Majipoor Chronicles

by Robert Silverberg

  And therefore when on the seventh day Calain told her to prepare to return to the Bazaar, she neither asked him if he had enjoyed her company nor whether he had grown tired of her. He had chosen her to be his companion for a time; that time was now ended, and so be it. It had been a week she would never forget.

  Going back to the den of the thieves was a jolt, though. A sumptuously outfitted floater took her from Nissimorn Prospect to the Grand Bazaar’s Piliplok Gate, and a servant of Calain’s placed in her arms the little bundle of treasures Calain had given her during their week together. Then the floater was gone and Inyanna was descending into the sweaty chaos of the Bazaar, and it was like awakening from a rare and magical dream. As she passed through the crowded lanes no one called out to her, for those who knew her in the Bazaar knew her in her male guise of Kulibhai, and she was dressed now in women’s clothes. She moved through the swirling mobs in silence, bathed still in the aura of the aristocracy and moment by moment giving way to an inrushing feeling of depression and loss as it became clear to her that the dream was over, that she had reentered reality. Tonight Calain would dine with the visiting Duke of Mazadone, and tomorrow he and his guests would sail up the Steiche on a fishing expedition, and the day after that—well, she had no idea, but she knew that she, on that day, would be filching laces and flasks of perfume and bolts of fabric. For an instant, tears surged into her eyes. She forced them back, telling herself that this was foolishness, that she ought not lament her return from Nissimorn Prospect but rather rejoice that she had been granted a week there.

  No one was in the thieves’ rooms except the Hjort Beyork and one of the Metamorphs. They merely nodded as Inyanna came in. She went to her chamber and donned the Kulibhai costume. But she could not bring herself so soon to return to her thieving. She stowed her packet of jewels and trinkets, Calain’s gifts, carefully under her bed. By selling them she could earn enough to exempt her from her profession for a year or two; but she did not plan to part even with the smallest of them. Tomorrow, she resolved, she would go back into the Bazaar. For now, though, she lay face down on the bed she again shared with Sidoun, and when tears came again she let them come, and after a while she rose, feeling more calm, and washed and waited for the others to appear.

  Sidoun welcomed her with a nobleman’s poise. No questions about her adventures, no hint of resentment, no sly innuendos: he smiled and took her hand and told her he was pleased she had come back, and offered her a sip of a wine of Alhanroel he had just stolen, and told her a couple of stories of things that had happened in the Bazaar while she was away. She wondered if he would feel inhibited in their lovemaking by the knowledge that the last man to touch her body had been a duke’s brother, but no, he reached for her fondly and unhesitatingly when they were in bed, and his gaunt bony body pressed warmly and jubilantly against her. The next day, after their rounds in the Bazaar, they went together to the Park of Fabulous Beasts, and saw for the first time the gossimaule of Glayge, that was so slender it was nearly invisible from the side, and they followed it a little way until it vanished, and laughed as though they had never been separated.

  The other thieves regarded Inyanna with some awe for a few days, for they knew where she had been and what she must have been doing, and that laid upon her the strangeness that came from moving in exalted circles. But only Liloyve dared to speak directly to her of it, and she only once, saying, “What did he see in you?”

  “How would I know? It was all like a dream.”

  “I think it was justice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That you were wrongfully promised Nissimorn Prospect, and this was by way of making atonement to you. The Divine balances the good and the evil, do you see?” Liloyve laughed. “You’ve had your twenty royals’ worth out of those swindlers, haven’t you?”

  Indeed she had, Inyanna agreed. But the debt was not yet fully paid, she soon discovered. On Starday next, working her way through the booths of the moneychangers and skimming off the odd coin here and there, she was startled suddenly by a hand on her wrist, and wondered what fool of a thief, failing to recognize her, was trying to make arrest. But it was Liloyve. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wide. “Come home right away!” she cried.

  “What is it?”

  “Two Vroons waiting for you. You are summoned by Calain, and they say you are to pack all your belongings, for you will not be returning to the Grand Bazaar.”

  10

  SO IT HAPPENED that Inyanna Forlana of Velathys, formerly a thief, took up residence in Nissimorn Prospect as companion to Calain of Ni-moya. Calain offered no explanation, nor did she seek one. He wanted her by his side, and that was explanation enough. For the first few weeks she still expected to be told each morning to make ready to go back to the Bazaar, but that did not occur, and after a while she ceased to consider the possibility. Wherever Calain went, she went: to the Zimr Marshes to hunt the gihorna, to glittering Dulorn for a week at the Perpetual Circus, to Khyntor for the Festival of Geysers, even into mysterious rainy Piurifayne to explore the shadowy homeland of the Shapeshifters. She who had spent all her first twenty years in shabby Velathys came to take it quite for granted that she should be traveling about like a Coronal making the grand processional, with the brother of a royal duke at her side but yet she never quite lost her perspective, never failed to see the irony and incongruity of the strange transformations her life had undergone.

  Nor was it surprising to her even when she found herself seated at table next to the Coronal himself. Lord Malibor had come to Ni-moya on a visit of state, for it behooved him to travel in the western continent every eight or ten years, by way of showing the people of Zimroel that they weighed equally in their monarch’s thoughts with those of his home continent of Alhanroel. The duke provided the obligatory banquet, and Inyanna was placed at the high table, with the Coronal to her right and Calain at her left, and the duke and his lady at Lord Malibor’s far side. Inyanna had been taught the names of the great Coronals in school, of course, Stiamot and Confalume and Prestimion and Dekkeret and all the rest, and her mother often had told her that it was on the very day of her birth when news came to Velathys that the old Pontifex Ossier was dead, that Lord Tyeveras had succeeded him and had chosen a man of the city of Bombifale, one Malibor, to be the new Coronal; and eventually the new coinage had trickled into her province, showing this Lord Malibor, a broad-faced man with wide-set eyes and heavy brows. But that such people as Coronals and Pontifexes actually existed had been a matter of some doubt to her through all those years, and yet here she was with her elbow an inch from Lord Malibor’s, and the only thing she marveled at was how very much this burly and massive man in imperial green and gold resembled the man whose face was on the coins. She had expected the portraits to be less precise.

  It seemed sensible to her that the conversations of Coronals would revolve wholly around matters of state. But in fact Lord Malibor seemed to talk mainly of the hunt. He had gone to this remote place to slay that rare beast, and to that inaccessible and uncongenial place to take the head of this difficult creature, and so on and so on; and he was constructing a new wing of the Castle to house all his trophies. “In a year or two,” said the Coronal, “I trust you and Calain will visit me at the Castle. The trophy-room will be complete by then. It will please you, I know, to see such an array of creatures, all of them prepared by the finest taxidermists of Castle Mount.” Inyanna did indeed look forward to visiting Lord Malibor’s Castle, for the Coronal’s enormous residence was a legendary place that entered into everyone’s dreams, and she could imagine nothing more wonderful than to ascend to the summit of lofty Castle Mount and wander that great building, thousands of years old, exploring its thousands of rooms. But she was only repelled by Lord Malibor’s obsession with slaughter. When he talked of killing amorfibots and ghalvars and sigimoins and steetmoy, and of the extreme effort he expended in those killings, Inyanna was reminded of Ni-moya’s Park of Fabulous Beasts, where by order
of some milder Coronal of long ago those same animals were protected and cherished; and that put her in mind of quiet gaunt Sidoun, who had gone with her so often to that park, and had played so sweetly on his pocket-harp. She did not want to think of Sidoun, to whom she owed nothing but for whom she felt a guilty affection, and she did not want to hear of the killing of rare creatures so that their heads might adorn Lord Malibor’s trophy-room. Yet she managed to listen politely to the Coronal’s tales of carnage and even to make an amiable comment or two.

  Toward dawn, when they were finally back at Nissimorn Prospect and preparing for bed, Calain said to her, “The Coronal is planning to hunt next for sea-dragons. He seeks one known as Lord Kinniken’s dragon, that was measured once at more than three hundred feet in length.”

  Inyanna, who was tired and not cheerful, shrugged. Sea-dragons, at least, were far from rare, and it would be no cause for grief if the Coronal harpooned a few. “Is there room in his trophy-house for a dragon that size?”

  “For its head and wings, I imagine. Not that he stands much chance of getting it. The Kinniken’s been seen only four times since Lord Kinniken’s day, and not for seventy years. But if he doesn’t find that one, he’ll get another. Or drown in the attempt.”

  “Is there much chance of that?”

  Calain nodded. “Dragon-hunting’s dangerous business. He’d be wiser not to try. But he’s killed just about everything that moves on land, and no Coronal’s ever been out in a dragon-ship, and so he’ll not be discouraged from it. We leave for Piliplok at the end of the week.”

  “We?”

  “Lord Malibor has asked me to join him on the hunt.” With a rueful smile he said, “In truth he wanted the duke, but my brother begged off, claiming duties of state. So he asked me. One does not easily refuse such things.”

  “Do I accompany you?” Inyanna asked.

  “We have not planned it that way.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. After a moment she asked, “How long will you be gone?”

  “The hunt lasts three months, usually. During the season of the southerly winds. And then the time to reach Piiplok, and outfit the vessel, and to return—it would be six or seven months all told. I’ll be home by spring.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  Calain came to her side and drew her against him. “It will be the longest separation we will ever endure. I promise you that.”

  She wanted to say, Is there no way you can refuse to go? Or, Is there some way I can be allowed to go with you? But she knew how useless that was, and what a violation of the etiquette by which Calain lived. So Inyanna made no further protest. She took Calain into her arms, and they embraced until sunrise.

  On the eve of his departure for the port of Piliplok, where the dragon-ships made harbor, Calain summoned her to his study on the highest level of Nissimorn Prospect and offered her a thick document to sign.

  “What is this?” she asked, without picking it up.

  “Articles of marriage between us.”

  “This is a cruel joke, milord.”

  “No joke, Inyanna. No joke at all.”

  “But—”

  “I would have discussed the matter with you this winter, but then the damnable dragon-voyage arose, and left me no time. So I have rushed things a little. You are no mere concubine to me: this paper formalizes our love.”

  “Is our love something that needs formality?”

  Calain’s eyes narrowed. “I am going off on a risky and foolhardy adventure, from which I expect to return, but while I am at sea my fate will not be in my own hands. As my companion you have no legal rights of inheritance. As my wife—”

  Inyanna was stunned. “If the risk is so great, abandon the voyage, milord!”

  “You know that’s impossible. I must bear the risk. And so I would provide for you. Sign it, Inyanna.”

  She stared a long time at the document, a draft of many pages. Her eyes would not focus properly and she neither could nor would make out the words that some scribe had indited in the most elegant of calligraphy. Wife to Calain? It seemed almost monstrous to her, a shattering of all proprieties, a stepping beyond every boundary. And yet—and yet—

  He waited. She could not refuse.

  In the morning he departed in the Coronal’s entourage for Piliplok, and all that day Inyanna roamed the corridors and chambers of Nissimorn Prospect in confusion and disarray. That night the duke thoughtfully invited her for dinner; the next, Durand Livolk and his lady escorted her to dine at the Pidruid Island, where a shipment of fireshower-palm wine had arrived. Other invitations followed, so that her life was a busy one, and the months passed. It was mid-winter now. And then came word that a great sea-dragon had fallen upon the ship of Lord Malibor and sent it to the bottom of the Inner Sea. Lord Malibor was dead, and all those who had sailed with him, and a certain Voriax had been named Coronal. And under the terms of Calain’s will, his widow Inyanna Forlana had come into full ownership of the great estate known as Nissimorn Prospect.

  11

  WHEN THE PERIOD of mourning was over and she had an opportunity to make arrangements for such matters, Inyanna called for one of her stewards and ordered rich gifts of money to be delivered to the Grand Bazaar, for the thief Agourmole and all members of his family. It was Inyanna’s way of saying that she had not forgotten them. “Tell me their exact words when you hand the purses to them,” she ordered the steward, hoping they would send back some warm remembrances of the old times together, but the man reported that none of them had said anything of interest, that they had simply expressed surprise and gratitude toward the Lady Inyanna, except for the man named Sidoun, who had refused his gift and could not be urged to accept it. Inyanna smiled sadly and had Sidoun’s twenty royals distributed to children in the streets, and after that she had no further contact with the thieves of the Grand Bazaar, nor did she ever go near the place.

  Some years later, while visiting the shops of the Gossamer Gallena, the Lady Inyanna observed two suspicious-looking men in the shop of the dragon-bone carvings. From their movements and the way they exchanged glances, it seemed quite clear to her that they were thieves, maneuvering to create a diversion that would allow them to plunder the shop. Then she looked at them more closely and realized that she had encountered them before, for one was a short thick-framed man, and the other tall and knobby-faced and pale. She gestured to her escorts, who moved quietly into position about the two.

  Inyanna said, “One of you is Steyg, and one is called Vezan Ormus, but I have forgotten which of you is which. On the other hand, I remember the other details of our meeting quite well.”

  The thieves looked at one another in alarm. The taller one said, “Milady, you are mistaken. My name is Elakon Mirj, and my friend is called Thanooz.”

  “These days, perhaps. But when you visited Velathys long ago you went by other names. I see that you’ve graduated from swindling to thievery, eh? Tell me this: how many heirs to Nissimorn Prospect did you discover, before the game grew dull?”

  Now there was panic in their eyes. They seemed to be calculating the chances of making a break past Inyanna’s men toward the door; but that would have been rash. The guards of the Gossamer Galleria had been notified and were gathered just outside.

  The shorter thief, trembling, said, “We are honest merchants, milady, and nothing else.”

  “You are incorrigible scoundrels,” said Inyanna, “and nothing else. Deny it again and I’ll have you shipped to Suvrael for penal servitude!”

  “Milady—”

  “Speak the truth,” Inyanna said.

  Through chattering teeth the taller one replied, “We admit the charge. But it was long ago. If we have injured you, we will make full restitution.”

  “Injured me? Injured me?” Inyanna laughed. “Rather, you did me the greatest service anyone could have done. I feel only gratitude toward you; for know that I was Inyanna Forlana the shopkeeper of Velathys, whom you cheated out of twenty royals, and now I am the Lady Inyanna
of Ni-moya, mistress of Nissimorn Prospect. And so the Divine protects the weak and brings good out of evil.” She beckoned to the guards. “Convey these two to the imperial proctors, and say that I will give testimony against them later, but that I ask mercy for them, perhaps a sentence of three months of road-mending, or something similar. And afterward I think I’ll take the two of you into my service. You are worthless rogues, but clever ones, and it’s better to keep you close at hand, where you can be watched, than to let you go loose to prey on the unwary.” She waved her hand. They were led away.

  Inyanna turned to the keeper of the shop. “I regret the interruption,” she said. “Now, these carvings of the emblems of the city, that you think are worth a dozen royals apiece—what would you say to thirty royals for the lot, and maybe the little carving of the bilantoon thrown in to round things off—”

  X

  Voriax and Valentine

  OF ALL THE VICARIOUS LIVES Hissune has experienced in the Register of Souls, that of Inyanna Forlana seems perhaps the closest to his heart. In part it is because she is a woman of modern times and so the world in which she dwelled seems less alien to him than those of the soul-painter or the sea-captain or Thesme of Narabal. But the main reason Hissune feels kinship with the one time shopkeeper of Velathys is that she began with practically nothing, and lost even that, and nevertheless came to achieve power and grandeur and, Hissune suspects, a measure of contentment. He understands that the Divine helps those who helped themselves, and Inyanna seems much like him in that respect. Of course, luck was with her—she caught the attention of the right people at the right moment, and they saw her nicely along her journey; but does one not also shape one’s own luck? Hissune, who had been in the right place when Lord Valentine in his wanderings came to the Labyrinth years ago, believes that. He wonders what surprises and delights fortune has in store for him, and how he can better shape his own destinies to achieve something higher than the clerkship in the Labyrinth that has been his lot so long. He is eighteen, now, and that seems very old for commencing his rise to greatness. But he reminds himself that Inyanna, at his age, was peddling clay pots and bolts of cloth on the wrong side of Velathys, and she came to inherit Nissimorn Prospect. No telling what waits for him. Why, at any moment Lord Valentine might send for him—Lord Valentine, who arrived at the Labyrinth the week before, and is lodged now in those luxurious chambers reserved for the Coronal when he is in residence at the capital of the Pontificate—Lord Valentine might summon him and say, “Hissune, you’ve served long enough in this grubby place. From now on you live beside me on Castle Mount!”