Guilt Edged Ivory

by Doris Egan

  "No, it'll be a perfect chance for you to see what's going on!" Lysander's voice was enthusiastic. "Sorcerers have their ways of finding things out, don't they?"

  "Don't believe everything you hear about sorcerers—"

  "Oh, of course not! I'm so glad you called tonight. There's still time to get the invitations sent around!"

  "Lysander—"

  "I'd better get busy. Theo, I'll tell Kylla you're coming! She'll be thrilled!" He disconnected, rather with haste, I thought.

  " 'Thrilled' is a strong word," I said, into the sudden silence of the office.

  My husband and I looked at each other. Finally he said, "It looks like we're going to a party."

  Chapter 2

  I don't like Selians.

  I don't know if you've ever been to the lovely world of Tellys, land (according to the brochures) of powdery beaches, flaming sunsets, and labor-saving devices of all kinds. Not to mention the only one of the four habitable planets in our sector, that I hadn't set foot on—which, considering the cost of interstellar travel and the fact that I'm a private citizen, is a pretty impressive score, don't you think?

  I'd never paid a great deal of attention to Tellys. I'd never planned on visiting there, and my studies were in other areas—cross-cultural myth and legend mostly, at the university on Athena, a field that involved a wide scan of the past but not much of the present. Standard culture is, well, pretty much standard; oddball, out-of-the-mainstream worlds like Ivory are rare. Tellys didn't have a lot to interest me, though I did think I might one day include it in a grand tour after a long and distinguished career as an Athenan scholar.

  Of course, I hadn't actually planned on coming to Ivory originally either, and look how that turned out.

  Anyway, most of Tellys is a relatively normal variant of Standard society, no great surprise, but clustered up and down the spine of mountainous islands bisecting the Eternal Sea we have the Selians—the People of the Sealed Kingdom. And I don't like them.

  This is a prejudice based on personal experience—rather a contradiction in terms, but I don't know how else to phrase it. I had no opinion at all on Selians until I'd met a few of then, and gods, it's amazing how consistently unpleasant each new one is. Every one of them so absolutely secure about his superior place in the scheme of the uni-

  verse. I know that this just stems from their repulsive (to me) philosophical beliefs, but it gets on my nerves anyway.

  You might call this inconsistent in me, since I've always been tickled by the shameless egos of Ivorans. But the Ivoran ego seems—how can I put this—innocent in some essential way. Their high opinion of themselves doesn't seem to require grinding down you and me for contrast.

  I'm glad the Selians are still a minority on Tellys, and it always depresses me a little to hear the occasional newscast saying how they're gaining power there. But if I hadn't learned it before, my time on Ivory had taught me that compromises sometimes have to be made with people you'd rather avoid. So I took off my jewelry and cosmetics, put on my best outerrobe for courage, and slipped out of the house one afternoon while Ran was away. Then I walked the three miles to the Selian Free Medical Wing of the Tellys Institute.

  Tellys has a technological lead on the rest of us, and it extends to their medicine. Some Athenans and even Ivorans have taken medical training on Tellys, but they never stay to practice there: Non-natives are forbidden from joining the Physicians Union. Away from the drugs and devices so hard to get outside Tellys, their training doesn't count for as much as it might. But the Selian Clinic was staffed by Tellys doctors with all the latest equipment, and that's why I was there that quiet afternoon, when the rest of the capital was keeping the Day of Meditation. Tonight was Greenrose Eve, and the city would be jumping; today it was dead.

  I had an agenda, of course. As far as I was able to determine, nobody had yet proven that Ivorans were a genetically different species. But they'd been separate from the rest of us long enough for it to be possible, and the experts I'd tried in the capital had been pretty tight-lipped about it. Ran and I had been married for a full Ivoran year, and I thought it was time to check my implant—it really should have dissolved by now—and learn what risks, if any, a pregnancy would bring. This was to be my baseline exam.

  Physician Technocrat/2 Sel-Hara greeted me after a short wait. He was not much taller than I was, young, with the dyed-white hair of a pure high-caste Selian, though I noted he'd adapted to local custom sufficiently to wear a jewel in one ear. It was a large, blood-red stone and he wore it like a peacock. Not many men can carry off such drama, but clearly Physician Sel-Hara was not one to suffer self-doubts. Probably the knowledge, that he was performing his two years of altruistic duty, and could soon go home secure in the fact that paradise was his, gave him a certain edge over his patients.

  "Theodora of Pyrene," he said, rather neutrally, though I thought I saw a flash of passing contempt in his eyes when they moved over my Ivoran clothing. It may have been my imagination. "Far from home, are you not?"

  I made a noncommittal sound.

  "I've looked through the history you submitted," he said. "Over here."

  I wanted to hold onto my wallet pouch—it contained certain items that as a sorcerer's partner I don't like to be away from—but he took it from me for no good reason I could ascertain and gestured me toward the examining table.

  Scanners of all kinds they had in abundance, but like all doctors, Physician Sel-Hera felt that nothing could replace an eyeball inspection. For this, a Tellys-style variation of the same device used in the back hills of Ivory provinces for centuries was employed (aggressively, by Physician Sel-Hara). Unfortunately, in addition to succoring the indigent, this clinic specialized in well-paying Ivoran citizens lured in by the reputation of barbarian medicine, and the speculums were built to scale. To the scale of the average Ivoran woman, that is, not a barbarian a bit on the small side even on her home planet. After a quarter hour of effort Physician Sel-Hara dropped the third one into a sterilization bucket and said again, "We will try a smaller size."

  For those of you who know what this means, I know I have your sympathy and I thank you for it. For those of you innocent of these procedures, let me sum up the experience by saying it was painful.

  "There should be discomfort, but no pain," protested Sel-Hara when I suggested that perhaps he should skip to the smallest size right now. Or better yet, after I'd taken a week or so off to heal. "After the exam, I can make an appointment for you to see the Clinic Psychologist, if you wish."

  Implying that I was unbalanced for even thinking such a thought. You see why I love dealing with Selians.

  The more assertive among you are probably wondering why I didn't tell him off then and there. But you have to bear in mind that a young woman with her legs up in a cold draft, trying to control involuntary tears of pain, is not in a good psychological position to take the offensive. Besides, he had information I wanted.

  He tossed a fourth speculum into the sterilizer. Ever since that day, I've regarded those things the way ancient criminals must have regarded thumbscrews.

  "I need to know…" I got out, working to keep the tremor from my voice, "if… there's any reason… gods!… I can't have… a healthy child."

  "You will wait for the final report," stated Discomfort-But-No-Pain Sel-Hara.

  "But I mean… do you know of any reason… why an Ivoran and an outworlder…" I gasped and lost control of my grammar.

  Sel-Hara was apparently annoyed by the fact that I was not working harder to collude with him in the unreality that he was not causing me pain. He interrupted, in the flat accents of an implanted language, "This is not the time for talking. This is the time for listening." Then he added, as an afterthought, "How can I tell in any case? You say your husband will not come in to be examined."

  I really did not feel up to discussing the complications of my marriage at that moment. I thought, if only I were a follower of na' telleth philosophy, and could rise above thi
s kind of thing, concentrate on something else. Ivoran nursery rhymes? My mind was a blank. Out of nowhere I remembered my first class on Athena, a new-made scholar fresh off the ship, and started to chant mentally from Socrates on doctors and lawyers: "Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of want of good breeding, that a man must go abroad for his law and physic because he has none of his own at home, and put himself in the hands of other men whom he makes lords and judges over him?" A message from the past straight to me, not that I had sense enough to take its advice. It did give me heart to go on, as Sel-Hara showed every sign of covering old and tender ground again.

  I must have been muttering.

  "You are distracting me," said Sel-Hara, in tones of annoyance.

  " 'Of all things,' " I finished—not aloud—" 'the most disgraceful.' "

  He glanced thoughtfully at his instruments. "I will use the smallest," he announced, as though it were his own idea.

  So I shut up and endured, figuring that questions about pregnancy were probably pointless anyway. After an exam like this, I wouldn't want anyone to touch my body for the rest of my life.

  At the Selian Clinic, you take the doctor you're assigned. That's the way the Selians are.

  Have I mentioned I don't like them?

  Four hours later I was at the Poraths' house party. My body still felt as though someone had tried to ram an interstellar liner through it earlier that day, but I ignored it.

  Ran and I had hired a carriage so we could arrive in appropriate style with Lysander and Kylla, both of whom were uncomfortably silent during the ride over. When we stopped at the gate, Lysander reached out a hand to help Kylla down and she gestured it impatiently away. Ran and I pretended not to notice.

  A security guard in white and slate gray bowed, and inquired whether it was our gracious party's pleasure to have our carriage driver directed to a proper location for the evening. He spoke the words by rote, clearly not impressed in the slightest by our matched pair of fashionably designed six-legged drivebeasts, decked out in crimson and bells. Looking down the road toward the parking area, I could see why. I considered the Cormallons wealthy, and we were, but tonight we were poor relations. There was even—

  "Ran, look! The seal of the Athenan embassy on that carriage!"

  He looked politely where I was pointing, then turned back toward the gate.

  I said, "Why are the Poraths inviting outplanet visitors?"

  He shrugged, his mind obviously on other things. It had gotten my attention, though. I still retained a dual citizenship from Athena; who was here tonight? Anyone I knew? Anyone I'd heard of? If it was one of the eighth-floor peo-

  pie from the embassy, would they ask why I hadn't been around to report over the last year?

  Ran touched my arm, and we followed the security guide through the gate in the outer wall.

  The Poraths lived in the old section, north of the canal, in a huge, rambling U-shaped villa that was badly in need of repair. The gate we entered led to the middle of the U, the Poraths' garden, a place of night-blooming roses and blue pools lined with white stones; around the garden, bordering the house itself, were three low, covered porches with wooden pillars of red and green lacquer. The lacquer paint was suspiciously fresh looking. The livery of the security staff was suspiciously fresh and neat, as well, and there were at least a dozen. No doubt hired for the evening from a bonded firm here in the capital, though they were discreet enough to wear Porath House colors.

  A shadow flowed out of the evening shadows on the porch wing nearest us, and something glittered jewellike in its midst. A scaled snout emerged, small, bandy legs… a lizard the size of a small child dragged itself to the edge of the porch. The body was dark green, but the flash from its eyes was emerald bright. A long tongue showed itself briefly, then retracted, as it tried to leave the porch and go exploring. A leash circled its neck, I was glad to see. The leash was garlanded with flowers, but seemed to be doing its job, for in its restlessness the lizard had pulled it fully taut.

  "What the hell is that?" I asked.

  "It's an emerald lizard," said Ran, in an uninterested voice.

  "Is it Ivoran?"

  "Of course. You don't see them much around here, they have to be imported from the western islands. It's been a fad of the families to have them as pets."

  "What's wrong with a nice puppy?"

  He smiled. "Emerald lizards are fairly tame. And they don't spray poison unless they're provoked. Supposedly."

  "Poison?"

  He pointed to the translucent sac in the crook behind the lizard's neck, just above the collar of the leash. "See, it's been emptied. Perfectly safe."

  "I'm sure," I said. Just then a servant girl of about nine,

  robed in three shades of red, her hair set with jewels, stooped to pick up an empty glass from the floor of the porch. She patted the lizard on the head as she did so, then set the glass on a tray and continued on her way. The lizard tongue went in and out, in and out, and a sound not unlike purring reached me where we were standing.

  "Just the same, I don't want one in our house," I said.

  "Not likely, at the price." He took my hand and turned me back toward the main party. We made our way into the throng.

  The garden was clogged with guests. Grass was trampled right and left, food and drink servers maneuvered their way around the rim of the blue pools, and I saw a square of ripped silk outerrobe snagged on a thorn near the gate. Flute players were somewhere—somewhere high? I looked up and saw a treehouse filled with musicians. The Poraths were putting a lot on this roll of the dice. If their treasury was near empty tonight, they'd be in debt tomorrow.

  "Ky—" I turned to address my sister-in-law and saw her standing at the garden entrance, nostrils flaring, scanning east and west like a hunting falcon with only one prey on its mind: the infamous Eliana Porath.

  I said, "Do you know what she looks like?"

  "No."

  Neither did I, beyond the fact that Lysander had said she had a face like a mud pudding. "You know, Kylla, this wasn't her idea."

  "I know that." Kylla's expression did not change. Eliana Porath was about to start a new Trojan War.

  Lysander stopped and tapped Ran. "Kade," he said. "Oldest son." He was looking toward a strapping, broad-shouldered young man with hair so short he could have been in the army. His face was brown and his muscles seemed to put him out of place in this array of peacock robes. His own blue silk outerrobe was open over an un-dertunic of plain, respectable white that might have been a work outfit; an inappropriate touch. Kade was laughing at some joke made by one of a knot of well-dressed people around him. As I watched, he stopped one of the servers, snagged a drink, and offered it to one of the other men.

  Lysander said, "As soon as he spots me, he'll be over here. He's really pushing the marriage." On cue, Kade's glance passed over the crowd and Lysander twirled toward Ran, presenting the first son of Porath with a view of his back and a finely embroidered silk panel.

  "You'll have to speak with him eventually," said Kylla coldly.

  "Ran, help me," he said. "It's going to be a very long evening."

  Ran drew him away. "Show us some of the other players," he said kindly. Kylla and I followed.

  I drew a breath to say, You're a little hard on him, aren't you?—then thought the better of it and let it out again. "Do you know any of these people?" I asked her.

  She glanced around indifferently. "Edra Simmeroneth— I went to school with her. Some of the provincial Sakris."

  We passed the Athenan ambassador. He and I looked at each other. I've never been introduced to this one, but he might well have heard of me—I'd made enough of a pest of myself to his predecessor. Most likely he was only wondering what a fellow barbarian was doing in full Ivoran dress, attending a party of one of the Six Families. Occasionally I wonder things like that myself.

  "Think anyone will get killed here tonight?" I asked Kylla. The nobility play some strange games among themselves.
/>   She got hold of a glass of something pink off a passing tray and took a sip. "It would be rude, at a party," she said.

  She turned then, and the contents of the glass went over the front of a young man trying to cross between her and the edge of one of the pools. "I'm so sorry! I beg your forgiveness, gracious—uh, noble sir." With a party like this one, it was better not to take any chances with your honorifics. "My clumsiness calls for a thousand years of penance—"

  Sometimes these apologies can take days. The young man—I saw now that he was no more than a boy, really, slender and light-haired for an Ivoran—bowed and raised a hand to cut her short. His mouth had quirked very slightly with irritation, more at the apology, I think, than the spill, which had only seemed to surprise him.

  "It's nothing," he said.

  "I'm afraid I've ruined your suit," said Kylla.

  "Ishin na' telleth," he said, I'm not about to care. Not with a shrug verging on rudeness, the way you hear it said every day in the streets, but a calm statement of fact. Then he bowed again, with great self-possession for one his age, I thought, and went off into the crowd.

  We watched him go. "Well!" said Kylla. Then she looked around, and her eyes narrowed. "Where's Lysander?"

  We'd lost Lysander and Ran.

  If they were anywhere near Eliana Porath, we were in big trouble. Kylla and I wandered through the garden for an hour, cadging drinks and eavesdropping, but they were nowhere to be found. I spotted another barbarian across one of the larger pools, a fair-skinned blond woman talking animatedly to two men who had "important" written all over them. One of them had to be somebody very high up in government, because although he wasn't gauche enough to wear the Blue Hat of Imperial Favor to a social occasion, he wore a large pin on his robe in the shape of a hat, just to let us know.

  They seemed to be arguing. Her hair was pulled back in a long Tellys-style braid, and underneath her open robe she wore snug-fitting Tellys pants. Although the Blue Hat held up his end of the argument, I saw that his eyes kept straying down toward those pants as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The woman was edging past middle-age, but with an undeniably trim figure. She looked away for a moment in pointed disgust with what someone was saying, and her eyes met mine.