The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  "I remember that Ida had a lot of trouble getting the papers to come here. Is that part of it?"

  "Absolutely! The Expansionists want ships to carry goods, not people, and certainly not information about other worlds. That is how they hope to control the Federation, by limiting the exchange of knowledge. Their assault on University is only the first step. I do not believe they have a conscious plan. After being out of power for almost a generation, their majority in the Senate has made them a little drunk, I suppose. These are not thoughtful people, Marguerida. They are ambitious, and not evil by their own lights. And, I think, there is no one more dangerous than a man with power who does not realize he is capable of real evil."

  They fell into one of the companionable silences that they had begun at Arilinn, when both were too tired to speak, and too sorrowful to wish to be alone. It was very pleasant, with the crackling of the fire, and the sound of the wind rising outside the castle. Margaret thought that

  her father had found some sort of peace at least, and she was glad for him. As for the Federation, it seemed more and more distant from her concerns, and she let herself think about other things, like Mikhail, and that peculiar dream they had shared a few weeks before.

  Ida Davidson joined them, looking much refreshed, and wearing a strange garment of a sort Margaret had not seen before. At the same time, it seemed very familiar, and after a moment she realized it was similar to what she had seen Ida wearing in her flash of foresight. It consisted of a knitted tunic above voluminous wool trousers, not unlike the garments worn by Dry Town males, and over it, a striped coat in a variety of bright colors. Piedra had pinned a small veil over Ida's thin hair, which was too short to be braided or fastened up. The overall effect was both exotic and interesting.

  Where, she wondered, had Ida gotten that getup? Margaret had seen Ida in her academic robes on important occasions, and wearing the usual clothes of Federation women not functioning in any official capacity—blouses, skirts, or dresses—but this was a totally different thing.

  "Yes, I know. I look quite odd. I thought so when I stood before the mirror, and your maid had a great deal of trouble not giggling. But I had these things in a trunk, and I thought that since Cottman was such a cold place, my old Dorian things, which I haven't worn in a couple of decades, would be just the thing. Fortunately, I have not gained much weight, so they fit just fine. And I always loved this robe. Ivor said it made him think of Joseph, in the Bible, you know? The coat of many colors? And J am glad I brought them, because I never want to see those things I traveled in again!"

  "You look wonderful, Ida. But tomorrow, weather permitting, we will go to my tailor in Threadneedle Street and get you something local." She gestured at her own garments. "Like these. We will probably have to take a small boy with us, my cousin Donal, who is eight and bright as brass. I promised him I would take him to get a new tunic, for Midwinter."

  Lew had risen when Ida came in, and now he strode to the windows, watching and listening intently. "I think it will have to wait until the next day—it sounds like we are in

  for a bit of a blow tonight, and the streets will be terrible. And I think you should take a small carriage, unless you ride, Mestra Davidson."

  "You must call me Ida, Senator. Mestra Davidson sounds very old, and I really don't want to feel old right now."

  "Then you must call me Lew. Ah, here is food. I ordered some lentil soup, bread, honey, and- mulled wine, as well as tea. I hope that meets with your approval."

  "Lentil soup sounds perfect!"

  There was a small round table at one side of the sitting room, where the servant set the tray down and began laying out the crockery. In a few minutes they were all seated around it, eating. Ida brought Margaret up to date on various scandals at University, and Margaret asked about people she knew there. Lew listened for the most part, and did not seem bored hearing about total strangers. Margaret knew he was studying Ida, and thought he liked the older woman.

  It felt very good to have Ida there, good yet strange at the same time. She seemed to Margaret to be someone from another world, not the world of University, but just not Darkover. When the meal was finished, and Ida announced that she wanted a nap, Margaret was mildly relieved, and guilty at the same time. She watched the small, gaily dressed figure leave the sitting room, then looked at her father.

  "I know, Marguerida. It is sometimes hard to have guests, even the best loved ones. But I am glad to have the opportunity to meet her, and I think she will have a good time during her stay."

  "I hope so. At least she has better linguistic skills than Ivor did, and will probably feel comfortable in casta soon enough. He would be like an idiot for weeks whenever we went to a new place, and then one morning he would wake up chattering like a jay. But during the time when he was speaking pidgin-whatever, I had to do all the translating, and it was exhausting."

  "You really loved him, didn't you?" There was a note in his voice, a kind of sorrow, and perhaps a little envy as well.

  "Yes, I did. And I miss him every day."

  21

  It was three mornings later when Margaret, Ida, and Donal Alar set off in a small carriage. Ida was wearing some clothes that Piedra had found for her, a blue tunic and matching skirt, with several petticoats, and over it, a fine woolen cloak of pale green. Her wispy gray hair was hidden under a knitted helmet she insisted was a Dorian cowherd's cap, and while it was peculiar looking, it was properly modest by Darkovan standards, and warm as well. Ida seemed unperturbed that she might appear eccentric, which was a relief to Margaret.

  As Margaret had anticipated, Ida had begun to use casta with a moderate fluency after she had gotten some rest. She asked the names of things without hesitation, quite unembarrassed by the present limitations of her vocabulary. She had a large array of nouns at her command, but her verb forms were still a bit inconsistent. Margaret knew she would treasure forever the expression on the face of Regis Hastur when Ida asked him the name of the wood that a chair was carved from, then informed him of its derivation from some old Terran tongue.

  Donal was regaling Ida with a discussion of a hawk he had been training. He would begin in the Terran Margaret had managed to teach him while they were at Arilinn, then shift into casta when he ran out of vocabulary. Ida listened intently but Margaret was not sure how much she was learning about hawking. Years of listening to students had given Ida a great deal of experience with the young, and she noticed that occasionally the older woman would interrupt in order to tell Donal the Terran word. They were teaching each other!

  Their first stop was not in Threadneedle Street, but in the small Terran cemetery where Ivor was buried. They

  reached it an hour after leaving Comyn Castle, for while it was a shorter journey on foot, the carriage had to take several detours in order to get through the narrow and icy streets.

  The graveyard was silent, cloaked in snow, the headstones gleaming with ice in the pale sunlight. When they arrived at Ivor's resting place, they found the earth cleared of most of the snow, and the entire bed covered in evergreens. It made the other gravesites seem forlorn and neglected.

  "How lovely. What a kindly thing to have done, Marguerida." Ida had fallen into using the Darkovan version of her name much of the time, though she still occasionally used the nickname Maggie. "Thank you."

  "I did not do it, Ida. It must have been Master Everard, or someone from the Guild. I sent word to him that I was bringing you here today, and begged off visiting to another time. I hope you like the stone."

  "I do. But why would the Guild people come out in the cold and . . ."

  "Out of respect, I assume. When I was here a few months ago, there were fresh flowers, and the grave had been swept. This cemetery is only for Terrans, and maybe they thought that, as a fellow musician, it was their duty to look after it."

  "That is very thoughtful," Ida mused, staring at the greenery.

  Margaret shifted her feet on the cold ground, uncomfortable not with the c
old but with a rush of feelings she could barely contain. "I wrote a dirge this autumn, just the music," she began, remembering how she had played it on her little harp when she came back to Thendara. At Neskaya, she had played it again, one evening, and found words to go with it, much to her surprise and pleasure. "The words came later. It's the first piece of composition I've done in ages."

  "Did you? Can you sing it for me?" Ida seemed a little quiet, strained, her earlier good spirits gone.

  "I can try. This is not the best place to sing."

  Donal, who had stayed behind, talking to one of the Guardsmen who had ridden behind the carriage, now came trudging across the cemetery toward them. His little boots

  made crunching noises in the snow, and she remembered that he needed larger ones. He looked about with interest, clearly prepared to be amused.

  After trying to think of a good excuse not to perform the piece, and wishing she had thought before she spoke, Margaret took several deep breaths, to warm up her vocal chords. Whyever had she mentioned her piece? She experienced a self-consciousness she had not had in years.

  At last she began to sing, and became swept up in the melody and the words, so involved that she did not hear the rustle of cloth behind her. Her voice expanded as she sang, growing louder with each stanza, and the sound of the words drifted out over the grave and the nearby headstones, filling her once again with a sense of loss and peace at the same time. It had needed the words, she realized, and she had done a good job with them, and somehow found the right ones.

  Ida was sobbing softly, and Margaret immediately felt terribly guilty. The sight of the grief on the face of the older woman tore her heart. What should she do? She could not move, could not bring herself to embrace the older woman. The ache in her own chest was almost too great to bear.

  After several minutes, Ida dried her eyes with the edge of her cloak. "I hadn't cried, not a single tear, until now. Thank you, Margaret."

  "What?"

  "I couldn't. It was all unreal until now." Ida cleared her throat. "You seem to have attracted an audience," she managed, before another freshet of tears began.

  Margaret looked around and discovered that Master Everard and several other people were standing a respectful distance away, waiting in the snow. There was a big man she recognized now as Rodrigo, who would succeed Everard as Guildmaster, and several others who had attended Ivor's funeral the previous spring. One of the women was openly weeping, and Margaret had the interesting sensation of being pleased by moving her, and at the same time, a slight sense of discomfort for so public a display of emotion. In her secret heart, she felt tears were a private thing.

  Rodrigo looked at her, then shook his head. "It is regrettable that your position prevents you from becoming a

  member of the Guild, domna. You have a beautiful voice. And those words were splendid."

  Master Everard nodded in agreement. "There is nothing to prevent her from being an unofficial ..."

  "A fine idea, Master," Rodrigo boomed.

  Ida Davidson blinked fiercely, and Margaret could tell she was glad for the distraction from the members of the Guild. It gave her a chance to recover again. "That was beautiful, my dear, even if I only understood a tenth of it. Thank you. I hadn't really let him go, you see, until now. I kept expecting Ivor to arrive home, grumping about his stomach. Now I know he is really dead."

  That was not for her master, but for Domenic. Or perhaps for both of them. I wish she could sing it for Mother it might help her. But it would probably just upset her. I do wish Mother were more like Cousin Marguerida, and did not get so upset over every little thing. Then Donal looked up at Margaret. "This is the man who was listening to the stars sing, isn't it?" He spoke very quietly.

  "Yes, Donal, it is."

  "I remember you talking to him, when, you know . . ."

  "What does he mean, Marguerida?"

  "I will tell you later, Ida. Right now I had better introduce you to Master Everard and these others, before all of us freeze into statues."

  "Of course." Ida stamped her feet. "He's really gone," she whispered. And I cannot bring him home again. I was a fool to think it. There is no way in this cold to dig up the coffin, and it would be terrible to do so. And I can't go home without him. I am sure that Donal just said Ivor was listening to the stars sing—which would be just like him! . Oh, how 1 miss him! That song she made is so tragic and yet so comforting. If only I could have understood all the words. . . .

  Margaret caught the thoughts as they flooded through Ida's mind and felt her face redden. She hadn't meant to overhear! Ida did not suspect that her former charge was a telepath. How was she going to explain things? It was too much right then. Her nerves were too raw, from Ida's grief and her own, to think of anything. Instead, Margaret turned and greeted the old music master, trying to ignore

  the several bobs, bows, and curtsies she received, and began to make proper introductions.

  Ida Davidson had not spent all of her adult life in the circles of academia without learning precisely how to behave in a variety of circumstances. Her command of casta was not yet sufficient to be able to talk to Master Everard fluently, though she made a noble effort. Margaret watched her control her grief, and marveled. But the cold did not make for comfort, and after a short time, with promises of a future visit, they returned to the carriage and continued their journey.

  The small brazier in the floor of the carriage had kept it relatively warm during their absence. When they settled back into their places, Ida said, "Marguerida, I think that it is going to be impossible to unearth Ivor's coffin for months. I hadn't really considered that aspect of things when I planned this trip."

  "Nor had I. And you are right. The ground is totally frozen. And even if we could, I am not sure they would let you ship Ivor home. Things in the Federation are in such a tangle!"

  "Damn!"

  Margaret was surprised, because she had never heard Ida curse before. Donal watched their expressions, and reached out to give Ida a gentle pat on the hand. "I never asked you how long you were staying, Ida. I seem to have had my head in the clouds a lot lately."

  "My return passage is booked for a month from now, but perhaps it can be changed. If the bureaucrats will permit it!"

  "There, at least, I might be able to help. My uncle, Captain Rafe Scott, works at Terran HQ, and he seems to be very clever at fixing things."

  "I don't want to go home without him." I don't want to go back at all! Without Ivor, it isn't the same. And with, all the funding cuts, I am likely to find myself out on the street. He isn't there—he is here! No, he isn't anywhere! Ivor— curse you for leaving me—again! He always seemed to be going away without me!

  Margaret ignored these thoughts as well as she was able. "You have come such a long way, and now to be frustrated—damn, indeed! But, you know, you will be welcome

  here for as long as you like. As far as I am concerned, you can stay here forever. We have lots of room, and, truthfully, I would love it. Do you really want to go back to University, with all the things that are happening?" She felt herself tremble just a little, wondering if she had any right to offer Ida a place on Darkover without asking her father or Regis Hastur first. Margaret also wondered how much of her generosity was based on that flash of vision, and how much on her genuine affection for the old woman. If only human things could be as clear as music!

  "Not really. It just isn't the same without Ivor, and even though he was gone a great deal of the time, and I had charge of our students alone, I always knew he would come back. It is very sweet of you to offer me a home, too, Margaret. Why, I might even be able to complete his work here."

  "Certainly, you could do that. Or you could just be a lady of leisure. The Alton Domain would welcome you." You could stay here, by the fire at Armida, and teach that pretty girl. I wonder who she is? Alanna Alar, perhaps? Stop this immediately, Margaret Alton! You are meddling.

  "Well, I won't decide anything right now. But that is a ver
y attractive offer, Maggie. Never to have to argue with some stupid bureaucrat again sounds wonderful. I thought I was going to lose my mind, a few times, trying to arrange to come to Darkover. The Federation seems to be losing its collective mind. My bags were searched four times!"

  "Your bags! They never did that when I was traveling with Ivor."

  Ida fell silent for several minutes, and Donal looked out the window of the carriage. Then the older woman nodded to herself. "No, likely not. The struggle I had with all the new regulations ... I was furious, and I think it gave me something to keep myself busy. To keep my grief at bay." She sighed, dabbed a tear away, and straightened her shoulders. "Tell me, Margaret, how would I live, if I remained here?"

  "Live?"

  "Earn my bread, so to speak!"

  Margaret laughed. "I am a very rich woman, in my own right, by Darkovan standards, and you would not have to do a thing except be your wonderful self. Or, you could do