by Doris Egan
I'd heard about the troubles in Tammas District, even met a few refugees in my time; it was all pretty remote, though. And things were supposed to have settled down, anyway, except for the unemployment and the militia units always being there. There were plenty of places to go on Ivory before I ever needed to see a godforsaken place like that.
Tammas District. Wasn't that where Stereth was from?
"Grandfather Torin had only been in office a month when things started to go wrong. Poor management of the man before him, he said, and I believe him. Your grandfather's an honorable man in his way. You know that, don't you?"
I made a sound in my throat that could be taken for assent.
"Of course. You've never had much of a chance to talk to your grandfather, and I've always regretted that. He really doesn't have the energy, Vere, I'm sure you realize it's not that he doesn't care. He can barely get out of bed, after all. No one in our family has ever disgraced the Blue Hat, son, don't forget that. Generations of administrators, and no one ever had to give it back to the Emperor. Not even Granddad. —Not that there's any reason he should have. Had to give it back, I mean."
Nor Atvalid rested his arm on my shoulders. It was amazing that this man, vulnerable as he sounded now, could be the same one who put on the show on the platform in the center of town, the day I came in to sell stolen cattle.
"You see what I'm saying, son?"
"Oh, yes." I didn't have a clue, but I tried to sound enthusiastic in a detached kind of way. That may not make much sense, but if you've ever tried to discourage a harmless idiot at the All-Athenan University Mixer from trying to pick you up, you'll know the kind of tone I mean.
He took a deep breath, and let it out happily. "I've tried to ensure that Tuvin Province was different. And it was harder here, harder from the beginning, with so much territory in the Northwest Sector. —But all that's in the past. This is a turning point, and you're responsible. When the officials turn out to see Stereth Tar'krim's execution, they'll know I mean business. Son, have you reconsidered your decision?"
He said it as though it were an obvious question. "Uh… which decision do you mean?"
He laughed. "You've got Granddad's sense of humor. But don't tease me, Vere, tell me the truth—now that you've succeeded so brilliantly, do you begin to see the possibilities in a government career?"
"Oh! Yes, I do see the possibilities."
The grip on my shoulders tightened for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was choked with emotion. "That's all I ask. For the moment." He stood up, not turning away his face the way an Athenan would whose eyes were swimming with tears. "Will you come down with me and show me the prisoner yourself?"
"Well, if you don't mind, Father, I'm really tired. Exhausted. I was just on my way up to get a few hours' sleep. You don't mind, do you?" I sounded as pathetic as I could.
"No, no, I should have realized. Forgive me. Go on, and take my blessing with you."
"Thank you." I took the next step, but a hand on my sleeve held me back.
"Son? I love you."
I hesitated, long enough to see he felt the hurt of it, then said, "I love you, too, Father." Well, didn't I feel like pond scum.
He kissed me on the forehead, still completely unaware that he could never have done that if his real son was standing one step above him. Then he turned and went down the stairs. I ran as fast and as silently as I could, up to the sunlight and open air.
Chapter Seventeen
The sunlight was in my mind. I was disappointed to see that it was dark in the bank when I got upstairs, and lights were on, shining dimly on the rough stone counters and polished floor. I only remembered then what the Steward had said, and for some reason the thought that I'd have to wait any longer for good honest sunlight absolutely devastated me. I really don't know why, but I still remember that I was crushed. I felt like crying.
I'd stopped to wrap my scarf around my head before exiting the stairwell. Even so, I don't know what the handful of people in the bank may have seen as I scurried for the front door—the Steward of the province, or another knockaround denizen of the Sector in dirty clothing. The light of two moons poured in on the threshold. I got out, ducked behind the nearest passing wagon and walked along with it to the gray shadow of a grain-agent's tent, then took the back ways out of town. I might have been pleased at my success in evading notice, if my mind weren't on Ran.
Now where? I knew the direction Shaskala lay in, vaguely; probably a wheeled cage with the notorious Stereth Tar'krim inside would pass me on the road if I started walking that way. All right, so forget that idea. Somewhere far to the west was the route to the lowlands and the Ordralake districts. Also too far. I doubted if anybody had brought in a shipment of Net equipment while I was being detained, so the parameters of the problem remained as hopeless looking as ever, didn't they?
I realized that while I was considering the matter my feet were taking me on the route to the monastery fort. Perhaps my feet had a point. My own thought about Stereth came back to me: At least with him I could make a deal.
Back to the outlaws? That called forth a sour grin, de-
spite the trouble I was in; the gods did like to play their little jokes on Theodora, I'd noticed it before. Ran would have a fit, or would he? Perhaps he expected me to go this way. I trusted he didn't expect me to leave him in Kynogin and call for my own rescue from some future Net link, long after the execution. A stupid lapse on his part, if he did.
Gods! Why hadn't I gone back to the money room with Nor Atvalid? Two of us would have come in, two of us could have gone out! What an idiot I was!
Still, that scenario was by no means certain. It would have been asking the superhuman for Ran to plant two sets of simultaneous illusions in every passerby. And Vere might have been stirring by then, and taking out both At-valids was asking a lot. More likely we would have both been trapped.
Yet it hadn't even occurred to me. Kanz!
I passed the small grove where I'd once paused to read the cards, leaving a bunch of stolen steermods to wait. I hoped Stereth would be reasonable.
Stereth is always reasonable by his lights, but they are not the same lights that other people use. As I walked I replayed my talk with Ran and my prolonged journey up the stairs of the Kynogin bank endlessly. The scene in the money room was still on my mind. I wasn't sure why it bothered me, but it did. It's not that Ran was a sissy; he was normally pretty direct about getting what he wanted. But there'd been something in his eyes when he was looking at Atvalid's blue hat that I didn't like at all. I'm not at all sure he hadn't enjoyed that contest, vicious though it was. And I don't know if he would have attacked the problem in the way he did, if the scene would have had the flavor I seemed to perceive in it, if he hadn't been trying so hard to be what Stereth would have been.
A spooky thought. And one that I think we will leave behind us. The never-ending Plateau sky stretched over me to the edges of the world, and the grass was tough and hunter-green in the moonlight. It would have been a good night to be alive if I didn't know all the things that I knew.
I reached the fort by dawn. I walked down the path through the valley, thinking that the place had an empty feel about it. Nobody challenged me, nobody stopped me.
I kept walking, but warily; things were different here, somehow. I was almost to the entrance of the main hall when a voice hailed me: "Tymon!"
I turned and saw Grateth appear magically from the turf. He wore his usual gray-green jacket that he was never without, and his eyes moved to take in the whole valley.
"Where is everyone?" I asked, as he approached.
"I dunno what you're surprised about," he said, in his rhythmic Sector accent. "You and Sokol slip out like ghosts, you can't expect us all to wait about to see what follows. No offense, Tymon. I see you've come back alone."
"Yes. I've lost Sokol. I need to talk to our leader about that."
"Umm. No doubt you'll get the chance. But when I said alone, I meant withou
t any militia. That's why we all cleared out, darlin'. Stereth sent me to keep watch and warn off any of the new bands reporting in."
I looked into his calm, jaded, born-for-the-military face. "I'm working at not being insulted, Grateth."
The face was transformed by a grin. "And a fine job you're doing." He pointed west, toward nothing I could see. "My mount's over that way, Tymon; come along, I'll take you to the others."
I followed him through the dirt and damp grass and came suddenly on a brown and black mount placidly munching behind one of the outbuildings. Grateth got on first, then pulled me up behind him. I put my arms around his waist, in the way I'd learned to do ages ago, when Des Helani had kidnapped us.
As we moved out, I put my face for a moment in the back of Grateth's soft, faintly smelly jacket. My voice came out muffled. "It's good to see you again, cantry tar'meth."
"And you, barbarian."
"Where are we going?"
"North. Stereth and the others are camped near Death-well Fortress."
I pulled my head back. "Grateth! I was held for a while by the Steward, and I told him the band stayed on Death-well Plain!"
"Did you?" said his voice, calm as ever. "Well, never mind, little Tymon. It's a big place, and we'll hope for the best."
* * *
He brought me to a hollow in the Plateau hills several hours north. There was no old monastery this time, not even a barn; just some lean-tos scattered around as a concession to the local weather. Deathwell Fortress loomed now and then through the mists, a distant and ominous shadow. I could see why people were nervous about the place.
It was a fairly large camp, and I saw people from Tarniss Cord's bunch carrying wood and practicing fighting in the mud along with the old band. Of course, I thought; Stereth would have told Cord to clear the fortress as well. I hope they don't all blame me for having to move out into the elements like this.
"Tymon!" yelled a pleased voice. A tall, green-eyed outlaw stood up from the group at the fire.
"Des!" I called back. I took one arm off Grateth's waist and waved from the back of the mount.
Then, "Tymon," he repeated, more sadly. He shook his head.
"Damn it, Des, don't you start with me. I've had a very bad couple of days."
My tone seemed to reassure him. "It hasn't been all chocolate and dancing girls here, you know," he said, but it was more the sort of thing he always said to me. "Stereth's unhappy," he added, in warning.
"I need to talk to him."
Grateth had halted the mount. Now he signaled for me to slide down, and Des helped me off. "Try to keep her out of trouble," Grateth told him, "while I go see what he has to say."
I said, "I want to come with you."
"Ho, ho," said Des, putting his arms around my waist and turning me so I faced the campfire. "You don't want to go in there now, Tymon. Let Des entertain you while our brother goes and smooths the way. Make sure he has no weapons nearby, Grateth. And no breakable objects."
Des was kidding, but he wasn't kidding. I decided that maybe they knew best. "All right," I agreed. "But I need to talk to him soon, Grateth. It's urgent."
"Right." Grateth touched the side of his hand to his head, as though to a superior officer, bowed and rode on.
"Real soon!" I called after him.
"What a troublemaker," said Des. "Why don't you sit down with me? Although—actually—you look kind of tired. If you want to take a nap, we can wrap you up and stow you in the back of my lean-to."
I'd missed the greater part of two nights' sleep. I did feel incredibly tired, but not sleepy at all, as though I'd been drinking tah straight through the day. "I can't. I'll need to talk to Stereth."
"One-track Tymon. I'll wake you up when he's ready to see you, but I'm telling you it won't be for a while. He's got all the section leaders in his tent, and I don't think he'll want to shoot the breeze with you until they're finished."
"Why, what's going on?"
Des was leading me over to his pile of gear, stacked by a couple of poles and a leather roof. He pushed the gear out of the way and rifled through some old, stained blankets. "I think he's arranging a simultaneous strike on a militia unit. Anyway, that's the rumor. We're all hoping it's false. —Here we are, sweetheart; nice and cozy."
He patted a mound of blankets. I found myself yawning.
"And I can't hang about too long, anyway," he went on. "There's a tah shipment coming through in a couple of hours, and I'm taking out a group to confiscate it."
"Confiscate?" I yawned.
"In the name of the people." He grinned.
"You should be in politics, Des."
"Not me, sweetheart." He helped tuck me in, then stood up to leave. I thought of something, reached out and grabbed his ankle.
"If you're going out on a run, who's going to wake me when Stereth's ready?"
He let out a dramatic sigh. "When Stereth wants to see you, you don't have to worry about who'll wake you. But I'll tell Sembet to be on the watch, all right?"
"Don't forget."
He sighed again and walked away.
It seemed to take forever to fall asleep, but I must have done it, because I kept waking and seeing the roof of the lean-to, and remembering one or another of a series of vivid dreams. I don't recall them all now, but I know in one I was in Shaskala trying to get to the execution block
with an Imperial pardon before it was too late, and obstacles kept coming up to delay me. Then I woke and saw the lean-to and thought, "Only a dream." In my relief I fell right back asleep and found myself in Shaskala again, still with the pardon in my hand. It was the scheduled time for execution and I was frantic—but I thought, there was a reason, a moment ago, why you thought there was. a solution to this. What was it? I looked at the streets, the crowds, the time—it was hopeless. What could I have been thinking?
In another, I was trapped in the Athenan embassy with Nor Atvalid. I kept claiming I was an Athenan citizen, and he kept claiming I was his son.
Sembet Triol woke me up in the middle of that one. I saw his face, his carefully maintained jacket and outer robe, the short sword he was entitled by birth to carry; and the world reoriented itself. "Gods, Sembet." I took"his hand in relief, and let him help me sit up.
"Are you all right?"
"I think so." I sat and tried to pull my thoughts together. "How long was I asleep?"
"I don't know. But Des only told me to watch you about an hour ago."
"Has he gone out?" Sembet nodded: "What about Stereth?"
"He's asked for you to come see him in about ten minutes. He's saying his good-byes now to the section leaders. You don't look in good shape, Tymon."
"It was such a real dream. Nor Atvalid was there—" I paused, remembering that Sembet probably knew a lot more about that family than I did. And thinking, too, that there was something in the back of my mind trying to find its way out. "Sembet, did you know the Atvalids used to live in Tammas District?"
He nodded. "Of course. Old Torin Atvalid was provincial governor for years and years."
The famous troubles of Tammas District. "I had the impression the people in Tammas got picked pretty clean."
"Yes, both before and after things went sour. The provincial government was thoroughly corrupt—"
I gave him a look at that.
He protested, "Everyone expects officials to take a per-
centage, but there's such a thing as going too far. There's no point in destroying the economy of people you intend living off of, is there? The rebels really had no choice, they had to fight back."
"And that's when the Emperor sent in troops?"
"He had no choice either. The Empire can hardly tolerate armed revolt, Tymon. The universe would be in chaos otherwise." There was a nobly born Ivoran speaking. As they say here at scenes of blood and destruction, it was just one of those things that happen because we are in this world.
"What about Torin Atvalid? Did he get any blame for it?"
"Well, n
ot officially. His policies certainly tipped the balance, if you ask me. And the Atvalids came away from Tammas with an exceptionally heavy House treasury."
I considered all this in the light of my chat in the Kyno-gin stairwell. "I think Nor Atvalid is trying to make up for things by reforming the Tuvin provincial government."
"It would not surprise me." He shook his head. "The curse of the Atvalids: They always go too far." He tapped me on the arm. "Ready to go? I wouldn't keep him waiting… under the circumstances, I mean."
Stereth's tent was the largest in camp, but still not all that roomy. I recognized some of the pillows and rugs that had softened the hard stone floor of the monastery fort, and a set of chipped malachite bowls. Green and black, crimson and gold; a fitting den for an outlaw chieftain.
As ever, it was Stereth himself who did not fit the bill. Des could have pulled off the role with style, and his voice would have been heard in the back rows. Stereth simply looked up from his sheaf of papers, nodded for Sembet Triol to leave, and regarded me from his careful accountant's eyes.
Knowing my manners, I waited. After a moment he said, "Grateth seems to feel that executing you would be inappropriate."
Ice, pure ice. Des and Sembet spoke with awe of Stereth's occasional flashes of temper, but if it was true I'd never seen it. Just this arctic plain, with here and there a hint of irony or fellowship. No fellowship today, though. That market was shut down.
"That's good to hear," I said quietly.
"Don't relax. I don't take orders from Grateth."
He was silent again, still measuring me, so I didn't speak either. I knew my place by the rules of Ivory; I was the supplicant in this encounter, returning to claim a relationship I'd previously spurned. Etiquette required a low profile on my part.
Cantry came in from outside then, spared me a quick glance that gave nothing away, and placed a bredesmoke pipe and bag in front of Stereth. She took the malachite bowls and set a stack of three of them within reach, along with a bottle of wine.