The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  He stood up, which suggested he must be paying attention to what I said on some level. It didn't seem to interest him, though. Damn. We followed Berta's directions easily enough and they took us to a large house overlooking the village square. I knocked.

  The door was opened by a girl of about twelve. She looked at me, then looked at Ran. "Yes?" she said. It was not a proper greeting, even if we did look a shade disreputable. Anyway, we'd washed in the bay that morning.

  "Your mistress, please," I said.

  "What?"

  "Gracious lady Coral Passuran to see your mistress. Please tell her I'm here."

  She closed the door gently and went away. A moment later it was opened again, this time by a more matronly figure in a good woolen robe. "I'm the mistress," she said, "Karina Mullet. May I ask your business?" The tone implied that she did not seriously expect us to have any.

  "The Hall Kitchen Chief recommended you to us, gracious lady." (It was an adjective I felt it never did any harm to throw in, although she really wasn't quite up to it.) "We're looking for a place to stay."

  She seemed faintly disbelieving.

  I said, "We can pay three bakras in advance. If it suits, we'll probably want to make a longer arrangement with you."

  She said, "Please give me a moment, uh, gracious visitor. I must consult my husband."

  Again the door closed. There was no one in the street to watch, so I put one ear up against it. A brief but intense argument was going on inside. I couldn't quite catch most of it, or tell who was on what side, but the word "tymon" was used. Also the word "bakras"—that one mostly by the wife. Probably she was the one on our side, then. "Tymon" was spoken by a male voice. "We'll kill him later," I said to Ran, knowing he wouldn't pay attention. "Tymon": not only a barbarian outlander, but a Barbarian Outlander With No Manners. Most unfair.

  I pulled my ear away from the door just in time. Karina Mullet swung it open and stepped back, waving us in. We were greeted in the inner entranceway by respectable husband Mullet, in his houserobe and socks, tobacco falling out of the pouch he was gripping in one hand. He was round-faced, middle-aged, and either a little bit drunk or very ruddy for someone of his dark complexion. Well, if you can't do it at home, where can you do it? I bowed, and jabbed at Ran to do the same—I wasn't sure he would, but his training in courtesy ran deep. I said,

  "Your hospitality honors us, gracious sir." Take that, name-caller!

  He blinked. "Uh," he began.

  "You must forgive our appearance, sir, we've had a long journey. We're greatly fatigued. I wonder if we might impose on you to let us see our rooms at once?"

  "Certainly we can," said his wife. "This way, up the stairs."

  I bowed again to her husband, just to rub it in. "I regret the postponement of our acquaintance until tomorrow."

  "Oh. Yes. Me, too." He finally made his return bow. About time, too.

  Madame Mullet said, as we went up the stairs, "Will you be wanting one room or two?"

  "I suppose two rooms cost more than one," I said thoughtfully.

  "Oh, yes, of course." She seemed amused.

  "We'll only need one. This is my br—my husband," I said, remembering in time that we looked nothing alike.

  I saw her thinking: your br—, your husband—fine. Maybe I should collect the money now.

  Sure enough she said, "I wonder if you could give me those three bakras before you retire? Then we won't have to worry about it in the morning."

  I went down an hour later to ask if I could buy a meat pie from her, the market being closed. I still had two bakras left, and Ran hadn't eaten all day.

  "Certainly," she said, and heated it up for me as well. "Your friend—I mean, your husband doesn't talk much," she remarked as she set the pie in the oven.

  "He's been very ill," I said. "Affected his vocal cords. Nothing catching," I added at once.

  "Ah," she said noncommittally. A moment later she said, "Would you like some tah to go with it? No charge, of course."

  "Thank you, no," I said. I'd been as addicted to tah as any Ivoran. It had been hard enough getting my body to accept the decline to the one cup a day that went with the indigent's breakfast. If I got used to it again, how would it be later? And Ran's withdrawal pains had been worse than mine.

  It's not the addiction; it's the expense. Still, I felt badly, since I knew Ran would have liked a cup.

  My hostess took the meat pie out of the oven and wrapped it in waxed paper. Then she put two glasses on a tray alongside the pie. "Water, at least," she said. "The pie's too spicy."

  "You're very considerate," I said, and found myself yawning.

  She chuckled. "I can't get over your accent." She steered me to the stairs.

  "What accent?"

  "What accent, indeed. You talk like one of those high-toned nobles that come over the Net from the capital. That's why my man's eyeballs were popping when you said hello."

  "I haven't got an accent."

  She laughed. "Good night, gracious visitor. Don't bother about the tray; you can bring it down tomorrow."

  I went up to our room and found Ran sitting on the bed. I handed him the pie and put one of the glasses on the night table.

  "If I have an accent," I said, "it's your fault."

  He raised his eyes to my face briefly, then started eating the pie. He did that sometimes; it could drive you crazy wondering if it meant anything.

  I said, "When we've got a few more coins in our pockets, we'll see if there's a healer in this village. I mean, I guess you've noticed that you've got a problem." He went on eating and I pulled off my outer robe and sat down on my side of the bed. "If you've got something to say about seeing a healer, you'd better say it now."

  After a minute I said, "I didn't think so."

  Sleeping with a ghost is a very chaste experience. In case you wondered. The next morning as I washed at the basin, I heard sounds from out in the square, a voice raised in command and the tap of wood on stone. I looked out the narrow window that faced the street (like all well-planned houses, the good, wide windows of the house faced in toward the inner courtyard, not out on the dangerous world) and saw a dozen villagers, young and old, standing in the square holding wooden staffs. They were doing The River.

  I hurried down to see if I could join them. I didn't have a staff, of course, but for Young River and Old that's not so important. I had a pair of trousers I'd not slept in more than twenty or thirty times; they would have to do.

  I crept in on the far left of the group, hoping no one would object. The practice leader stopped everyone at once.

  "What's going on here?" he said. He was about thirty, light-skinned for an Ivoran, with unexpectedly blue eyes that looked out from under a head kerchief that reminded me of Eln. Like Eln, there was something "off" about him; perhaps it was the coloring. Unlike Eln, he stared at me coldly.

  "I'm sorry," I said, since I was the invader, after all. "I was hoping to join you. If this is a private group, I didn't mean to presume."

  Someone muttered something that sounded like "ty-mon."

  "Well," said the leader, with pure sarcasm in his voice, "Maybe our gracious visitor would like to lead the group this morning. We'd be honored, wouldn't we, friends?"

  I said, "Thank you, but I'd rather not."

  "Oh, come now, you can't be so rude. We'd love to see how it's done in the outworlds, am I right?"

  There was general agreement. They were enjoying themselves.

  So I walked to the front and stepped up to the practice leader's place. "I'll need a staff," I said, and he grinned and gave me his. Then he joined the other villagers.

  There was a Middle River set I'd done perhaps five hundred times in the garden at Cormallon, trying for at least one set to achieve grace rather than simple memor-ization of movement. I could do it in my sleep… or I could if I weren't nervous.

  I cleared my throat and said, "Middle Six-Eight-Eleven, Six-Eight-Two, Six-Two-Two, and repeat for a dozen. Staff horizontal
to begin."

  They looked at each other and shuffled around and held out their staffs.

  "Now," I said, and went to position Middle Six. I felt stiff and mechanical as I moved through the set. Of course, they were probably surprised to see me do it at all, they may as well see an ape dressed up leading their sa'ret. The hell with them. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back in the garden, with Eln moving over my head. I closed them all out. Third set, fourth set, fifth set. I stretched the movements farther, just to see if it would work that way, and it felt right. I counted eleventh set and twelfth, mildly surprised that we were so far along. Maybe I'd left something out, but never mind, this wasn't as bad as I'd thought.

  "And twelve." I opened my eyes. They were standing in a semicircle, sweaty and bright-eyed—probably the way I looked, too.

  "Woh!" said one of the men. He laughed.

  "I agree," said the woman next to him. She stamped her foot and started to clap. The others took it up and now I felt my face really get hot.

  "Hey-oh," said the woman when it died down, "we should have outlanders lead us more often. Tanit always does Young River because he likes it."

  Tanit, the practice leader, looked sour.

  She called, "So what's next?"

  "Yes, what's next?" a few others called.

  "I'm just a novice," I said. "I'd really rather learn than lead. If Tanit doesn't mind, I mean."

  Tanit shrugged, but I thought he looked rather relieved. He came back to the lead position. I held out his staff, but he said, "Keep it. I can lead without it, and I'll bring you an extra one tomorrow."

  He stepped up into place. "Back in line, tymon," he said, but he said it ironically, like someone who's just had the joke on him.

  From then on I heard the word "tymon" a great deal in Teshin Village, but it was no longer an insult, it was just a nickname. I didn't mind. By then I'd lived in a lot of places, and been called a lot of things.

  Chapter Ten

  The practice session made me late for the hall breakfast tasting. Luckily not that many people showed up for breakfast on the morning of a holiday; they sleep late and save their appetites for later, or have something cold at their own homes. (The house where I was staying was one of the few in the village with an oven, and the Mullets were pretty snobbish about it.)

  I went to Hall Manager Peradon, who was surrounded by even more people than yesterday, and tried to get his attention.

  "Manager Peradon," I said finally, "you didn't tell me yesterday what my position was."

  He smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure I must have, my dear, you probably weren't paying attention. But I hear youVe been doing a splendid job, so just keep it up."

  I launched into my speech. "You said that if I didn't like it, I could change to something else. That sounds like a good idea. So I've been thinking: I know I'm not a cook, I know the best jobs go to people who are related to other people. I'm not fussy. I can do scut work, I can sweep the floors—"

  "Sweeping floors is only two bakras a day?' he said regretfully.

  "I'll take it."

  The hall master looked down around his feet. "It seems to me the floors are clean enough already—I don't think we need any more sweepers. In fact, I believe the only opening at the moment is the one for Dana's position. And you've been doing such a fine job of it."

  I looked at him, unimpressed. He went on quickly, "Although, if you want to expand your duties, help out in the cleaning and such—we could probably find a way to raise you to six bakras a day."

  "Seven," I said, to my surprise. I really hadn't planned on keeping this job. But still, seven a day… and a clean bed. And I really should get Ran to a healer, the sooner the better.

  "For you, flower petal, we'll make it seven."

  I couldn't help returning his smile, the old crook. But I remembered to add, "Paid each night in coin."

  "You can't wait till the end of the week like everybody else? Trust your Uncle Peradon. You can't have any safe place to keep it, staying at a place like Mullet's, and I'm the village banker."

  Did everybody in the village know where the tymon was staying? Probably. "Once a night," I said. "Be reasonable—I might not be around at the end of the week to enjoy it."

  He grinned—probably just what he'd been thinking. "So be it, child, but you're tearing the meat from my heart."

  "Thank you, Uncle. Meanwhile, I was wondering if there's a healer in Teshin?"

  "Not in Teshin," he said, "but in the hills just outside. It's not a half hour's walk to his house, and he's as fine as anybody in the capital. Have little Seth show you the way this evening after work, if you like."

  "I will. Thanks."

  "My pleasure. Seth won't want more than a bakra, either.''

  Peradon went back to his account books, probably a very different set from the one he kept on the Net—if he kept any on the Net at all, which was a doubtful matter.

  Seth took us out to the hills that evening. It was a clear, starry night, with one moon showing as we circled the edge of the bay and made our way north. Wind blew through the grass.

  "He cured my mother of arthritis," announced Seth.

  I looked over at Ran, his face lit by moonlight, and wondered if the healer could do anything with a case like this. Maybe I was expecting too much. A Tellys psychiatric ward was the more likely place to go for help, but under the circumstances that was a little far away.

  "What's the healer's name?" I asked Seth.

  "Here we are," he said, and pointed to a hut in a clump of trees, halfway up the hill, facing the bay.

  We climbed up to the door. Seth knocked. "His name is Vale," he said suddenly, pulling off his cap.

  The door opened. A man of about fifty standard years stood there, thin, balding, looking like a breeze would carry him away. Delicate and birdlike, as though his bones were hollow.

  His glance took in Seth, the tall stranger in the expensive but tattered clothing, the short female barbarian. An eyebrow was raised very gently and a smile passed over his face so quickly I was never sure if I'd seen it or not. "Can I help you, travelers?" he said.

  "I don't know," I answered. "My friend…" I made a vague motion toward Ran.

  "You'd better come in," he said.

  Inside there was a clean wooden floor and a brick hearth. A striped cat was sleeping by the fire, and I paused when I saw it. "What's the matter?" asked Vale. Sharp eyes, I noted, and I wasn't sure I liked that.

  "It's nothing. I'm allergic to cats," I said.

  "Not this one," he said.

  I'd had to use the Ivoran phrase "I have an aversion to," since they had no word for allergy, and I wasn't sure that we'd managed to communicate here. Possibly he only meant that his own cat was a likable creature. However, in all the time I spent in that hut—and as it turned out, I spent a lot of time there—I never sniffled or sneezed. And the last time I'd had to stay in a room with cats I'd felt my nose turn into an ever-expanding faucet, my eyes tear, and I'd left the home of my Athenan friends wishing I could bury my head in the dirt and just die.

  Vale led Ran to a mat beside the fire and offered him a cup of tah. Then he watched Ran while he drank it. Seth and I sat in a corner and waited.

  The firelight flickered over them. Vale helped Ran to lie on the mat, then knelt beside him. His hands moved quickly, lightly, over Ran's chest, shoulders, legs, feet. He cupped a hand on Ran's forehead. He pulled his ears and peered inside. Then he tapped him affectionately on one shoulder and helped him up again. That final touch was not diagnostic, but meant as reassurance, and was my first inkling of the many differences between healing outworlder style and healing Ivoran style.

  Then he pulled off Ran's boots and examined the soles, leading me to wonder if I'd brought Ran to a sane man.

  "Yes," he said. He turned to me. "Now, please tell me why you've come."

  "He doesn't talk," I said.

  "Maybe he has nothing to say."

  "Look," I said, and started to get up. Va
le raised a hand.

  "Please humor me." He smiled. For the first time I realized that this was a being of great personal charm, when he cared to exercise it. No wonder the Teshin villagers thought he was great stuff. Take care, Theodora, I thought.

  He said, "This happened all at once? The not-talking?"

  "Yes. He'd had a shock. He heard something bad, and the next thing I knew he was like this."

  "No words at all?"

  I flushed. "Well, he called me a name. But he hasn't said anything since."

  Vale nodded. "He is a sorcerer, is he not?"

  Taken by surprise, I said nothing.

  Vale said, "Seth, you will wait outside."

  The boy left. Vale came over and knelt in front of me. "He is clearly a sorcerer."

  "Probably. You're the expert."

  He said, with a touch of irony, "I am if you will let me be." The cat came over from the hearth, and Vale leaned back on his heels to make a lap for him. He stroked the cat's fur and said, "This is more than shock, I think. Does your friend have enemies?"

  '' Doesn't everybody?''

  "Some of us more than others. I think that someone may have tried to hurt your friend. It may be worse than you know… it's hard to say. It's good that he called you a name, at least. A hopeful sign, that."

  "Can you do anything for him?" At last the question. I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.

  "Maybe. I'll need to make an examination."

  "I thought you just did that."

  "I just introduced myself. He knows I'm here and I'm a friend. He learned a little about me and I learned a little about him. The examination will take longer, about an hour."

  "All right."

  "In private."

  I said, "No."

  He knelt there, petting the cat. Then he said, "Would you like a cup of tah?"

  And one cup of tah and some polite conversation later, I found myself waiting outside on the hill with Seth.

  Seth said, "Do you know any stories?"

  "No, do you?"

  We sat in the grass under the trees. The wind shook the branches, and I wrapped the coat around me tighter. Luckily it was warm for the time of year, and the wind wasn't the enemy it would become in a month.