The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  Chapter 18

  No answers presented themselves over the next couple of weeks, either. Ran retired to his Net terminal to work on some scenarios of his own, based on the weapons requirements of the Tolla. He estimated it as a four-month project, and said somebody would have to go to Tellys at some point to do preliminary testing. Meanwhile, Jack Lykon's gag-spell was tested within an inch of his life before he was released from Cormallon territory. And our Sim was discharged from the care of the Red Tah Street healer and given a nice bonus to play with in the capital before he returned home.

  And what was I doing? I wasn't studying tinaje healing; I didn't need to read the cards on new clients, as we weren't taking any new clients; I wasn't required to accomplish much of anything, at the moment, so I had plenty of time to brood. The day after Jack's talk I returned to the Dart Street healer and came out fitted with a thing she called a "cap," a gadget to prevent fertilization. Not that Ran and I had been showing any great talent in that area, but I decided not to take any chances. At the same time, you'll notice I didn't go to an outplanet clinic and pay the much higher price for an implant. Implants last for a couple of years, a length of time I felt unable to deal with at that point, despite Jack's warning. I'm not saying this made sense, I'm only telling you what I did.

  Having accomplished this one errand, the days stretched before me, an open invitation to depression. So I decided to return to scholarship, the one thing in life that could be counted on not to rise up and bite you in the neck. Or not often, anyway. One day when Kylla was taking refuge in our parlor after an argument with Lysander, I sat down in the shade of the courtyard and cracked open Coalis' copy of Kesey's Erotic Poems.

  I'd been swimming in and out of gloomy thoughts ever since our talk with Jack. Before this I would never in a million years have thought of myself as someone who found any part of their self-definition in fertility—the very idea was primitive and insulting. This misconception was rudely adjusted. I felt a failure as a Cormallon member, as a wife, possibly as a woman. Coming on top of all this, that remark of Jack's about my "unknowns" must have rankled more than I realized. I started to feel abnormal, out-of-place… the most distorted view of "barbarian" seemed to fit me, when I thought of who I was. Whoever I was. The word freak, in fact, was bobbing somewhere near the surface.

  So it turned out I was really not in the proper state of mind to take on Kesey's view of the world.

  Maybe you're familiar with the work. Kesey's Erotic Poems are about six centuries old, and there's been considerable language drift, but they're still understandable, and the book is supposed to be a classic. But despite an introduction full of lavish praise from all sorts of people, I became more and more disappointed. It mostly seemed to be about his trouble getting dates.

  One of the poems was written from the viewpoint of a woman making love with him—he was supposed to be a veritable wonder at getting the woman's angle—and as I read it I found myself wincing.

  I closed the book, marking the page with a finger, and stared into space. Maybe I really wasn't normal. Jack had seemed to imply it, Kylla often found my reactions to daily life amusingly odd, and Ran's occasional comments on the barbarian attitude toward sexual practices made me wonder. Maybe there was something wrong with me, after all. Maybe—

  I walked into the parlor, still carrying the book. Kylla was looking out the tiny slit window that faced the street. "Kylla? Do you like the idea of a man pinching your nipples? I mean, do you find it erotic?"

  Kylla, bless her, showed no surprise at the question coming out of the blue like that. She shivered in an involuntary response that reminded me of my own reaction. "Good heavens, no. You enjoy that, Theo? What's your chest made of, cast iron?"

  "No, no, I find the idea exquisitely painful, myself. But in this book a fellow does it and the woman thinks it's terrific stuff. They both seem to take it as a normal part of lovemaking."

  She smiled. "I'll bet a man wrote that book."

  "He did, actually… So you don't think I'm abnormal?"

  "Certainly not."

  I considered it. "Then where do men get the idea we enjoy it? This isn't the first time I've read about it; and I was starting to get paranoid."

  She looked a bit sheepish. "Well, I suppose we have to take part of the blame. It's happened to me once or twice, and in the heat of the moment—well, I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I pretended I liked it."

  "Are you ever going to set him straight?"

  She looked puzzled. "Who?"

  "Lysander."

  "Oh! Urn, it wasn't Lysander who did it."

  I stared at her. "Kylla! When was this—"

  There was a sound of footsteps in the hall, and Ran walked in. He kissed us both. "Talking about anything interesting?"

  "We were discussing literature," said Kylla, smoothing her outerrobe as she retook her seat by the window.

  "Theodora, do we still have that seed-cake from yesterday?… Theodora?"

  "Kylla," I began, as soon as he left.

  "What book are you reading?" she said.

  "What? Oh—it's Kesey's Erotic Poems. Ky, when did you—"

  "Well, no wonder, then. My brother used to call it 'superbly humorless.' He said it was the most overrated piece of literature ever perpetrated on an innocent public, but at least you could use it to separate the pretentious from the true lovers of poetry."

  I blinked. "I didn't even know Ran had read it. He didn't mention it."

  "Actually… I was referring to Eln."

  References to Ran's older brother were taboo, and came rarely, even from Kylla. "Superbly humorless." That sounded like Eln, all right. Maybe recalling the lover(s) of her younger days had brought him back to mind for her. I said, "Kylla, when did all this happen?"

  "There's no seed-cake," Ran announced, reentering the room.

  Kylla and I exchanged a glance, and let the topic drop. I'm willing to share most things with Ran—frankly, anything but openness gets far too complicated for me to handle in the long run—but Kylla's personal scandals don't belong to me. And he wouldn't want to hear about Eln.

  My husband looked hungry. "Let's go out to dinner," he said. "How does the Lantern Gardens sound? Ky?"

  She shrugged. I said, "I don't think I'm up to the naked floorshow tonight."

  "We can take a table in the outside garden, by the pond. Listen to the music, watch the paper boats sail. I made a breakthrough today on the weapons project, I want to relax and let my mind empty out. Indulge me, Tymon."

  I grinned suddenly. Maybe I owed him something for never trying to pinch vulnerable areas of my body.

  "What's so funny, my barbarian?"

  "Nothing. All right, let's go to the Lantern Gardens. But, Kylla, what happens when Lysander tries to call here and beg for forgiveness?" For this was how all her fights with Lysander ended. She had early set a precedent in their marriage that giving in would be based not on logic but on gender.

  She smiled wickedly. "Let him call and be frustrated. Maybe he'll come by and sit on your doorstep. Let's stay out late, Ran."

  He gave her a formal bow.

  The outdoor section of the Lantern Gardens is huge. A shallow pond is on one side, and slender manmade rivers on high clay aquaducts extend out from it to curve around the tables. In the daytime, the trellises overhead are hung with cages, each containing a songbird. At night, the pond and its farflung tributaries bear an armada of colored paper boats, each carrying a candle. If you haven't gotten the idea by now, the Lantern Gardens is an expensive place to eat. It was Ran's favorite restaurant.

  Kylla paid ten kembits and folded a small paper wish into a red boat, then dropped it on the pond.

  "What did you wish?" I asked.

  She smiled a smile that said she wasn't going to tell me. "For wisdom and discretion," she murmured, as we made our way to the table, "as every proper woman of good family wishes."

  I looked around at the crowd: Wild tourists, showing bare legs and arms sha
melessly, drinking down Ducort red as though it were fruit juice; sedate matrons, overdressed to the limit and beyond, dripping with gems; young men escorting conservatively robed young ladies and their chaperones… other young men escorting hard-eyed young professionals with no chaperones. One of them inched by us on the way to the lavatory, her belt of feathers brushing past me as she went—her illusionless eyes brushing over me as well. Oh, yes, I thought, wisdom and discretion. I'm sure it's the wish on every boat here tonight.

  The Lantern Gardens makes what it claims is Pyrenese cheeseburger. I never saw a cheeseburger before with unidentified white sauce running down it, and hard toast instead of buns; but if it wasn't Pyrenese cheeseburger, whatever it was tasted good. I've ordered it there before. Midway through the meal, Kylla glanced toward the line of paper boats sailing on the miniature river just beyond us. "Here comes my wish," she announced, smiling.

  The smile froze on her lips, even as it drained from her eyes. I turned my head to see what she was looking at. Three tables away, across the line of boats, sat Eliana Por-ath. Leel Canerol was on her right, a light meal in front of her and a glass of water. On Eliana's left was a young man in a robe of exquisite tailoring, edged in gold thread. He was chatting away happily… chatting quite a bit, in fact, apparently expounding-for-the-benefit-of-the-lady in the longwinded way some young men will, and some old men who never grew up. He had two forks set some distance apart on the table, and a knife at right-angles, and kept gesturing as he spoke, explaining… the mechanics of an aircar? His conception of government politics? A new addition to his house? At least he had a good-natured face, though, and there are worse things in the world than a tendency to be pompous. Eliana and her chaperone were clearly not required to do much beyond listen and make admiring sounds.

  I turned back to our table and saw Ran watching them as well. "Well, life goes on," I said coolly. "I see her father's lending her out on a trial basis already."

  "What did you expect?" asked Ran, taking a bite of Tellysian-style casserole. "The creditors won't wait."

  I met Kylla's eyes. She shrugged and said, "It's over now. Why dwell on it?"

  Why indeed? It was over and Kylla had won. Her life was safeguarded for the time being, and after all, how many times did a man outside the nobility, even one in Lysand-er's position, get asked to a marriage-alliance with the Six Families? I felt that my sister-in-law was quite up to handling any future approaches from commoner Houses.

  I was drawn back to focus on Eliana, now turning to smile at her escort… a little tiredly? Did she have the illusion she was free and happy, or was she all too well aware of her cage? I could hear her grandmother's voice: It takes the endurance of a warrior on the inside to make a fragile flower on the outside.

  Gods! I turned back to see Kylla contentedly digging into a sweet and sour ko-pocket. The same society, stirred only slightly differently—how can some people make a good and satisfied life within the confines of their cultural boundaries, and others end up smashed against the walls?

  Of course, Eliana had a tyrannical father, while Kylla's father was safely dead… to the relief of his dependents, I sometimes suspected. But even if Lord Porath died tonight, it would only mean her custody would transfer to Coalis. And what alliances would her twisty brother have in mind? Stereth would no doubt have input into that. Everybody would but her, if she weren't extremely careful.

  "A disappointing end to a disappointing summer," I said, cutting my soggy other-than-cheeseburger into neat squares.

  "In what way disappointing?" asked Ran.

  "This business with Kade. When I heard about foreign involvement from the ambassador, I guess I was half-hoping for some kind of political motivation—intrigue,

  scandal… ideals. And now to find that it's only money…"

  "Only money?" asked Ran, as Kylla's boat, now on the river to our left, finally caught fire. "Is this a Cormallon talking?"

  I laughed and he covered my hand where it rested on the tablecloth. "I guess I don't know what I was expecting," I said.

  Kylla's boat capsized, dousing the flames, and the other boats streamed on in a prism of colors. We finished the meal, leaving Eliana and her problems behind. When we got home, much later, we found Lysander asleep on our doorstep, his head propped against the front door. Kylla chuckled, knelt and kissed him tenderly, and took him away with her.

  It was after midnight when I awoke. I lay there in bed, straining my ears; there was only silence, the deep, vibrating silence of the darkest part of the night. The very house seemed to be in coma, and what had brought me up through the waves? Sim was finishing his holiday at an inn closer to the center of town—the more freely to play and carouse, without the inhibiting presence of the First of Cormallon to observe him. The only other person here was in bed on my left. What had awakened me?

  Had anything awakened me? I'd been having some kind of confused dream, some oddball thing about waiting in line for a manicurist in a body salon on Athena. Kylla had been sitting in the waiting room with me, but I knew that the people who went into the nail salon came out changed in some awful way—brainwashed or zombied or with some indefinable horror perpetrated on them. I tried to warn Ky, but she said, "Really, Theo, it's just a nail salon." Then I thought, maybe I should leave her here and save myself. But no, that would be wrong—I'd just have to try harder. I ended up hauling Ky down a set of stairs and out to the street, while she stared a look at me that said, Theo, you should be institutionalized, but if it means that much to you I'll come along, all right?

  I lay there in bed, trying to review my little paranoic nightmare even as it faded. I frowned. Had that been Kylla in the dream or Eliana Porath? What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Did I believe Eliana was in some kind of danger?

  Really, I wished if my subconscious had messages to send it would just use the Net terminal—

  I froze. How had Loden known that Stereth sent me a Net message about Moros' hut?

  Coalis had known. He'd told me about it, while he was hiding in the jinevra bushes.

  I got out of bed and, taking my pack of cards, padded out to the upstairs office.

  Three minutes later Ran's voice said, "I thought you weren't going to do this anymore."

  I looked up to see him standing in the doorway. "I wasn't going to try anything experimental. Just a straight card-reading."

  "Is there some reason we need a straight card-reading?" Aside from my curiosity? I sought around for an answer. "Well, do you want to still be held responsible for Kade's death?"

  "Jusik's let the matter drop. He's satisfied of Loden's guilt."

  "Is he really satisfied of Loden's guilt, or does he just want to close the book and get on with his other problems? An open matter of blood would be a great disincentive to any other potential bridegrooms they try to rope into the family."

  He walked over and sat down, cross-legged, above the deck. "All right, granted, he probably still thinks I did it and that I gave him Loden the way people on a lifeboat toss over somebody to satisfy the predators. We will live down the reputation eventually, you know. And meanwhile, my beloved tymon, if you end up sprawled on the floor due to your nighttime rambles—in a most unbecoming position, I might add—"

  "I said I wasn't going to do anything risky!"

  "Then you won't mind if I stay and watch." I hesitated. "You're not going to try and stop me?"

  "You and the weather, tymon, I leave alone." I dealt out a simple business configuration. "The Man of Substance"—satisfied, fat, and well-dressed—had to be Jusik Porath. There was no card to denote membership in the Six Families, and this was as close as we were likely to get. Beneath him, in a legitimate blood relationship, was The Daredevil, walking a tightrope between two poles as he balanced his way with a stick. And to the right of that, The Fool. I stared down at the Fool and back at Ran. "Guess who," I said.

  "It's on the right side of the configuration."

  Meaning a legitimate relationship of some kind. I
hesitated. "You don't mind if I check," I said. "I'll keep it to the normal paths."

  He made a half-bow, as though to say, after you.

  I touched my index finger to The Daredevil and waited.

  Then I grinned at Ran. "Bingo," I said, in Standard.

  The emerald lizard stuck its skinny tongue out at me as I climbed up the step to the porch. I was feeling brave, and was about to stoop to scratch it behind the ears when I noticed its meter was a little high.

  "They ought to milk that thing." I said to Ran.

  He glanced at the half-filled poison sac. "It's very tame," he pointed out.

  "Yeah, that's what they always tell the neighbors the morning after the bodies are found."

  Ran tapped the hilt of his dress-knife against the front door. It was pulled open almost immediately; the steward must have been told to expect us.

  "Sir Cormallon," he bowed. "Gracious lady. Lord Porath has asked if you will accompany me to the library."

  And so we did. The steward took us to a cheerful room, not really what I'd expected of Jusik, full of books and papers, overlooking the back courtyard for privacy, and decorated with pictures that reflected a personal taste not at all subordinate to the current rules of aesthetics. There was an actual wooden door, not just a hanging, to enforce his voluntary solitude. When we entered, Jusik was sitting on an old pillow of royal blue, evidently a favorite, beside a low writing table with an ornate brush-pen that gave every appearance of being an heirloom. Eliana, Coalis, and Leel Canerol sat a short distance away. They all looked up when we came in.

  Ran's stride faltered. "I thought this was to be a private meeting," he said, addressing Lord Porath.

  Jusik touched the edge of his heirloom pen and said, "I would prefer it this way."

  Ran looked at me. I gave him my best right-back-at-you look; he would know better than I would if pursuing the matter would be politically correct in these circumstances.

  He sighed, took a few steps forward, bowed, and spoke firmly. "Lord Porath, your judgment is of course the only proper one. At the same time, I feel obligated to point out that what is not said in front of witnesses, may be later agreed upon not to have been said. I mention this only to give you the option that rightfully belongs to you."