Guilt Edged Ivory

by Doris Egan

  It occurred to me suddenly that I had done the same thing with Ran, when I told him to tell the council I still had an implant.

  I sat in the arboretum among the sprays of flowering plants, listening to the three fountains plash in the background. Ran hadn't asked me to wait, but I had no immediate responsibilities and my thoughts were too unsettled to take on any. What was I doing on this planet, anyway? What in the name of heaven had come over me? Things would be safe on Athena. As long as I followed the path the university had laid out, my future would have been financially assured, though never rich. And nobody could have hurt me too much.

  Nothing is for life on Athena, not like marrying into the Cormallons; when things go wrong you move to another cluster and make a half-hearted commitment there instead.

  I didn't even feel competent to raise a child, and here I was fighting the council for the opportunity, swearing it would be no problem. Not that they'd require much from me in the actual bringing up; my duties ended with the actual physical production. I was free to lie in a chaise all day and dine on lemon ices, as far as the House was concerned; there were plenty of people available to watch over children and see to their education.

  But the truth was that I was having more problems with the idea than I'd been able to tell Ran about. More problems than I was totally willing to look at, myself. Ever since that little event in Trade Square, every fear I'd ever had about bearing children on this crazy planet had magnified enormously. Had nearly getting killed made me more intuitive, more aware of the skull on the other side of the mirror? Or just more nervous? Was I seeing things more clearly now, things I hadn't wanted to face? Or was I reaching new levels of cowardice?

  Admit it, Theodora, this physical production thing scares you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you suspect it might kill you. But even if we're too far apart genetically— even if the fetus wasn't compatible—surely the odds are far better that it would die rather than you would? Hire an offworld doctor to be with you day and night, if you're so nervous. This isn't the beginning of historical time, there are techniques available… You took this on when you agreed to stay.

  Human bodies are such complicated, pathetic bundles of apparatus. Addressing the huge pink flower in front of my arboretum bench, I said, "Why can't I just plant a seed in a pot and come back in nine months?"

  "I don't know," said a voice behind me. ""Why can't you?"

  I whirled around. Stereth Tar'krim stood behind my bench, his spectacles making him look like an intellectually curious rabbit. He pulled them off and wiped them on his blue silk outerrobe. "The moisture here is fogging them up," he complained. "You'd think we were back in the Northwest Sector."

  I saw Sim approaching from behind Stereth, and waved him back. I became suddenly aware that except for my new friend at the entrance we were all alone in this big, empty, plant-infested room. And Stereth probably knew a lot more dirty tricks than Sim ever had. Still, there was no reason Stereth should be mad at me. Was there?

  "Hello," I said.

  "Hello, Tymon. Can I sit next to you?"

  I moved over on the bench. He settled down, smoothing his robe, and said, "You never used to talk to yourself back in the Sector."

  "I was never alone there," I pointed out. "You always had people checking on me."

  He smiled reminiscently. "Great days, weren't they? Remember the night you and Des rode in after ditching half the provincial militia?"

  "What is it you want, Stereth?"

  "Funny you should ask, Tymon, because I was just going to wonder what you wanted. You're sitting here making mournful remarks at lysus plants. I'm surprised you chose that big pink one to converse with—you never struck me as someone who went for the flashy type."

  I felt my face getting red. "They keep this room too hot," I muttered.

  "Yes, I noticed that," he agreed courteously. "But in regard to your happiness, my friend, is there anything I can do? All well with your love life? You're not quarreling with Ran again, are you?"

  "We're doing fine, thank you. Why this interest in my personal life?"

  "Can't think what brought it to mind," said Stereth, gazing out over the enormous pink blossom in front of us. It was a flamboyant junglelike flower, with a central stamen rising from the heart, flushed a deeper pink at its base, and resting its flaccid length on the jumble of petals around it. It was an embarrassingly lush piece of nature, and I had to keep checking the impulse to throw a cloth over it.

  "Ran's upstairs," I said, changing the subject. "Having a meeting."

  "I know. I called the Cormallon estate, identified myself as an Imperial minister, and asked if they could put me in touch with you or Ran. They said I could leave a message with the staff here if it was urgent. So I strolled over, and here we are. —You know, I left a message on the Net for you both a few days ago."

  "Uh, yes. Sorry about that, we've been busy."

  "We shall let it pass. More to the point, my friend Coalis tells me that you seem to have decided that one of the security guards was the real target. Is that true?"

  "You take a sharp interest in this affair, Minister Tar'krim."

  "I do take a sharp interest. That's why I'd like to be kept informed if you pursue it any further."

  "Why should you care what happens to a hired guard?"

  He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. "Coalis and I are in partnership over some of his inherited business interests. I'd just like to know they're safe. Is that too much to ask of an old friend?"

  I pulled a curling leaf off the mutant plant irritably. "You know, I can't see you and the young monk getting along on a long-term basis. Particularly in the loan-shark business."

  "Coalis is a good boy at heart. He reminds me of Lex na'Valory."

  I turned to stare at him. He looked innocently back at me. Lex na'Valory was one of Stereth's old outlaw band, avoided for his tendency toward psychotic violence. "Coalis? I like Coalis."

  "I always liked Lex," he replied equably, "though one had to give him extra room."

  "Gods." I returned my mind to the issue at hand with an effort. "Well, if you think Loden Broca Mercia is the target, I guess you might consider the Poraths out of the picture."

  "Not necessarily. Broca did owe Kade a fair amount of coin, so there's an established connection with the business."

  I felt my eyes widen. "You have Kade's client book!"

  He smiled.

  "Where did you get it?"

  "I won it in a contest. Come on, Tymon, you know I don't reveal my sources. If I did, you and Ran would have been beheaded by now." This was the closest Stereth had ever come to reminding us how much we relied on his discretion.

  I said, "Maybe you can do a favor for me, old friend."

  He looked expectant. "A market sorcerer named Moros was involved. We can't discover much about him. If you can find out where he lived, or who his friends were…"

  "Lived," he repeated. "Were. Do I understand that Moros himself won't be showing up?"

  "That's a safe assumption."

  He grinned. "My old barbarian comrade… I'm impressed. How did you dispose of the body without gossip? Do you travel with a corps of private guards now?"

  I nodded. "Won them in a contest."

  Snorting sounds were coming through his nose. After a moment he said, in a steady voice, "I'm sorry I didn't look up you and Ran earlier."

  "Frankly, I'm surprised you claimed acquaintance with us on the boat. I thought you wanted us not to acknowledge you if we met."

  He appeared genuinely hurt. "Only until some time had passed. That was for your sake, not mine, Tymon. You couldn't afford to have your sorcerer husband linked with Stereth Tar'krim's outlaw band. But now a full year's gone by, time enough that I could have met you both legitimately here in the capital."

  "Then I apologize, Stereth. That was very considerate of you."

  "Damned right it was." He glanced irritably around, then said, "Let's leave this pin
k fellow." He gestured toward the immense flower. "I don't feel I can compete with him for your attention."

  We moved farther into the arboretum, settling beside one of the fountains. The entrance was exactly opposite now, half-hidden by leaves though it was, and you could just make out Sim in the distance. Splashing water backed the rest of the conversation.

  Stereth said, "By the way, who's the large gentleman who takes such an interest?"

  "A cousin of Ran's. Here to see the capital." Sim came stolidly forward a few meters to keep us better in view.

  "Ah." Stereth smiled toward him in a friendly way. "I take it he's only interested in those parts of the capital you happen to be in." Perhaps coincidentally, Stereth placed his hands in plain sight on his knees. Then he turned to me and said, "So tell me now, old comrade. Don't make me get you drunk, like in the old days."

  I was startled. "Honestly, you know as much as I do about Kade Porath—"

  "Damn Kade Porath. He's a passing business matter. He lived long ago and in another country. Not even his family will miss him in six months." His glasses gleamed in the overhead light. "I want to know why you have that pinched look on your face. I don't believe it's from a case of sorcer-ous assassination."

  The trouble with being on your guard all the time is that when you hear a kind voice it starts to unravel you. As you may have gathered, our relations with Stereth are complex, to say the least, but I had reason to believe he was genuinely concerned about my welfare. As concerned as he ever is about anything; he's a little bit dead in some ways. But he was always true to his troops, as long as he knew they were dependable.

  "Now, you see what I mean?" I heard Stereth's voice continue. "There your expression goes, screwing itself up again."

  I wasn't near tears, but I was having a hard time maintaining equilibrium. "Oh, gods," I said finally. "It's nothing important to an Ivor an."

  "An Ivoran? Don't try to categorize me, Tymon, it won't work for you. Just spill it."

  I took a deep breath. "Ran's upstairs trying to explain to the council why we don't have any children yet."

  He blinked. This was obviously nothing he'd expected to hear. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You're barren, is that it? Tymon, there are ways around this, in terms of House heirs. You can—"

  "No, no, no. That is, I may be, with Ran, but we don't know yet. Look, it's a complicated issue, but the thing that really bothers me is that I'm scared of getting pregnant." A sudden thought hit me. "Cantry!"

  "What does my wife have to do with this?"

  "She's part-barbarian, isn't she?"

  "Actually, she's fult-barbarian. Both her parents were Tellysian."

  I was crestfallen. "So we still don't know. But wait a minute, Stereth, what about your kids?"

  I saw a surprised look come into his eyes. Stereth had had a child, but that was a long time ago, by subjective reckoning; it was dead now. I said, quickly, "I mean, what if Cantry gets pregnant?"

  Anyone else would have been annoyed with me by now, but Stereth is incapable of annoyance when he's after something he wants. Even if it's only a whim to find out what's bothering his old companion of the road. He said, mildly, "That's not an issue with us. My wife can't have children."

  "Oh. I'm sorry."

  "It's a long story, Tymon. And isn't it time now to tell me why you're so interested?"

  I started to explain the species problem to him, and he held up a hand.

  "I see." He thought. "You took a chance when you decided to marry into an Ivoran house, didn't you."

  "We both took a chance. But I keep having this feeling— I don't know what it is, I'm not usually that intuitive—that if I try to have Ran's child, I'll die doing it."

  Intuitions like this are not dismissed on Ivory, even by my gangster friend Stereth. He sat there thoughtfully, laying his chin on one fist. "This is serious," he said finally. "What does the council say?"

  "Oh, gods, I don't want to tell the council! They'll make him marry somebody else!"

  Why could I tell all this to Stereth, when it was so hard to say to Ran?

  Stereth lifted his chin. "Ran doesn't respect your feelings in this?"

  "I haven't told him."

  He shook his head. "Tymon, tymon."

  "You know how he is about duty; I don't want him to think I'm a coward."

  He chuckled. "Given your past history, I really don't think that's something you have to worry about."

  "This is different. This is… more personal, more… immediate. Stereth, a few days ago in Trade Square somebody tried to knife me. I was closer to death, in terms of seconds, than I've ever been in my life, and that includes the Sector. It threw me."

  "Normal, Tymon."

  "It wouldn't have thrown you."

  "I'm not normal." We both knew this to be true.

  I said, "I don't know… I feel as though I came too close to the other side of the mirror. Maybe I'm being oversensitive to think Ran would lose respect for me, but I'm not exactly filled with respect myself."

  "You're dwelling too much on a simple physical reaction. The body wants to live. You can't help feeling it."

  "So it might just be a simple case of the jitters? I've been hoping that's all it is."

  "Take advice from your Uncle Stereth, sweetheart. Tell Ran about your doubts. Get drunk if you have to. Gods, he's a sorcerer; he ought to have a better idea of what's good intuition and what isn't. Why struggle along by yourself, when expert knowledge is available?"

  I was quiet, and Stereth let me be for a minute. Then I said, "You know, I'm not usually the sort who gets agonizingly introspective. I guess I expect to screw up my own life to some extent, but in cases like this, where the consequences go beyond myself—it's like I'm letting the team down. That's why I hate responsibility."

  I thought he'd have something to say to that, but he didn't. I found myself going on. "And what if I don't die? What if I produce some kind of monster? Or a baby that'll suffer for the rest of his life because I decided to take a chance? Do you know, when I learned to pilot an aircar, I found I could go ahead with the thought of crashing and dying, but the idea of crashing into somebody else and killing them totally paralyzed me?"

  I was coming up with thoughts I hadn't fully acknowledged until now. "You're very good at this, you know?" I said, with a trace of anger.

  "You're only telling me all this because you really want to tell Ran," he said mildly. "Don't blame me for it. And please don't look upset with me, or the large fellow over there will come over to see what I've done to you."

  I said suddenly, "Gods, I hate the idea of every Cormal-lon on the planet pinning their hopes on me!"

  For some reason this made him smile. Having said all he was going to say, Stereth sat there with me by the fountain, holding my hand. We must have sat for a good quarter of an hour, at least, following our own trains of thought, when he remarked out of nowhere, "The other side of the mirror… There's a saying in the empire; 'Sons and daughters are what we have instead of cemeteries.' The continuation of the House, affirmation of life, that kind of thing. You know, having kids could be the best thing for you; it's easier to be brave on someone else's behalf than on your own." He smiled. "Or so I've heard. We can't go by my reactions; they're too idiosyncratic."

  "Huh. That's certainly the truth." I turned to him. "Stereth, what's all this business about the Tellysian embassy? Why are you building connections there? Loan-sharking to the ambassadorial staff will only get you in trouble."

  He smiled, pulled off his glasses, and polished them again. Then he put them on.

  I said, "And what's all this about the Tolla? Did you know they were involved?"

  He got up, leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek. "The Tolla," he said, "are a figment of the imagination of barbarian newscasters." Then he bowed like a gentleman— the first time he'd ever taken leave of me in such a fashion—and turned and walked the length of the arboretum out to the main lobby.

  I spent the d
ay in the park—Sim trailed me at a discreet distance, and I did not invite him closer because I wanted to think—and returned to the arboretum in late afternoon. I left a message at the lobby desk to have Ran paged when he came down, and that's where he found me, by the fountain. "You waited here all day?" he asked. He sat down beside me on the bench where Stereth had sat.

  "No, I was up the street in the park most of the time." Walking about the fine grounds and considering those topics a virtuous Ivoran woman ought to think about: Murder, loansharking, outplanet terrorism, and whether to have children. "You don't look happy."

  "No," he agreed. He took a breath. "They insisted on discussing our marriage. I told them the implant story, but they said there was no harm in having a backup plan ready. One of my cousins pulled out an unofficial list of junior wives."

  Well, I couldn't complain that he wasn't telling me everything. "What did you do?"

  "There's a breakfast meeting tomorrow before we break up. I said I'd discuss my position then."

  I'd done a lot of thinking in the park. "Here's what I want you to do. When you see them tomorrow, tell them that your wife says any further action is unnecessary. Tell them we'll have a child by next year's meeting."

  He looked at me.

  I said, "Tell them if I don't know, who does?"

  Chapter 13

  I dreamed of tombs again that night.

  In the morning I slept late and heavily, and woke up disoriented. Ran had already left for the breakfast meeting, so I got up, pulled on a nightrobe and puttered around getting some fruit and a roll. Usually I wash up and dress right away, to get the morning routine over with, but today I gave myself a little slack, as though I already felt like an invalid.

  At my suggestion, Sim had gone along with Ran to the Taka Building. I'd told them last night that I'd be home all morning, with no need for a bodyguard, and why waste his cousin's talents? I hoped Sim would hulk discreetly.