The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  Damn, I couldn't remember the details, but hadn't there been one about a similar alliance? One of Ran's legions of aunts had told me, when she was passing through the estate on her way to some kind of appointment in the capital… her dressmaker's, that was it. Come on, Theodora, you can remember the dressmaker, what about the plot of the story?

  There had been a House of brewers, on the edge of the Northwest Sector, who'd been having some kind of trouble with deliberately contaminated beer—Jack Lykon's choice of beverage must have reminded me. A pair of reps had requested a House alliance with Cormallon to track down the saboteurs, but there was some reason the alliance couldn't go through—something about offending our longtime allies, the Ducorts (though I didn't see why; the Du-corts handle wine and tah, and consider themselves above honest beer). So what had happened?

  The First at that time had figured a method of weeding out any contaminated tubs, and tracing back any sorcerous damage to the beer to its source. Nonsorcerers could use the method, but only by a quick education in Cormallon techniques and the use of House materials. I couldn't recall the sorcery involved, but I remembered the political answer: Three brewery employees had been adopted into the House of Cormallon and then loaned back to their birth house to supervise the beermaking.

  This was the crux: The adoption gave Cormallon House justice rights over the lives of the brewers. They'd all had spells placed on them that prevented their spilling any House secrets to outsiders. Gag spells, they're called, and they're the kind of thing that can be very dangerous, very complicated; and only done with the person's consent. The brewers accepted it out of self-interest, being well-paid for their cooperation. When the crisis was over, Cormallon released them back to their birth house—with gags intact, and if I know the Cormallons, probably some memory impairment. (The latter was never admitted. Removing memory is easy; what's hard is to be selective.)

  So no alliance, Cormallon pockets its fee, the brewers get their reputation for good beer returned… I never found out what happened to the three shifted employees. Spells that fool around with memory and volition are risky things; if the three ended up committing suicide somewhere down the road, I would not be surprised.

  On the other hand, the Tolla was by definition composed of high risk-taking individuals.

  Given a choice between a lengthy gene search for hypothetical magic abilities and a workable weapons program, Van Gelder would go for the weapons. Pure research was not her aim. And if we could work out a trade, perhaps she would lend me Jack Lykon for a day or two… because research was my aim.

  The next question would be, was Jack Lykon a high risk-taking individual?

  And what in the world was I going to tell Ran?

  Chapter 9

  As it turned out, I had time to think about it, as Kylla and Lysander were in the parlor when I got home. They were both holding drinks, which I thought was a good idea on Ran's part, and since nobody seemed to be throwing anything at anybody, I walked right in.

  Lysander was seated on the red-fringed cushion by the table. He raised his glass an inch when I entered, and nodded. "Theodora." Kylla, who was half-sitting, half-lying on the divan, now sat up straight and patted the space beside her. "Theo, sit by me. Ran's telling us about your day. It sounds wonderfully gruesome."

  I loosened my outerrobe and sat down. Nobody asked me where I'd been, which made things simpler, so I took a sip of Ky's proffered drink—a Soldier's Delight, apparently; Lysander must have stopped somewhere on the way here and bought a flask to go. It was not the custom for old aristocratic families to keep the ingredients for mixed drinks in the house, and it never occurred to Ran that we might stock up. Most of the time I didn't feel the lack, but there were occasional nights when Ran was off putting in an appearance for one of the Cormallon branches and I was stuck in the capital; when the Net seemed supremely uninteresting, and I'd sung all the old Pyrenese songs I could think of in the bathroom, and I found myself wishing for a nudge to get to sleep. No point in opening up the expensive Ducort for that.

  Gods, I hoped Ran wasn't going to get himself killed in his profession any time soon. The mortality rate for the upper-rank males of Ivory is relatively high, and that thought did tend to surface from time to time, presenting itself in all its bleak surfaces. I'd been alone most of my life, but I was rapidly losing the knack for it, if it wasn't gone already. It's probably like languages—you've got to keep in practice to handle it with any confidence.

  "Theo?" inquired Kylla. She was holding the glass. So was I. I let go, and she said, "Something on your mind?"

  "The usual mess. Ran tell you I used up your lip rouge?"

  "That was the pot I gave you? Ugh! Theo, that was Cachine Cosmetics, it cost a fortune. What were you thinking?"

  Good old practical Kylla. For one paranoid second I wondered if we should be sharing all this data with her and Lysander, considering they were, technically, suspects; but I stamped "unworthy" on that thought and put it back in the closet. Of course, we'd never gotten to know Lysander as well as we might…

  Lysander said, "You were about to show us the ring."

  Ran did his handkerchief trick once again and made the silver and cadite lump appear in the center. Lysander whistled. "I never saw anything with a curse on it before. That I knew of."

  Kylla, an old hand from a house of sorcerers, shrugged. Her long gold earrings tinkled gently. "It's not a thing of beauty," she said. "Kade's taste must have run to the obvious… I can't say I'm surprised, having met the sister."

  Lysander said, quickly, "Can you use this to identify the sorcerer?"

  Ran covered the ring again. "Yes and no. I've been examining it all afternoon—it seems to be safe enough as long as you don't put it on your finger—and the curse is still operational. So by the Rule of Connectivity, we ought to be able to stand wherever the sorcerer stood when he ignited the spell, and follow the spoor back to trace him."

  "If only we knew where he was standing," I said.

  "Yes," agreed Ran.

  "I suppose you could request the use of the boat," said Lysander. "Take it out toward Catmeral Bridge, and move randomly around on the decks till—"

  Kylla interrupted. "Does it have to be on the boat?"

  Her husband looked puzzled, but Ran said, "No, I was going to mention that little problem. As long as he knew Kade had the ring on, the sorcerer could have been anywhere in line-of-sight—and the lounge deck had big windows, remember—to set the curse loose. That means it could have been somebody on the roof of a warehouse, or on the garden wall of one of your neighbors' houses, Ky."

  Lysander groaned. "Anybody in the city, that means."

  "Or on Catmeral Bridge," said Kylla.

  We all looked at her. I said, "Why the bridge?"

  She set her drink on the floor. "There was a man there. I noticed him because he was leaning over the rail, staring at us. It annoyed me." True, at the time Kylla had been in no mood to be stared at, or to be anything else, actually. "It was mid-afternoon, and the Catmeral isn't a covered bridge, right? And it was hot and sunny—the place was practically deserted, and the one or two people crossing over were racing their little fannies across and darting back into the shade. But not this man. He had his arms on the rail and was just leaning there, glaring down. I thought, Who does he think he's looking at, anyway? Then I thought, This one is strange."

  Ran said, "Lysander, did you—"

  "No, I didn't see him. It's the first I heard of it. But then, my back was to the bridge most of the time. I was facing Kylla."

  Ran turned to his sister. "You didn't mention this before."

  "Well, if I'd known he was going to drown a Porath, I would have paid more attention! Anyway, then there was that splash down below, and I forgot all about it. Till now."

  Ran glanced at me. We'd been on deck at the same time. I said, "I wasn't facing the bridge either." He looked unhappy. I added, "That security guard was up there with us for a while. The one Kade chewed out about
not covering Eliana? But I don't remember if we were near the bridge then, or not."

  Ran brightened. "Even if he wasn't, he could help us physically place who was where on the boat. Security guards are always making visual sweeps. We could call the Poraths and find out what service they used, and make an appointment to see him before we take the boat out again."

  Lysander said, "Could you call them tonight?"

  Poor man, Kylla must really be putting the screws to him at home. He definitely wanted the murder, the wedding, and the Poraths taken care of and far away.

  Ran glanced down for a second at the bunched handkerchief, then slipped it in the inner pocket of his robe and gave Lysander his full attention. "How are things going, by the way, with your own problem? Has Jusik been in touch since the boat ride?"

  Kylla swung her own gaze full on him as well, waiting with that patient, without-mercy born Cormallon expression on her face. Lysander grabbed hold of his glass and downed a long swallow. "He did call," he admitted. "He suggested I might attend the funeral tomorrow. I told him I had to be out of town. He didn't insist."

  "Well," said Ran after a moment, "perhaps he won't insist on the marriage, either."

  "He might be all the more in need of the money, though, now that Kade's gone," I contributed. The look Lysander shot me was not a kind one.

  He said, "I'm sure they all want Eliana to marry money, but there's no reason I have to be the money. I think if I struggle enough, they'll let me escape. After all, it was Kade's pet idea, and he's gone."

  Conveniently. Ran's eyes met my own, and I thought, Tsk, tsk. What unbrotherly suspicion. If Lysander's surname had been Cormallon, Ran would have no doubts about his character; if he'd killed Kade, he'd report that fact to Ran so we could all deal with it more intelligently. Despite past experiences, Ran still believed Cormallons could do no wrong.

  "We'd better get back," said Kylla, standing up. "I promised Shez I'd kiss her goodnight. It's bedtime now, and she'll torture her nurse till I get there." She gave me a peck on the cheek, then whispered, "How are things going? Missed any periods yet?"

  "For the love of heaven, Ky!" I glanced over toward Ran and Lysander, who were continuing the conversation by themselves.

  She smiled unrepentently. "You know, I never thought of you as having any nurturing instincts whatsoever. Or not till that afternoon my robe got stuck in the door at the jewelry shop and you spent the hour shaking keys over Shez's carriage to stop her wailing."

  "It had to be done."

  "And making noises like a ship taking off—"

  "All right, Ky."

  "Somehow I'd just never pictured you having such a good time with the next generation."

  "I know." Kylla saw me as the kind of person who'd mix up the pram with the grocery bags and send the baby off for delivery because I was too busy thinking of which third-person form to use in a translation.

  She kissed me again, then went to the low table by the wall and picked up a wrapped bouquet of flowers that I hadn't noticed before. She grabbed and swung them without respect for their delicacy, as though they were a frying pan.

  "What are they?" I asked. "I've never seen them before."

  She brought the bouquet over for me to inspect. "I don't know their name," she said, "but they're in season now. Lysander bought them for me on the way here."

  They were a violet blue, made up of masses of perfect, tiny petals that fooled the eye into thinking they were a single entity from a distance. A rich scent rose in a cloud from the wrappings. "They're wonderful! There must be hundreds of petals. Ran, what are they called?"

  "No idea," said Ran.

  Kylla bent over and patted my hand with friendly patron-ization. "We're all glad you like them, Theo. Ran, buy this woman more gifts. If a few flowers get her this excited, she must be deprived. When's the last time you gave her jewelry?"

  Ran stopped and thought. "I don't think I ever have."

  "Great gods," said Lysander, revealing volumes about his own relationship. After a moment he said, "What do you do when she's mad at you?"

  "If she's been angry with me, she hasn't told me. Theodora, have you been angry with me?"

  I said, "Not since that time in the Sector last summer. And neither of us had any opportunity to go shopping then."

  Kylla said, "Brother, rectify this matter. I speak as one with your interests at heart. Come along, Lysander."

  Her husband followed her to the door. "Ran, you'll let me know—"

  "I'll keep you up to date," Ran assured him.

  They left. Ran said to me, "If we want to interview the security guard, we'll probably have to get to his office early tomorrow, before his shift starts. That means rising at dawn."

  "Kanz, komo, and the destruction of profit." He was unsurprised at my immediate profanity; Ran knows I hate to get up early. Mentally I revised my schedule: I'd discuss the Tolla's offer with him tomorrow night—otherwise we'd be up till dawn debating it, and I'd be a wreck in the morning.

  "Want to hear about my tests on the ring?" he asked.

  "Tomorrow," I said.

  "Want to tell me about your meeting with the Telly-sian ambassador?"

  "Tomorrow."

  He walked over, knelt by the chaise, and put his head on my thigh. My hand went out to his hair, thick and soft. He lifted his face. "Don't tell me you're tired already. The night is young."

  The night wasn't all that was young. He slid his hands up to the drawstring that held my underpants, removing them without disturbing the silk of my outerrobe, a rewarding but complicated movement that required my cooperation. For a moment the memory of what he'd said the other night flashed through my mind, about my sexual performance. Just the sort of thing a self-conscious barbarian doesn't need to remember. At once he said, "What is it?"

  "Nothing. Please don't let me interrupt you."

  He chuckled and completed the maneuver. When he was finished, I said, "Ghost Eve before last, you gave me a necklace of caneblood with a jade pendant."

  He'd stood up as I spoke. Now he bent over. Just before his lips came down on mine he said, "I wish you'd thought of that while Kylla was in the room."

  Loden Broca Mercia, security guard with the Mercia firm, was on the day shift of his current assignment. He reported into the Mercia office on the corner of Gold Street and Luster at two hours after dawn—and dawn comes early in the summer. I was not at my keenest edge of awareness, to make my point more plain.

  The offices were small and bare, only to be expected, I suppose, of a place where people were mostly sent out to work in other locations. No windows, only some vents and a ceiling fan to redistribute the heat. The building was old, modified for power packs in the visitor's area but with the smell of oil lamps coming from the other rooms.

  I sat on a bench, nodding, while Ran established the following facts with the Mercia branch head: That the Por-aths had hired a full dozen guards, spread over two shifts, with livery modified for the occasion. Five of these guards had been on the boat when Kade went swimming. (Between five guards and Eliana's personal fighting chaperone, Loden Broca had probably been right when he'd told Kade his sister was in no great danger.)

  Loden Broca, as his name implies, was of the House but not the family of Mercia—a firm of good reputation, small, but listed on the registry of fine Houses in the Golden Virtue Administration Building in the Capital Triangle. Still, what did that prove? Go into the Capital Triangle with enough coinage, and you can get anything listed anywhere. The Beggar Monopoly, the House of Helad, was top of the registry, from what I'd heard; they threw enough money at government officials that they were supporting the entire city police force. Anyway, that was the rumor. But the Mercia Guard Firm had a good reputation by word of mouth as well, and that was more to be relied upon than any official writings.

  Loden Broca had joined the House of Mercia two years ago, after paying for and receiving their course of education in Mercia security techniques. He was about twenty standard years
old. The average age of the guards on duty at the Poraths' had been thirty-one; the average length of service, eight years. (Ran always likes to go for the numbers. Sometimes they come in handy.) Loden Broca was apparently just starting his career. As his branch supervisor made plain, losing the first son of the family one is protecting was not a good way to begin.

  "He's on probation," said Supervisor Ben Mercia, a trim, gray-haired man somewhere near his fifties. (Of House and family both, my reflexes pointed out at once; how far could you advance in this particular organization without snagging an adoption? Maybe Loden Broca should look into another line of work.) "I can assure you we're dealing with the matter appropriately, gracious sir. Every man on duty that day is undergoing a performance review. If Lord Por-ath wants to initiate disciplinary action—"

  "That's not why we've come," said Ran.

  "We've already returned our fee—our entire fee, not just that day's. But in plain fact, not every contingency can be anticipated. We offer no guarantees. If Lord Porath wants a face-price, I can only point out that first, we would never be able to pay the equivalent of a first son, and second, that this act would not make him popular with other security agencies or indeed other Houses—firms would be reluctant to sell their protection if they were to be held responsible for every… odd circumstance… that arose—"

  The words were rolling out like an opened bag of marbles. Ran gave up trying to find an opening and simply overrode him. "We're not here for that purpose, sir. We only wanted to ask a few questions of you, Loden Broca, and possibly some of the other guards on duty that day. That's it. Any reference to monetary arrangements will have to be gone into with the House of Porath itself."

  Ben Mercia stared at Ran suspiciously. "You said you represented the Poraths."

  "Not monetarily."

  The suspicious look remained. "Grant me your indulgence, gracious sir. I'll return in a moment." The supervisor turned and went into another room, closing the door behind him.