by Doris Egan
"If I had, I could handle it better than a tymon."
Clintris didn't say the word with respect and affection.
She went on, "Call Stereth and tell him I'm back."
"Find him yourself, Clintris."
Her face darkened. I might be the only person who'd ever called her by her nickname to her face, but she'd heard it before. I don't know what would have happened next, but fortunately Stereth appeared at the door. "Good," he said, putting on his glasses. "And right on time. Did you get everything?"
"Nearly. There weren't enough hammers."
He was pulling the dropcloth off the back of the wagon. There were bags and bags of some unidentified material, about the size of large sacks of flour. There were shovels, picks, hammers, and other hardware; a militia light-rifle; and… was that a bathtub?
It was. A huge metal country bathtub, big enough for three people. Five, if they knew each other well.
Behind me, Des' voice called happily. "Just what we need!"
Stereth turned. "No doubt you mean the shovels and hammers."
Des made a face and dismissed these references to physical labor with a wave of his hand. "We can heat the water that goes in here!"
"Enjoy it while we have it," said Stereth. He was counting the bags.
Ran appeared at the doorway, looking a little pale. Stereth glanced up from the bags and met his eyes. Ran turned and went back inside.
I followed him in, hearing footsteps just behind mine. I touched Ran's arm, realizing only when he whirled around that Stereth was right on top of me. Ran said, "Now that you're acquiring all these things, you won't need any assistance."
It had the rhythm of a conversation only lately interrupted. I stepped out of the line of fire and watched them both.
"All the more," said Stereth. "Now that the wheels are turning, your contribution will be even more valuable. Now it won't be wasted on some two-bit thievery."
"Am I supposed to feel flattered that my talents will be used on something more seriously harmful?"
"Yes, you should. You'll be making history. Look around you; nobody here wants to be your enemy. We know that powerful and complex sorceries require preparation. We'll provide you with any material you need. We don't have Net access here, but I think we can fill any other order you make."
Ran's temper was rising. "Do you know the penalties for using sorcery as a weapon? For using it in any manner deemed treasonous by the Emperor?"
"Decapitation. What of it?"
"Decapitation for the entire family! Not just the guilty party!"
• "But nobody knows your family, Sokol." Stereth smiled. "So you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
Ran didn't answer. Stereth said, "Unless you think we'll figure out who you are. But we'd never share the name of a member of the band with anyone, not even if we were all standing on the collective scaffold."
"No?"
"No. Not if they were a member in good standing."
Ran's eyes narrowed. "Has it occurred to you that I could agree to your terms and then sabotage your project? Only a fool would try to blackmail a sorcerer."
"When you come up with something that hasn't occurred to me, I'll let you know." His voice was like an icepick. Des had joined us; now he put his hand on Stereth's arm.
Stereth let out a breath and spoke calmly. "Well, the day is young. You can join the others working on the roof, for now."
Des said, "1 beg your pardon? The roof?"
"There are thirty bags of quick-set in the wagon outside. Let's see if we can do something about these leaks, shall we?"
Des spoke hesitantly. "You mean, climb up on the roof and do things to it?"
"Repair it, Des. Times are changing. We need to be able to do other things besides steal." After a moment Stereth added, "Not that I have anything against stealing."
Des said, "Couldn't we kidnap a carpenter?"
Stereth patted him on the shoulder, walked over to the fire, and clapped his hands. "Everybody! Friends, we need to talk."
Des whispered to me, "Means we need to listen." His hands disappeared into his jacket and he sauntered over toward the fire.
I looked at Ran. "You know what this is about?"
"I'm not sure^" he said. We joined the group at the fire.
Grateth, Lex, Komo, Carabinstereth—the ex-soldiers were standing in a knot with that easy physical confidence I was learning to associate with them. Carabinstereth's foot rested on somebody's pack. Clintris na'Fli waS by the door-
way, standing awkwardly, as she always did. I suddenly recalled a voice saying, "You don't live enough in your body." Advice I'd gotten a few years ago, on my first trip to Ivory; I think I've gotten past that point now, but although Clintris was older than me, her mind and body were clearly not even on speaking terms.
Cantry, Paravit-Col, Mora Sobien Ti. Juvindeth and La-zarin, from last night's guard-duty. Des and Sembet Triol, on the other side of the fire. Everybody I'd met so far was here.
Stereth said, "Don't worry, this will only take a few minutes, then Komo and Paravit-Col can go back to look-out. You need to know that I'm making some changes."
Some uneasy looks in his audience. He grinned. "Voluntary changes. Anybody who doesn't like them is free to leave; and this time, I'll even provide transport to Tarniss Cord's group up at Deathwell. No bitching about being tossed out on your own."
Now the looks were more wary; what could possibly be coming? He said, "First, consider what we have here. We're a bunch of small-time outlaws, living from run to run. Oh, sure, we're the best around; but what does that mean? As sure as I'm standing here, each of us is going to end up with a neck snapped by the Imperial collar; that's assuming we don't die during a run."
Somebody muttered, "Gods, Stereth." Several people turned away. This was not the kind of talk his audience wanted to hear, and the logical way he was presenting it was clearly only horrifying them more.
He asked, "Has anyone here ever met an old outlaw? I haven't." He waited a minute then said, in a more gentle voice. "I'm not waiting for that to happen. I've made other plans. You can come along with me, or not; it's entirely up to you."
I wondered if that was how he presented his case to the men he'd escaped with from Tammas District Prison.
Des said, "What plans?"
Stereth took off his glasses, polished them, and replaced them. It took at least thirty seconds. Nobody moved a muscle.
Stereth said, "I'm not going to go into detail now, particularly since I don't know who's staying. But what I propose
to do is to follow in the footsteps of Annurian. I'm going to annoy the powers-that-be until they offer me a pardon— me, and anybody who's with me." He smiled. "I'm going to start a little bit of a revolution."
A dozen people started to talk at once.
"—only a handful of us!"
"We're no army!"
"—no weapons, no training—"
Stereth waited, then raised a hand. They quieted and he said, "I wouldn't even try this if I didn't have a plan. You'll have to take my word for that; have I been wrong so far?"
Silence. Stereth said, "But what I'm going to be doing will be more dangerous than any run we've ever been on. That's why I'm giving you a chance to back out now. —That doesn't include you, Sokol. You stay."
Grateth spoke up. "If they declare us a rebellion, they'll torture us before execution."
Des always supported Stereth publicly, but I saw him nodding, a horrified look on his face. Apparently Grateth was speaking for Des' innermost soul with that point.
"You can leave if you choose," said Stereth. "But anybody who stays is in for the long run—all the way to a free pardon. Or the scaffold. Whichever way it goes." He paused, then said, "Speaking for myself, I have no intention of dying. At any time."
Carabinstereth laughed. She said, "I'm in."
"You don't have to decide immediately," he said.
"Kanz, why not? You're not an altruist, Stereth; you wouldn't
be doing this if you didn't have the odds already figured. I'll hitch up to your wagon, sweetheart, and let you find that pardon for us both. Gods know, the ride will be interesting."
"I'm in, too." It was Sembet Triol. "She's right. What have we got to lose?"
They all started to declare in. I decided it was a tribute to Stereth in a way; they must have a very high opinion of his abilities. Either that, or they weren't sure he meant it about transporting any backers-out to another group. Komo was one of the last to commit himself. He stepped forward, and with a roar of bad breath he cried, "Let's do it! What can they inflict on us that we don't already face?"
Des was standing next to me by then. "Intense physical pain," I heard him mutter.
Stereth turned and said, "Des? You're the last. Are you in?"
"You know me, Stereth."
"Yes. I do." His lips quirked. "All right… brothers and sisters. From this moment on, we have a mission."
I hadn't been asked to declare myself. This was a relief in one way—I'd been worrying about it, but Stereth evidently recognized that if Ran was going to hold back it would be a good idea not to push me—yet at the same time it meant we were staying more in the category of "hostages." More in the expendable category, that is to say.
"This does not reassure me somehow," I said to Ran later, as twilight rolled down the side of the valley. "But maybe it's a good sign. They'll be too busy to care about us."
"Are you joking? It's a hundred times more dangerous for us to be here now, if he's serious." No need to ask who he was.
"How do you mean?" I asked, with more than a trace of edginess. How much worse could things be, after all? And did I really want to know?
"If anybody finds out that two Cormallons were here, involved in out-and-out sedition—"
"Oh, the damned Cormallons! The family, the family, the family! The Cormallons can look out for themselves, they have for a thousand years! What about us? We're the ones in danger!"
Ran looked at me, surprised. "The Cormallons are us," he said.
I had a feeling I'd horrified him deeply. But I was sick of all this care and tenderness expended on his House—I wanted some of it expended on me. Or, at the very least, on us. When we died of foul-water poisoning on the plateau, I suspected that the Cormalions would not be in the forefront of my mind.
He said, "We'll have to leave at once."
"What do you mean, at once?"
"You know the route to Kynogin now—"
"That's all I know! Aside from the fact that your face is
plastered across every market town in the Sector. What were you planning, cosmetic surgery?"
"A planted illusion—"
"A planted illusion has to be cast individually for each recipient. As soon as we meet more than two other people, you won't be able to hold it. Do you think I've forgotten what you taught me?"
He kicked a stone out of his way with more force than necessary. "I know it's dangerous, but we have no alternative. Look, tymon, we have to separate ourselves from these people! Great bumbling gods, a deliberate rebellion against the Emperor? The more distance between us and them, the better!"
"I thought we'd agreed that we needed more information before we could try an escape. Nothing's happened to change that, and something may have happened to get us to stay longer."
"For what possible reason would we stay?"
"Well, what if Stereth gets his pardon? Then we'd be free without any trouble."
He repeated, dangerously, "What if Stereth gets his pardon—" The words came out with a kind of rumbling rhythm, like some sort of force building up to something very loud and messy.
Just then a voice called, "Tymon! Sokol! Mora'd like you to give her a hand, Tymon, and Carabin's wanting you in the stables, Sokol." It was Sembet Triol, walking out into the twilit valley like an illustration from a story, the ambient light glowing from his face.
I looked at Ran's face and saw the portcullis come down. How did he do that so quickly? Ran was rarely angry, and never in front of outsiders. A cold politeness was the most they ever saw. I touched his arm and said, "We'll talk about this later."
He started to follow Sembet back to the stables. "There's nothing to talk about," he said to me.
Politely.
Eight days passed. Ran, Des, and Sembet stripped to the waist and sweated up on the roof, even in the cool air of the plateau. Toiling side by side with someone of even higher birth than he was seemed to silence Ran on the
subject of appropriate employment. Mora Sobien Ti and Paravit-Col knocked apart some of the stone from the fort outbuildings and carried it to the roof for them to use in the repair work. After the main roof was secure, they went on to do the cookhouse and the stable.
Our "discussion" concerning methods of escape was not continued. For the time being we both avoided the topic, sticking to day-to-day essentials of life in the monastery-fort.
I was helping Mora one morning, carrying some of the stone we'd cannibalized from an unidentified shed, when I looked up toward the cookhouse roof. The sun had come out for an hour, the way it does in the Sector, without any warning; the constant breeze was ruffling the long grass. Des, the tallest of the three, was bending over the crest of the roof, scooping sealant from a bucket. Sembet was kneeling there with a trowel, evening it out around the stones. Ran stood on the edge of the roof where a pulley had been rigged to take up the stones we were bringing. I sent up the new pile and he hauled it in, waved, and carried it to Sembet.
They were all young, competent, and absolutely alive; and I found myself thinking that it was almost worth being kidnapped by a bunch of outlaws to enjoy the sight of three men I liked with their shirts off. Then I chastised myself at once. Frivolous thoughts like that were not going to get us anywhere. Nevertheless, I turned to Mora and heard myself saying, "It's good to be alive, isn't it?"
She looked up roofward, grinned, and trudged off to get some more stones.
"We should have saved the main roof for last," said Des that afternoon. "Now that we're practically professional builders, we could've done a better job."
"You think you've got the hang of it?" asked Stereth. He was stretched out, his head in Cantry's lap, for all the world like a respectable and worriless citizen on his day off.
Des said, "Sembet and I can mix the quick-set in about five seconds a bucket, and set it for any damn hardening time we want. And he's an artist with the trowel—in two years, I don't think you'll be able to spot where we did the repairs."
"What about Sokol?"
"Sokol's not bad either," said Sembet Triol from where he sat, exhausted, by the doorway. "And he knows it, although I don't think he'd admit it."
"He'd make a good apprentice," said Des wickedly.
Tired though he was, Sembet was polishing his ceremonial sword again. He said, "Are we going to be hiring ourselves out as a troupe of itinerant house-builders?"
"No, Stereth, no," said Des, in honest warning. "I couldn't do this for a living. You're a friend of the heart, but that would be asking too much."
"Des, believe me, I will never ask more from you than you can perform."
"You're always telling me I can do anything."
"And you always agree."
Granted that these were dangerous people, I was going to miss them when they were all executed. The odds against Stereth's getting a pardon for any of them were wildly remote.
Stereth sat up, kissed Cantry's hand, and said, "Des, come and join me for a while. I want to draw you some pictures."
He'd done this with several members of the band already. I watched as Des went and stood over a large pane of glass which Stereth drew colored lines on in washable marker. He dropped the sheet of glass over what looked like a map.
Then Ran entered the fort, heading straight for the waterjars to clean the sweat and sealant off his hands. He paused near Des and Stereth and watched them quietly for a moment before continuing on his way.
I joined him. "Know w
hat's going on?" I asked in a low voice, nodding toward the pair.
"Not a clue."
"Didn't Stereth give you some idea when he was pressuring you to join up?"
"He spoke in generalities." Ran wiped his neck with a washcloth. He glanced over at the bathtub, where Paravit-Col and Mora were splashing happily. Ran didn't bathe with strangers.
"Why were you late? Des and Sembet have been in for an hour."
"Clintris na'Fli made a pest of herself until I agreed to work on the roof of the coop."
This was cause for surprise in more than one direction. Ran performing voluntary manual labor for a member of the band? Not to mention the fact that he didn't even like Clintris. My surprise must have showed, because he smiled. "No point in the birds being miserable. They hate wet."
"I didn't know it was Clintris who took care of the messenger-birds.''
"She likes them better than people, I think." He threw the washcloth down and strode over to his pallet.
He stretched out and I sat next to him. I hesitated, then said, "Know what three days from now is?"
"The moon-and-a-half," he said. Bless his heart. "I've been thinking about it. I don't know how we're going to cook the cakes, or get any privacy either."
"Maybe we should postpone it."
He sat up. "No, no, no. Put that right out of your mind, tymon."
Everybody has plans, and nobody wants to let me off the hook. Not Stereth, not Ran, not Kylla when it suited her, not the Athenan embassy officer. Some of these people are quite fond of me, but they all have no hesitation about disposing of my life. In fact, the closer they are, the more willing they are to do it.
We sat there and I watched the two bathers in the tub. Paravit-Col was young, everyone's kid brother, with a charming lack of confidence and a taste in clothing that was even more flashy than the band's usual. Mora Sobien Ti was one of the oldest there, maybe in her fifties by standard reckoning; gray-haired, but with a good face and figure. They might have come from almost any part of Ivory, from any family, from opposite ends of the continent and social structure. You couldn't tell by their accents. They'd been in the Sector too long and their language had followed the evolution to "road speech." But they sprawled in the hot water with the ease of old family members, violating more than one Ivory taboo. I supposed that, eventually, being cantry tar'meth broke down a lot of barriers.