy one the honor of addressing the great Stereth Tar'krim?"

  Stereth made a disgusted face. I suppose at the moment he didn't want to hear from his liabilities.

  The man's head was turned to a spot between Stereth and Des. There was a very slight tremor in his voice when he spoke, but he showed more control than I'd expected. "If you would excuse this one's presumption, gracious sirs, I would like to inform you that my wife will pay well for my safe return."

  Stereth gave up pretending that the man was a stick of wood, and deigned to address him. "It speaks well for your marriage, gracious sir, but we don't have time to send any messages. We're rather busy right now."

  "Great outlaw," said the man, as he switched to the still respectful but less groveling vah-form of first person, "I would be happy to give you an address in Shaskala where she might be reached, and if it would please you, to pledge my word and my family's honor not to escape."

  Des threw Stereth a begging look. Stereth's rather con-

  temptuous glance circled the room and lit on me. "What's your opinion, Tymon?"

  "Me?" I was surprised at being consulted. I spoke honestly, doubting it would have any effect on his decision anyway. "I have sympathy for his wife."

  The man had cocked an ear my way at the sound of my voice. He was no fool, and knew enough not to fill the next few seconds of silence with more promises. After a moment Stereth said, "You bargain for your own life. I assume that means you have no objection to our ridding ourselves of the burden of your fellow workers? One prisoner is much easier for us to detain."

  The man didn't hesitate. "As agent for the Keldemir Tah Company, I can promise to pay their ransoms as well. And if for any reason the company will not pay, I will make it up from my own pocket."

  Several of the band in the hall then exchanged looks. If true, he must be extraordinarily wealthy. And they liked the way he'd spoken up for his companions. These folk weren't cantry tar'meth, but they had some style.

  Stereth saw the way opinion was going. He addressed his outlaws: "If we do this, you're the ones who'll be pulling extra shifts. Des, you'll be responsible. I want their pledges and I want two guards on them at all times. You can fix up one of the outbuildings for them."

  He dismissed the matter. The band had kept hostages before, though usually not this many.

  So Des drafted some helpers and took them out. I heard part of his "hostage orientation lecture" afterward, in which he explained that if anyone tried to leave, etiquette demanded that the prisoner be shot and the legs of everyone else be broken. He did a good job of putting the fear of heaven into them, and of course they'd been pretty cowed to begin with; none of them gave us much trouble.

  They were a lot of work, though. Feeding them and carrying their wash water and cleaning out the hastily-rigged privy in the corner of their building.

  It gave my arms and legs something to do while I was worrying about Ran.

  Paravit-Col brought in some flyers a few days later. Notices had been posted in the market towns and at the hilltop

  gibbets that the notorious Stereth Tar'krim, now brought low by the forces of justice, would be transported via the Shaskala Road on the twenty-eighth of Kace. It assured any food and drink vendors who might care to set up on the road that day that they would not be asked for licenses by the passing militia.

  It gave us two weeks to do the impossible. I had respect for Stereth, but knew I was asking a lot. I went to him again to ask if he'd made any arrangements, and again he brushed me off. "I'll let you know, Tymon. If you're restless, go help Mora with the waterjugs."

  Sometimes Stereth reminded me of the sort of parent who discourages a child from bothering them by always bringing up chores.

  I said, "Where's Des? I haven't seen him in days. Is he involved in this, or is he in some other kind of trouble?"

  "Waterjugs, Tymon."

  "Well, is he dead or alive?"

  Stereth went on his way. I did help Mora with the waterjugs, though, and worked out double-shifts with Carabin's classes, and became quite the floor-cleaner and blanket-shaker. They were good about putting up with me. I was pretty near the edge those days.

  The twenty-eighth of Kace dawned in a gray mist, with a fine coating of drizzle falling on the hills. I rose early and stood by the doorway, looking up the path toward the pair of twisted trees on the skyline. Stereth and Cantry were still sound asleep beneath a single fur blanket. My eyes ached. I wasn't really uncomfortable with my lack of sleep, though, because I'd forgotten what a full night's rest was like. I wondered what the twenty-eighth of Kace looked like from the basement in Kynogin, and I wished Stereth would wake up and light the fuse on the day's events. If nightfall came without bringing off this mission I strongly doubted there would be another chance, and the waiting was growing intolerable.

  I wandered over to the waterjars and prepared to make a rude amount of noise, then paused. I can't say it was any feeling of consideration that held me back; it simply occurred to me that Stereth might not function at his peak today if I woke him. As for me, I was as close to my peak

  as I was going to come until the whole matter was over, so I went for a walk.

  I walked for an hour. Even in a drizzle the hills were piercingly beautiful. In fact it was the last peaceful day I would
see on the Plateau; and what peace there was, was certainly not in me. When I returned I found Stereth and the group awake and dressed, and Clintris na'Fli leading a line of mounts from the stable.

  "There you are," said Stereth, irritably. "You might take your mount, Tymon, this whole expedition was your idea. We'll be breakfasting on the road, so don't give me that famished look." (Any look I gave him was strictly blank.) "All right—are we all ready, boys and girls? Good. We're going to bail Tymon's husband out of jail."

  And this is what the Athenan scholar and the dangerous outlaws went off to attempt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A cold, drizzly ride with the smell of wet fur from my mount never being far from my nostrils. Stereth parked us on some hills overlooking the Shaskala road, but nowhere near where I'd anticipated. I'd been thinking he would lead us to one of the more empty stretches of country—the gods knew there were enough to choose from—but we were not a kilometer out of Drear Market Town. Vendors were all over the road already.

  By then it was late morning, and though we'd eaten on the road we were all hungry again. Stereth sent most of the group away, not bothering to tell me where. Finally I said, "How about some food?"—thinking he'd bring out the dried strips of beef now. He smiled and tossed me a coin.

  "Go try one of the vendors, Tymon. My treat."

  I looked down the hill at the bakers and sweets-sellers, the stands for smoked beef coated in lemon and honey sauce, the knots of people from Drear moving about. It had stopped drizzling, and the spectators were rolling in from the farms and ranches. "You're joking."

  "Not I. Your job is down on the road anyhow."

  "Oh? Has this unworthy one the honor of addressing the great Stereth Tar'krim?"

  "No need to be testy about it. There was just no point in discussing it with you earlier."

  "And my job is… ?"

  He told me. I said, "I fail to see how this advances our goal."