The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

  She was going to "strip the place" at two hours after

  dawn. Ran had been right, Cantry's illusion in the crossroads had come back to haunt him: The powers-that-be knew that a sorcerer was involved. Did the Steward imagine that the market towns were full of bandits, coming and going freely under a cloud of illusion? How far had his paranoia gone? Not fair to the Atvalids, I suppose; it was a reasonable assumption that people with prices on their heads would make use of illusory identities if they could. But we weren't the great force in the villages that they seemed to think. Hell, we only came in by ones and twos, just long enough to trade and leave. In fact—

  In fact, the only false identity down there right now was Ran.

  I hit the stairs.

  Below it was a peaceful sight: A few people at the tables downing some fine-looking eggs and foul-looking chocolate; an immense decorated tah pot on the bar; Ran in his farmer guise, standing with a knot of hopefuls by the far wall, where a notice said to wait for the convoy-master… and eight militiamen, eight—I counted—standing about looking awkward, attending on the pleasure of their superiors. The Steward and his personal officer took seats at a table and ordered breakfast. Ran threw me a helpless glance and stayed where he was.

  Should I go and join him? What was happening? Was anything happening?

  The danger of acting warred with the danger of not acting. I wouldn't attract special notice with this scarf round my head, but I was still clearly a barbarian to anybody who cared to look closely. Maybe I shouldn't call attention to Ran by going over and whispering to him, badly though I wanted his technical expertise.

  The old woman from last night walked in. She spotted the Steward at his table, spooning a bowl of lumpy meal, and sauntered over with the walk of a promiscuous eighteen-year-old. "Well-met, Sonny," she said as she straddled the bench and lowered herself down to join him. The Steward winced very slightly.

  Was she really a kyrif? But even if kyrifs existed, would anyone be so foolish as to ask one to remove sorcery from the world? Or even from one place, if they could somehow

  confine the request? According to legend, the magic went away forever when a kyrif sucked it out.

  The Steward's officer was having beer with his eggs and porridge. He didn't look up from his plate as he said, "Honored by a personal meeting, granny. I've only seen you by moonlight, throwing rocks."

  "It must have been someone else, youngster. I'm too old to throw rocks. Ask me how old I am."

  Oh, lord. The Steward said, "Venerable lady, forgive my presumption, but time presses. Will you join us for our meal? Or would you prefer to make good your claim immediately?" The man had a baby face, and he ate soggy meal for breakfast, but he knew how to talk. He and Ran and Sembet Triol could make a threesome on the Imperial bowling grounds.

  "I've already started, love," she said.

  The Steward looked alarmed. "I wanted to talk with you first. It's really not my intention to drain the sorcery permanently from this area. My family has enough enemies of the usual kind without creating several thousand new ones from our own citizens—"

  Atvalid Junior wasn't even pausing for breath. Granny put a bony hand on his arm. "Relax, love, for one thing, there's not enough sorcery out here in the Sector for anybody to miss."

  "That's not the—"

  "And as I told you, I'll only be stripping a small area— this bar as the center point, and a radius of a couple of kilometers. Nearly to the end of Kynogin, but not quite."

  "I did want to discuss it with you first—"

  "And it's not like it's permanent, sonny, it'll come back in a few hours. I've done it before. All I've got to do is funnel the magic down into an object. It'll leak back out to its proper place soon enough, don't you worry your head."

  The Steward pushed away his foul breakfast bowl, giving it a queasy look I'd have understood even without his current pressures. "You really guarantee you can confine the process."

  "We've been doing it for years, my dove; there've always been kyrifs in this part of the Sector."

  The Atvalids were taking a hell of a chance. So far the old woman hadn't impressed anybody with her mental acu-

  ity. The Governor's family was tying itself up with the outlaw question like a bunch of obsessives. Well, I'd heard enough to know what was going on; was there time to get Ran out of the neighborhood?

  "Tod?" asked the Steward, looking at his aide.

  "We've got twenty men stationed around town," the officer answered obligingly. "That's in addition to the ones in here. It's unlikely that outlaws would be present here in numbers to give us any trouble. I'm by no means convinced there are any here at all, sir."

  "Then we'll go on to the next market town, and take the venerable lady with us." The Steward spoke firmly.

  The convoy-master had appeared across the room, and was listening to appeals from the knot of men waiting for employment. He was very fair about it, taking them one by one. Ran was third on line.

  If he could just settle the job and get sent out—

  "How long will it take?" asked the Steward.

  "Who knows?" said Granny.

  The Steward played with his empty chocolate cup. "An object," he said meditatively. "What object did you set to hold the magic? A talisman? A knife, a jewel, a dog, a pet, a person?"

  "Well," she drawled, "I wouldn't drink the beer."

  Officer Tod set down his mug abruptly. "What happens if you drink the beer?" he demanded.

  "Unpredictable," she said.

  "Do I swell up and die?"

  "Unpredictable," she repeated. "Could be good, could be bad. Or big or little. Can't tell." She peered at him with interest. "Feel any different?"

  The officer looked at the Atvalid. "If I turn into a large brown field mouse—"

  "I'll retire you on half-pay. It would only be temporary, anyway, wouldn't it, venerable lady?"

  "Maybe." She stuck out a tongue and touched her nose. "I had a beer myself before I came in, and I seem to be all right."

  Tod looked queasy. He couldn't stop himself from looking over his chest, legs, arms. His eyes widened. "Guardian sir, I'm glowing!" He held out his right arm to the Steward,

  as though expecting the authority of his office to put an immediate end to this nonsense.

  The arm was illuminated with a pinkish light that deepened to lavender, then dark purple. I turned to Ran. He was starting to glow, too. Very faintly, not yet noticeable. The old woman looked at Tod's arm and whistled. "Lot of heavy sorcery in the neighborhood, sirs. Must be more tricky outlaws about than I'd believed, to tell you true. Hope your men are ready for them."

  "Sir!" said Tod.

  His Steward looked helpless, and I felt the same way. I took six steps away from where I was standing, made some noise, and approached the table like a woman with a mission. "Guardian sir, I claim the sanctuary of your office."

  "What?" He glanced at me for a moment, then looked distractedly back to Officer Tod, whose face had turned violet. "What? I'm sorry, not now—"

  "Guardian sir, on the word of your family! I need your protection!"

  "What?" he said again, though I had more of his attention now.

  I pulled off my scarf and let my unwashed-in-two-days red-brown hair show. He blinked. "I've trusted the word of the Atvalids on my safety and my reward, sir. My life is in your hands."

  He started to pull himself together, raised an arm and gestured one of the militiamen over toward us. "Sergeant, watch over this woman until I have time—"

  That would never do. "Guardian sir, there is no time! My name is Cantry—"

  The militiaman, who'd been reaching for my arm, paused. Atvalid's face turned fully toward me for the first time. I went on quickly, "And I'm here to denounce Stereth Tar'krim!" The Steward hesitated. I pressed, "He's in this building right now—there, Guardian sir!"

  And I pointed at Ran.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Kynogin Bank and Exchange is the best-built structure in
that market town, aside from the wineshop; it actually has a basement dug under it, and a foundation of stone. The walls are stone, too, and the basement is divided into several rooms: The money room, the guardroom, the special storage room… probably one or two more that I never saw. What I did see I remember very well. I spent one of the longest days of my life at the Kynogin Bank and Exchange.

  Yes, I made quite a sensation at the wineshop. It upset me to see the look on Ran's face, but I plunged ahead ruthlessly. Of course, he realized almost immediately that something was happening, but I had no way of telling him what.

  "I swear by all bright things," I said, "that he's Stereth Tar'krim. Look at him! He's glowing. His illusion is wearing off!"

  The Steward bit his lip. "He could be an innocent man suffering a side-effect from drinking this cursed beer." But he didn't say it with conviction. I was a barbarian; I could so plausibly be Cantry.

  I said, "You'll see his true face in a minute, Guardian sir. You'll see I'm telling you the truth."

  The Steward looked at Ran, standing there with every false appearance of calm. He said, "Who are you, sir? Give us your name, your farm and family."

  Ran was a Cormallon. He did not contradict anything I'd said. From his point of view, we were House-mates, family, and half-wed; that meant he would take advantage of me in all sorts of ways without even thinking to ask permission; it also meant he would turn over the fragile ship of his life

  and safety to me and hope for the best. And the waves on this ocean did not look good.

  "Answer me, sir, if you've nothing to hide," said the Steward.

  Ran was silent. A second later his farmer's cap disappeared. His hair became thicker, his neck less square, and his eyes somehow emerged into prominence, no longer hidden by folds of wrinkles from a farmer's lifetime of squinting at the plateau sun. There wasn't a sound in the bar. They could have been watching a scene from a play.

  "Stereth Tar'krim," breathed someone. It was one of the civilians.

  Ran looked down at his hands, the hands of a young man who had only a passing acquaintance with manual labor. He wiped his palms against the side of his trousers and glanced at me.

  "I told you," I said to nobody in particular, and sat down at the Steward's table before I collapsed.

  He was flanked by militiamen within seconds. Within minutes, the gossip had magically spread through to the nearest passersby, and the bar was filling up with a crowd of farmers, fences, and ranch agents. The militia officers had to keep yelling at newcomers to quit blocking the door.

  Poor Officer Tod. He was sitting on a bench, half-delirious, and a farmer's cap kept winking in and out above his head. Nobody wanted to touch him.

  As for the Steward, his attention was on me and Ran. Atvalid kept trying to speak to me, but the noise from the crowd made it hard to hear. "Come on," he yelled finally to an officer. "We'll take them out."

  "Out where, sir?" the officer yelled back, looking helpless.

  Atvalid paused. "The bank," he said. "They've got to have some security there."

  "What about him?" The officer gestured to Tod.

  "Oh. Put him to bed upstairs. Have somebody stay with him."

  A voice said, "You'd best get him out of the area, if you want him to revert." Atvalid looked around, and so did I. It was the old woman kyrith who'd gotten us all into this; we'd forgotten about her.

  The Steward looked as though he'd like to say something

  to her, if he weren't so distracted. He took hold of me by one arm and called back to the officer, "Take him over the hill and leave him with the regiment. If that's not far enough away, take him farther. Don't bring more than one soldier with you; I want them here." And he pulled me toward the door. Ran was being nudged that way, too, by a man with a rifle.

  There was a lot of crowd to get through. "Is she really Cantry?" somebody said, through a thick Sector accent.

  " 'Course she is. Who else would she be?"

  "It's true. All those tymons look alike."

  "Are you gon' pay her?"

  "Yeah, are you going to give her the reward, sir Guardian."

  The Steward hesitated. "If he's Stereth Tar'krim, she'll get the reward."

  A man snorted. "Who else would he be? Who else have we been staring at on the sides of walls all summer?"

  The Steward said, "We'll pay her. Now make way."

  We were standing on the threshold, half in daylight, and I could see the imposing form of the Kynogin Bank and Exchange across the way. It was easy to imagine going in there and never coming out. Staying in character, I called, "Check on me, friends! I've earned the reward, make sure they pay up! See if "the House of Atvalid honors its promises, or if I get permanently lost in the vaults across the way."

  The Steward's grip on me tightened. "I said we would pay! You'll see her go free, with every tabal we promised." He added, in a hiss, "And may any bandit who's taken a dislike to you be waiting on the way out of town." I'd annoyed him by what I'd implied about his family.

  "Nothing personal," I muttered, and I was bundled across the way and up the two steps to the bank. Some wit had painted in red on the gray stone of the side: Interest Kills.

  I gave a pretty good story, I think. I'd seen enough of Stereth and Cantry to be able to give operational details of Sector outlawry. They wanted a location, of course, for all they'd advertised about pardons and rewards. I mentioned a couple of places on the Deathwell Plain, far enough from Tarniss Cord's territory to be safe; we moved around, I said, Stereth felt it was safer.

  Looking back, I'm amazed that it didn't occur to me to declare our identities, or even just my identity as an Athe-nan citizen. I could prove I'd been off-planet during Can-try's early career. But it never crossed my mind, not even to be discarded.

  Why did I turn him in, they asked. The money, I said, and besides, we'd had a lover's quarrel.

  Money and vengeance, always acceptable. They let me alone for a while and concentrated on their captured outlaw leader in the other room. I got to keep my possessions, although they searched me for weapons; after all, I wasn't technically under arrest. They even took me upstairs at one point and gave me a bagful of money, while a couple of Kynogin witnesses stood by and they took a picture for the record.

  But they didn't release me. I was in the special storage room, surrounded by boxes. To my left was the fortified door that led to the money room, where Ran was being held; to my right, the fortified door that led to the guardroom, and beyond that, to the stairs. I didn't know what they were doing to Ran. I couldn't go into his part of the basement and I couldn't go outside. I couldn't do anything except pace. I'd hated talking to them, but now I wished the Steward and his friends would come back and question me some more. I badly needed something to do.

  Hours went by. Hours.

  Finally the Steward came back. Young Vere Atvalid, his eyes tired but determined, holding the blue felt hat of Imperial Favor crumpled unnoticed in his hands. If I weren't at his mercy I might have felt sorry for him; he didn't look like a man who'd just made his greatest success and saved the honor of his House. He looked exhausted. And young.

  Shift the perspective a little. Who was the hero and who the villain? The would-be Robin Hood, who commanded what was after all a band of criminals, who'd expanded his power in ruthless gangster fashion, who was, let's be clear, destroying the livelihood of a lot of innocent tah-growers west of the Plateau? Or the Atvalids, under all that pressure, who tried so hard to do right.

  Just at that moment I didn't care how hard they tried. With Stereth, I could have made a deal.

  Vere Atvalid sat down at the table they'd put in the

  storage room and regarded me. "We know he's Stereth Tar'krim," he said.

  I waited.

  He said, "We checked him against the record from his arrest in Shaskala. The types match."

  He seemed to want me to speak, so I said, "I'm surprised you could do that so quickly."

  "I carry a Net link," he s
aid.

  How exceptionally efficient of you. I was tired myself, and fresh out of conversation.

  "Do you want to talk to him?" he asked.

  I looked up in surprise.

  "We don't mind," he said. "I'll be happy to arrange it. This may be your last time to see him alone, before we transport him to Shaskala for public execution. I thought you might have things to say to each other."

  "Thank you," I said warily.

  "Not at all. It's dark, you'll want to be going, we'd best do it now if you're ready."

  Dark? The whole day must have gone by. No wonder we were all so exhausted. You'll want to be going. That sounded hopeful.

  But of course he would have some way of eavesdropping. My mind was grinding away in panic. If there was no guard left with us, the method would be mechanical, which was difficult to manage in the Sector. And yet I could hardly walk in saying, "By the way, Stereth, the Steward has a Net link somewhere. He's bound to have us bugged."

  But Ran was so paranoid about strangers, no doubt the thought had occurred to him.

  "Ready?" said the Steward. He stood up.

  I nodded and followed him to the left door.

  Ran won the town prize for looking exhausted, but he didn't seem otherwise harmed. My heart quieted down a little bit. Vere Atvalid bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

  The money room was just the way it sounded: Full of money. Bags, boxes, cartons, steel drawers, all packed with tabals and bakras. A few of the penny kembits were lying around, too, but mainly they meant business in here. The steel drawers were locked with the kind of seal that can only be broken once, and on each seal was a character

  with a certain amount in words, and a numeral underneath. Probably anybody coming in here was searched within an inch of his life when he came out. Not that the stuff was going anywhere; the only way out was the one I'd just come in.

  Ran was sitting on a bench behind a table. It was a gambling table borrowed from the wineshop, stained with red. Of course, he had other things on his mind, but I hoped being surrounded by all this money wasn't getting on his nerves. He looked up at me, not giving away anything. "You had something to say?" he inquired.