The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  "Why?" I watched as the pair dismounted and returned

  Stereth's bows. No pretense here that the official posters of Ran were anything but a joke; outlaws knew too much about each other.

  "He chooses a new second-in-command every couple of years. Picks the best-looking female in the band and disposes of the last one."

  "Gods!" Marainis Cho undid the top button of her jacket, showing a gold choker necklace. She followed Stereth and Dramonta inside, her eyes down. "Does she know what's in store? Or do you mean something harmless by 'disposes'?"

  "Harmless? With Dramonta involved? Hell, Tymon, I don't know if she knows. It's a sin, though. Look at the way she walks. You can see light between her legs. Know what that means, when a woman—"

  "Spare me the male folklore, Des. I can't believe Dramonta gets away with that in his own band! We wouldn't stand for it here."

  Six of the riders Dramonta had brought along were milling in the yard, talking with Grateth, Mora, and Paravit-Col. The other two riders had gone inside.

  "Makes for bad feelings in the band," agreed Des. "People give Marainis a hard time about it, from what I hear."

  "They give her a hard time—" I shut my mouth, took a breath, and said, "Carabinstereth's right. It's an insanity gene, tied to the Y chromosome."

  "You can't expect them to be glad when somebody sleeps her way to second-in-command—"

  "I'm going inside now. Clintris could use help with the serving." I turned and started for the main building.

  "Come on, Tymon, I didn't say / felt that way—I'm only quoting what other people say—Tymon!"

  I went in through the main hall, past the fire, and up to the low table Stereth had had installed two days ago. He glanced at me as I came in; the place was almost empty. I stayed anyway. I was nosy.

  I joined Clintris in the back, where she was struggling to carry the kettle and a plate of cakes. "Take it," she said at once, holding out the kettle. I took it, and she straightened out the good robe she'd put on for the occasion. "Good. Tah's already in the strainer. The warmer's been

  charged. Just pour the water in, and for heaven's sake don't spill any."

  Clintris was not fond of me, but then she was not fond of anyone, and when she needed help she didn't debate over where it came from. I carried the kettle to the table, removed the painted ceramic top from the pot, and released the aroma of black tah into the room. I poured slowly, the way I'd seen other people do it, and then I put the kettle on the stone floor and stood against the wall, as though waiting to be of further service.

  Stereth glanced my way again, but didn't ask me to leave. From a quirk in the corner of his mouth I suspected I was amusing him. Good.

  Clintris returned to the cookhouse for more pastries. Dramonta took a sip of his tah cup, but left the cake he'd been given untouched on his plate. No wonder he was such a dried-up little man, I thought. Probably his only pleasure came from killing his hostages and lovers.

  "Kind of you to invite us," he said, pursing his lips austerely as he replaced the tah cup. He had a capital accent, and an upper-class one to boot.

  "Gracious of you to come," said Stereth. "Marainis, I hope the cake meets with your approval. Please don't be polite if it doesn't; there'll be more coming at any moment."

  I wondered if that were a swipe at Dramonta. He really should have taken a bite; to show he didn't think it was poisoned. Marainis spoke in a husky voice, "Thank you, it's delightful. I haven't had berry dressing since I was a child."

  "Umm, and it's a very nice headquarters you have here," added Dramonta, in an effort at courtesy I had not expected of him. From the things I'd heard, I suppose I'd started to picture him as drooling and throwing cutlery.

  "Thanks, but it's nothing compared to your own organization, I understand—"

  And they tossed flowers at each other until my feet started to hurt. It's the way of Ivory. Finally Stereth allowed himself to be coaxed into detailing his ambition of winning a collective pardon from the Emperor. He didn't mention Robin Hood. I didn't think this would be a good audience for that, myself. He discussed the history (the folklore, really) of outlaw pardons, while Dramonta shifted

  in his seat, and finished, "If we can be enough of an irritant long enough, without getting caught, they'll offer us a buy-off."

  "Enough of an irritant and they'll send in the provincial militia—or worse, Imperial troops."

  "Well, I did say 'without getting caught.' "

  Dramonta put down his tah. "You're young. It's to be expected that you run off half-cocked, getting yourself into trouble before looking—"

  "May I ask the flaw in my plan?"

  "We're not an army." Dramonta handed his cup to Mar-ainis, seemingly forgetting that he wasn't at home. She glanced down at the cup in her hand, raised an eyebrow, and set it on the table. "There are simply not enough of us to be an irritant, from the Imperial point of view. And only the Emperor has the authority to buy off acknowledged outlaws. Not the Governor. Who will be the one you really irritate."

  Stereth smiled. "Enjoying your tah?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "It's black tah, from one of the Ordalake plantations."

  "It's very nice," said Dramonta, a little impatiently.

  "Did you know that all the tah from the plantations around the western lakes comes across the Northwest Sector? That's about ninety percent of the black tah used on this continent."

  "Well, that's fascinating."

  "And since it comes across the Sector, they can't use airtrucks. It all moves on the ground."

  "Thank you, I'm aware of the tah shipments. I've robbed enough of them in my life."

  "Of their money. Not their tah."

  Dramonta frowned. "What would I do with a hundred sacks of tah? We take a sack occasionally, for personal consumption—"

  "Of course."

  "But I fail to see who would profit from stockpiling tah sacks to rot in the Sector. And in this climate? It'd start to go bad in a few weeks."

  Marainis, who'd been listening bright-eyed, turned to him. She opened her mouth as though to explain some-

  thing, then shut it again and picked up her tah cup. She regarded Stereth from over the rim.

  Stereth said, "Imagine what would happen along the coast—and in the capital—if the tah shipments stopped coming through the Sector. There are a few green tah plantations in the south, and I assume the red would still come from overseas, but that would never be sufficient to meet the demand. And by far the tah used most is black."

  Dramonta was silent. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

  Stereth went on. "Maybe the Palace and the noble Houses would arrange to get hold of what little tah there would be available—which of course would only add to the friction."

  "What friction?" Dramonta burst out finally. "They can drink chocolate in the morning! Or tea."

  Stereth seemed disappointed in him. "Have you tried going without tah for a few days? Have you been through withdrawal symptoms?"

  "No, but what of it? It won't kill them."

  "No." Stereth grinned. "It will only irritate the hell out of them."

  It didn't work. Dramonta wasn't going to play, and after another cup or two of tah to satisfy honor, he and Marainis mounted up and took their team home. Several of our band looked depressed, but Stereth put a hand on Des' shoulder and said, loud enough to be heard, "Never mind. He's only one man. The others will be interested."

  And as it turned out, he was right.

  By the red quarter-moon, High Summer Night, there were three other bands bedding down with us in the fort. Ran was appalled at the numbers he had to share space with. He didn't even get a break in the water-carrying, because now three times as many jars had to be hauled. I knew all this from observation, because we hadn't spoken to any great degree since our argument on the day after our half-wedding night.

  I considered the even tenor of the scholarly life that I had once anticipated. Then I considered the ideal th
at had replaced it, of working with Ran in the capital and at Cor-mallon. As I walked beside him into the hall one morning,

  while he grunted under the weight of a waterjar, I said, "I suppose normal life will start sometime in the future."

  "Huh. Since meeting you, I've forgotten what a normal life is."

  This was an old joke. "You're not going to descend to blaming me again—"

  "It's a luckspell. Somebody's saddled us with seven years of bad luck. Five more to go—think you're up to it?"

  He set the waterjar down in the washing line, straightened, and pushed a fist into the small of his back. I said, "You'd know if there were a luckspell on you."

  "Very cleverly applied, tymon—they put it on you, and now it's spilling over onto me."

  At least he was still talking to me, even after I'd appalled all his notions of House honor. And I will say this for Ran: If he'd really believed there was an ill-luck spell on me, he would have stuck with me for the five years. And he wouldn't have expected any special praise for it, either, he would expect me to take it for granted. This sort of knowledge made him a lot easier to live with when he became difficult.

  I was about to make some sort of comment when I saw Carabinstereth climbing up onto the sideboard table. "What in the world is she doing?"

  "Everybody!" yelled Carabinstereth. "Could I have your attention? Everybody—I mean, brothers and sisters, ho, listen!"

  Stereth had started the "brothers and sisters" form of address. People weren't sure of names, what with all the strangers coming and going now, hut he wanted to engender a feeling of intimacy; an idea that we were all one band. Anyway, I assume that's what he wanted. His reputation was growing by leaps and bounds, though, and one band or not, the newcomers seemed to put Stereth's original group on a pedestal. ("Did you really rob a tax shipment?" asked one man curiously, to me—with a look in his eyes as though I were a pirate queen. I teetered between feeling uncomfortable and a temptation to swagger.)

  "Brothers and sisters? Thank you." Carabinstereth stood precariously near the tah service. She grinned her outlaw grin. "I have some announcements. —Hi, Paravit, just put the jar down and come and join us. First, in an effort to improve the efficiency and safety of every member of this

  band, physical training will begin this afternoon in the hall. By physical training I do not refer to calisthenics, sa'ret, spot-dancing, body building, or some other… recreational activity. I refer to methods of disabling, maiming, and killing people, with and without weapons. Don't worry if you don't consider yourself in good physical shape." She grinned again, looking at our faces. "You won't need to be for the tricks I'm going to teach you. I'll be taking the women shortly after lunch—don't eat too much, sisters— and Komo will take the men tomorrow morning. Every female not on duty will report to the hall—"

  There was a babble of disagreeing voices. Carabinstereth raised a hand. "Ladies! I know that none of you will want to pass by an educational opportunity like this. Gentlemen, you will not be in the hall while my class is going on; you will report to the hall after wash-up tomorrow morning. Any man seen here after class begins will be used as a demonstration model." She paused, then said more seriously, "Come on, boys and girls, it's not optional. It's the word according to Stereth, so make the best of it. Or argue with him, not with me."

  She got down from the sideboard and was immediately surrounded by people all talking to her at once. I turned to Ran. "What do you make of that?"

  He was thoughtful. "When it comes to conducting robberies, outlaws have never placed a high premium on physical training. I suppose it would be useful. Or do you think he's anticipating a pitched battle?"

  That was a frightening thought. "We'd be crushed."

  "He must know that. Of course, it would depend on the aims of the other side. If they wanted to take prisoners, to make a good show on the execution block—political mileage, you know—and they came in close enough for some real hand-to-hand… then we might keep them occupied. Long enough for Stereth to escape, anyway."

  "Ugh. I don't even want to think about it. I'll be over the hills and down the hermit-hole long before the first charge—and you'd better be with me, half-husband."

  "No fear."

  We went back to finish washing up. I said, "I suppose I should go find a hermit-hole this afternoon, too. No point in my showing up for training."

  "Why not?"

  I was surprised. "Look at my size! I'm a barbarian. I'm smaller than most women I meet, let alone most men. Come on, now—whatever Carabinstereth's 'tricks' are, don't tell me some big fellow couldn't knock me out with one hand. And if he's got a knife or a pistol—I mean, physical facts are physical facts. I avoid trouble, Ran, that's how I survive. Fortunately, most people don't take me seriously."

  He smiled and kissed my forehead. "I take you seriously, half-wife."

  Ran will do things like that just when you're trying to make a point. Talk about knocking the weapons out of your hands. Clearly he didn't need to bother with training, either.

  "I mean, people who could hurt me. Remember when I first learned who Annurian was? He would have killed me if he thought I was a threat."

  "So, and if you were this hypothetical giant armed male, would you have been a threat to him?"

  "No. I couldn't have turned him in, he was a friend."

  "Maybe that's why he knew you weren't a threat. Go on, tymon, take the class. Learn a few dirty tricks. I won't worry as much about you when we're not together."

  I frowned up at him. "You never told me you worried."

  "What would have been the point? But now that you can alleviate the worry… keep me from getting gray hairs like Stereth…"

  "All right, all right. You win. I'll change into those provincial trousers you hate and go to class."

  He smiled and hugged me in one of his rare public displays of affection. Like most Ivoran men I'd met, Ran was a poor loser but generous in victory. With women it seemed usually the opposite. Maybe it depends on which you've had more experience with.

  One man was in the class after all—Lex, Carabinstereth's partner, decked out in shin protectors and a padded helmet. After they ran a half dozen or so attack demonstrations and went over the twists and kicks with us, Carabinstereth announced, "And now you will all line up, and Lex will attack you."

  We all looked at each other. Lex was psychotic.

  "Children," said Carabin, with reproachful affection. "We won't do anything you haven't seen today. This afternoon only, Lex will hold back. Take advantage of the situation. Tymon, you go first. Lex will jump you from behind."

  "Me?"

  "Somebody has to go first."

  "I don't remember anything we did." I didn't, either. I had a vague memory of snap-kicking a cushion that Lex had held… and then there was something about the arms, wasn't there? Really, I had no idea.

  Her lips twitched. "No one ever does. Walk out to the middle of the mat, Tymon. Don't turn around, you'll know when he reaches you."

  I walked out slowly. Everybody in the hall, all twenty-eight women, were watching me. My heart was jackham-mering in a sick and wild rhythm and my brain seemed to be nonfunctional.

  I was grabbed from behind. I turned into the grab, bringing my elbow around as I went, smashing into Lex's padded helmet. Then I kneed him in the groin (a lot of Carabinster-eth's lessons centered on this area, and Lex was careful to have padding there as well), and when he doubled over I smashed the other knee into his skull. The whole thing took about a second and a half, and then I was staring at Lex on the mat.

  "My gods," I said. "It worked."

  "All right, Tymon," called Carabinstereth. "Move off the mat now, so you don't make Lex nervous. While you're both on the mat, you're enemies."

  I walked over to the side and watched Lex pull himself up slowly, with a grunt. He moved unsteadily toward Carabinstereth and whispered to her. She bit her lips, and I couldn't tell if she were upset or laughing. Then Lex returned to the head of the
mat.

  Carabin said, "Sisters, Lex has decided that since this is your first lesson, he'll go slowly with this particular attack drill. Everyone can, uh, take it easy… All right, next— Selene—take the mat…"

  Several days later:

  Carabinstereth clouted Berwin on the ear, though not

  d

  hard. "You're thinking" she said, as though it were a dirty word. "Stop it this instant."

  It was Carabinstereth's professed ambition to get us to stop thinking. "This is conditioning," she announced to us all, early in the game; "you know how scared you are on the mat? Good! We want you to be scared! By the time you get out of here your reaction to a spurt of adrenaline will be to go into a drill."

  Heavens, was that really the way Carabin lived her life? I made a mental note never to irritate her. But our instructor really had nothing to worry about in terms of the nervous line of women waiting by the mat, for as soon as we got into live drills, thinking was no longer an option. The watchfulness for an opening and the reaction to it when it came was about all there was space for in one's head. When an attack came this way, we did this. When it came another way, we did that. Often you couldn't remember what had happened when it was over.

  Sometimes there were bits and pieces. I remember one drill near the beginning, when my opponent had just been doubled over with pain into the perfect position for a head-crack. But I blanked out on my training; stood there for an eternal portion of a second, reflecting that the only blow I could think of could only be administered from a ground position, and here we were on our feet. What in heaven's name was I supposed to do?

  A minute later he was on the ground and I'd returned to the practice line, and Juvindeth, just ahead of me, said, "Good work, Tymon!" and a woman I didn't know shook her head happily and said, "Wonderful!" And you know what? To this day I have no idea what I did.

  Apparently this was a common phenomenon. There were other common points, too, points that took me by surprise because they went far beyond physical combat.

  There are things you learn in this life as you get older, if you will forgive my saying something so obvious. But many of those things you'll have been warned about in advance—you would think all of them, wouldn't you? And yet some come out of nowhere and yank you off your feet, and there you are, ass-down on the ground with a look as shocked as if you were the first human in all of history to face this particular blow. I had never suspected, for in-