by Doris Egan
"You know, you shouldn't take the idea that you've improved as an insult. Whatever you were like before, I was more than happy. You barbarians take this whole subject so seriously—"
"You're digging yourself in deeper," I said, to an air pocket in the pillow.
"Ah." He fell silent. After a few seconds he said, "Do I take it we're finished for the time being?"
"Good night, Ran."
He pulled back the edge of my tunic, kissed my shoulder, and prudently turned over and settled down for the night.
Looking back, I tend to think of that day as the Evening of Snow, followed by the Night of Cats. I had good reason to look back on it later, but we'll get to that. As I lay there in the dark hour after hour, perfectly awake, it became more and more clear to me that the Porath house felines had the run of the upper bedrooms. In fact, as my nose turned into a geyser, it became clear that they spent substantial amounts of time there.
I got up in the dark and felt around in my case till I found my handkerchief. About an hour later I got up and felt around till I found Ran's handkerchief, a thing of pure dazzling linen that I hated to use for its necessary purpose. I made the mistake of rubbing my eyes, and one of them started to itch fiendishly.
Ran, of course, slept the sleep of the innocent through all this. A base part of me longed to wake him up so that he could suffer too, but I managed to ignore it. It wasn't his fault, after all. (Base Part of Theodora: "No, but he's put it out of his mind easily enough, hasn't he? It would serve this household right if you died under their roof, then maybe they would have listened to you!" Under the pressure of prolonged discomfort, I was rapidly reverting to a five-year-old mentality.)
Eventually I found myself lying there listening to the sound of my breathing—an audible, wheezing sound, like a steel whistle. My windpipe felt as though it had closed up to the size of a straw.
This wasn't working. And perhaps more seriously, I only had about a third of a handkerchief left. A dark future loomed before me.
I got out of bed, padded across the carpet, and took the Andulsine quilt off the chest by the window and a bound copy of Kesey's Poems from my case. I stole a look at Ran, draped over the majority of the mattress, dribbling into the silk pillow sheet. The man was dead to the world. Not that he wasn't a fine-looking corpse. I thumbed my unhappy nose at his sprawled figure, and taking my stiff, damp silk shoes, I left the room.
It was verging on dawn—still very early, as it was summer—and the house was quiet. I went downstairs, threaded my way along the halls, passed through the darkened kitchen, and emerged onto the long wooden porch that faced the garden.
There I found a new world. Past the steps of the porch, snow covered everything. The fountain, the rocks, the discreet lights of the garden, all transformed by a white, alien weight. The party might as well never have happened. The silence had a quality one never heard in the capital. Possibly I was the only one who had ever seen this sight: That new-morning-of-the-world freshness that marks a virgin snowfall, but laid over the rich, verdant, never quiet, never-ending summer of a capital formal garden. I may have been the only human, at any rate; a robber-finch sat in a wet tree bough near the porch, its yellow chest puffed for warmth, surveying the view with a look that I could only have called dazed if I'd seen it in my own species. Over on the east wing porch, the emerald lizard lay stuporous in the chill, a scarlet blanket thrown over him, the leash in a flowery pile on the floor. By now, of course, the garden should have been full of birdsong and insect hum, and the rustle of a housecat or two on the prowl.
The cats wouldn't want to go out and play today, I thought with some vindictive satisfaction. I settled down onto the chaise at the side of the porch and pulled the quilt around me. I felt better than I had all night. After about half an hour my nose stopped running, and I fell asleep to the constant throb of my right eye.
A couple of hours later, it felt like, I heard sounds. Opening my eyes from my cozy nest in the chaise, I saw three servants out in the garden, brushing snow from the paths with great straw brooms. An old, bent woman in a gray outerrobe opened the two wooden doors on the east side of the courtyard that probably led to the pantries. I heard a jingle of keys as she passed the porch. She saw that I was awake and smiled at me, a gap-toothed smile. I smiled back and went to sleep.
Something woke me again, not long after. I lay there and started to think about all the chores that had to be done before breakfast: Ran's outerrobe ought to be handed over-for pressing, he always forgot when he slept late, and I should do something to make myself look presentable—I stopped. What would I accomplish in life that was better than what I had now? Lying here under the purple and blue rectangles of the quilt, with a copy of Kesey's Poems by my feet and the wet branches and clear false-winter sky in front of me. The muted sounds of pots and pans came from the kitchen, letting me know that someone else was up and there would be society when I wanted it—soon enough, in fact. I looked out at a speckled black bird sitting on the railing about two feet from my face. Oh, it was good to be human, and have consciousness, and be on the receiving end of ten thousand years of my ancestors' effort,
that gave me this quilt and this sheltering porch and the muted sounds that came from inside.
Yes, I felt pretty satisfied with myself as I burrowed down into the quilt. It was one of those moments that come once or twice a year, the kind that give such spiritual sustenance you can deceive yourself into thinking you can handle the rest of your existence. "While I enjoy the friendship of the seasons, I trust nothing can make my life a burden to me." That's from one of the ancients, who made a great deal about living by a pond. I spent the chief part of my life on Athena reading through the old records, and I must say they do add texture to one's adventures.
Musing sleepily on one level, while on another I enjoyed, animal-like, the warmth of the quilt and the cold of the air on my face, I became aware that one of the pairs of distant footsteps was coming closer. I opened an eye.
The redoubtable Auntie Jace. She was glaring at me in disbelief.
"Uh, hello." I straightened the blanket. Absurd to feel so guilty suddenly, as though I'd been caught stealing from my hosts. The look on her face would have been appropriate if I'd had.
"What do you think you're doing?" Suppressed outrage was in her voice. She was wearing a rainbow nightrobe that she pulled more tightly around herself, her knuckles white.
"I couldn't sleep in my room, so I came down here." What time was it, anyway? The kitchen staff was still mostly asleep, from the sound of it.
"Not sleep? In the fine room the Poraths have given you? I saw the bed linens changed only yesterday, saw it myself!"
"Yes, I'm sure—"
"And saw the room was swept out, too!"
Didn't do a very good job; though, I thought. "Yes, well, I told you I'm allergic to cats—"
"Made me lock up my dear friends; and here you are downstairs anyway! Insulting our hospitality!"
I'm not at my best when I'm half-asleep, to begin with; and social crises often throw me completely off stride. A lot of thoughts came to me: That she hadn't locked up her dear friends, because I'd seen them roaming the halls on the way down; that the open air here was more friendly to my allergies than any room inside, upstairs or down— though I couldn't see me making that clear to this tiny madwoman.
My mind was a blank. Frantically I thought, What would Ran or Kylla do?
And an answer came. I sat straight up, took the apology out of my voice, and said, "Forgive me, but is this the way to address a guest?"
She actually took a step back. I remembered that she was only a retainer here, and I was not her guest in any case. Still hearing Ran's coldest tones in my mind, I echoed, "If the Poraths have some objection to my behavior, I trust they will honor me with it. I would not want to cause them any offense after their generosity of yesterday."
My most formal capital accent: It's amazing how the words will come sometimes when you pretend you're somebody else. Auntie Ja
ce looked shocked.
She stood there frozen, so I added, "Should I go and inquire of them if they have some complaint to lodge?"
At this she took several more steps back, then turned and went down the porch steps, off through the garden. She was wearing ankle boots under her rainbow robe. I heard her muttering as she squished through the snow: "No consideration for other people… barbarians making themselves at home… never thought I'd live to see it…"
I closed my eyes again. Maybe I should have stayed upstairs. But no, Fd've been a complete wreck by morning, and they still expected me to go on that damned boat ride today. And it would have caused quite the little brouhaha if my throat had closed up completely during the night.
I fell asleep imagining the tomb marker: She Died Polite.
When I woke an hour later, A Scythian yellow torn was sitting on the edge of the chaise watching me. Lethally long-haired, champion shedders that they are, I had not perhaps picked the best house to stay overnight in. Out here in the open air, though, I felt confident enough to actually consider stroking him before common sense reasserted itself.
The house was up and stirring, so I returned to our room for a quick wash and dress, then took a plate of hard market bread and Iychan apples out to the porch again for breakfast. This morning was the boat ride on the old capital canal. As it turned out, our carriages didn't leave till almost noon, and I spent a boring few hours in the nasal safety of the garden, where the winterspell was breaking up and the ground was turning muddy. I left the social niceties to Ran, who claimed I was laid up (in my room, he allowed them to infer) with some malady of my delicate barbarian constitution. The Poraths expressed proper sympathy and promptly forgot about me, to my relief.
I wandered the length of the garden, down to the guardhouse by the gate, and back again. Two of the Scythian yellows followed me as I went, in instant and touching loyalty. This is typical of my experience with cats.
At noon, when Ran emerged to accompany me to our carriage, he observed my new followers. He shook his head. "Why do you let them rub against your ankles? This always happens, Theodora. You know that they know you're allergic."
"Yeah, but they also know I'm not going to kick them away." Increasing my speed to avoid one of the toms, I began shaking the hem of my robe, careful not to touch any gold hairs. "I thought this was a morning boat ride."
"Try to get the nobility out of bed before noon. Eliana was dead to the world—wouldn't even answer till an hour ago, and came out still yawning. Just as well, I guess. I wouldn't want to have to watch her and Kylla stare at each other over the marmalade. Grandmother and Jusik are the only punctual souls in the house."
We came to the gate, and one of the security guards stepped over to open it for us. He was young, with curly brown hair cut short, and he wore his uniform with a faintly uncomfortable air. "Noble sir and lady, may I ask you if the family looks ready to leave yet?"
He must have been preoccupied; no "forgive my presumption," or any of the usual superfluous layers of politeness. Ran looked at him speculatively. "They were getting their cloaks when I left. If you're to accompany them on the boat, I'd suggest you prepare to go now."
He nodded. "Thank you, sir. Thank you, my lady." His eyes met mine briefly, and I couldn't help but be struck by the fact that they were a remarkably deep, fine shade of brown. I also couldn't help noticing there were black circles in the sun-gold skin beneath them. And that both eyes had a reddish cast that usually comes from a recent abuse of drugs or alcohol. Not that there was any need to be judgmental: One of my eyes had no doubt had a similar appearance just last night, from quite a different cause. He hauled open the gate, waited till we were through, closed it, and started walking back through the garden toward the house.
"Where are Kylla and Lysander?" I asked Ran.
"They're riding with the Poraths in the family carriage."
We looked at each other. I said, "I hope Grandmother Porath has some discretion in the seating arrangements."
"You know," he said, "I rather doubt that she does."
The boat was big for a canaler. There were two levels for passengers, an enclosed one on the main deck and an upper level open to the air. The musicians, I saw, had been brought back for the day, and their ranks had swollen to include more horn and string players.
About two dozen of last night's partygoers had been asked back for the ride. I saw the blond Tellys woman, again talking animatedly, this time to a knot of three new people. She spotted me across the room as I came in and I saw her react. She made a motion to her listeners as though she were going to leave them, but one, a woman, put a hand on her arm and said something. And then the blond woman was off again, gesturing authoritatively as she spoke. She was a naturally strong talker, it seemed.
The boat loaded up and cast off into the canal. I pressed my face against the glass as we pulled out, and saw a carriage drive up madly to the pier, stop short, and discharge a red-faced man in multicolored robes who threw something down in disgust and waved his arms angrily before whirling around and getting back in his carriage. Apparently some people are too tardy even for the nobility.
I turned back to the big salon on the main deck. Here all was happiness and light. Grandmother's chair had been brought in, and when the musicians struck up, a look of serene joy came over her—you wouldn't have known it was the same woman. Kade took his sister Eliana out onto the floor and led six other couples in a pattern dance, one of the stately things I hear they do at court. They "bowed to the sun." "bowed to the moons." "laced the boot." "kissed the stranger." "circled their partners," and did any number of complicated figures before the tune was over. Lacing the boot was particularly complex. One young woman flubbed it and had to be drawn back into place by the person next to her, several beats too late.
The second the music stopped, Grandmother Porath stood up—it seemed there was no pressing constitutional reason for her to use her sedan chair—and walked to the head of the couples. "Kade!" she snapped. She held out her hand. He bowed, took it obediently, and Eliana withdrew from the dance. I noticed that her defensive chaper-one, the tall skinny woman, followed her as she moved away.
And this time there was none of that slow, stately stuff. Grandmother led them in a wild country pattern dance, and if you've never seen one I can only say it's a lot like the previous dance, only about a hundred times more enthusiastic. Speed and the ability to jump are essentials.
Ran had wandered to the front of the salon to watch the jabith player, and I found I was standing next to somebody familiar. Sixteen or seventeen, light brown hair, nicely dressed… He was watching me, too. "Excuse me," I said. "Have we met, noble sir?" The "noble sir" prompted my memory; this was the young man Kylla had spilled a drink on last night.
"We were nearly introduced," he said, with a dry look that told me he had not forgotten. "I'm Coalis." He gave it to me in three syllables: Co-al-is.
I must have looked blank. He wasn't offended by it; apparently he expected people not to know who he was. "Kade is my brother," he explained. Apparently he did expect people to know Kade.
And he was right. "Ah," I said.
"You're the barbarian that Cormallon sorcerer married," he remarked. Usually they don't come right out and say it.
"Yes. I'm Athenan."
"Oh? What's your field of interest?"
Now, that was an unusual thing for an Ivoran to say. "Cross-cultural myths and legends. I haven't done a lot of work in it lately, though."
"No, I'm the same way. Other things interfere."
I raised an eyebrow. "What's your field of study, noble sir?"
"Coalis, please. It's na' telleth philosophy."
"You're—" I stopped.
"What?"
"I was going to say, you're a little young for na' telleth philosophy, aren't you? I tend to associate it with the old and jaded."
He said without emotion, "No point in not getting a head start."
I supposed not. I wondered what
the Poraths thought about their second son opting out of the game. Well, he seemed like a frank sort of boy—"Are you planning on going into a monastery? Or is this just a personal study?"
"I've been accepted at Teshin. I go on the winter solstice." He took a glass from a table and sipped at it; I saw it was water. "My family wants to give me the summer to change my mind. Prediction is fruitless—" This is a na' telleth saying—"but I see nothing so far that would change it."
I've always been fascinated by this sort of conversation with strangers. Completely ignoring etiquette, I said, "I suppose they've been throwing you at nice young girls for months."
"They have. It's a pointless exercise. Sex isn't prohibited to monks, you know, only passion. And marriage."
What's wrong with passion and marriage? I decided not to say it; it seemed like the kind of answer that would take up the rest of the day.
"What do you think of this wedding thing?"
"Wedding thing"—I was starting to sound like Lysander.
He understood what I meant. "Not the best idea Kade's ever had. But Grandmother's supporting it, so I guess it will happen." He might have been talking about the rain.
I was saying, "So this was Kade's idea—" when Ran approached and took both my hands. He nodded his head toward the dance floor.
I stood fast. "Coalis, this is my husband, Ran Cor-mallon."
"Honored by this meeting," Coalis said agreeably. "We passed at breakfast, I think."
"The honor is mine. Come on, Theodora, dance with me."
"My leg's broken."
"I know the jabith player, he used to live with one of my aunts. He's going to play 'The Other Side of the Mirror' next for us. I know you can do that one, I saw you do it at our wedding."
"The other side of the mirror" is an Ivoran term that implies the meeting of life, love, and death; that sunny mornings are followed by rainy afternoons, and that we'll all come to dust in the end. The other side of the mirror is a skull. Unless you understand that it's a wildly cheerful dance, you'll miss the point.
I said, "Coalis here is a na' telleth. He'd probably love to dance this one."