The Complete Ivory

by Doris Egan

Loden was fortunate in his choice of inn. It was the kind of housekeeping that asked for vermin, but there didn't seem to be any at the moment. I watched Ran to see where he was going to sit, but like me he apparently decided standing was the better part of valor. "Sir Broca Mercia," he began.

  Loden made a sound like an unhappy laugh. "Maybe not Mercia for much longer," he said.

  "Oh?" asked Ran, derailed from his path.

  Loden sat down on the bed. "My supervisor isn't pleased with me. He isn't pleased with any of us who were there when Kade Porath died, but he's particularly not pleased with me. I wish you hadn't come to the agency, gracious sir. People get the idea that you wouldn't have paid so much attention to me unless I were involved in some way."

  I said, "We think you are involved."

  He glanced up at me. "I swear, I didn't even know Kade Porath that well—"

  "No, you misunderstand. We think you might have been the intended target."

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, but nothing came out. Apparently the idea was so new he needed time to comprehend it. Then he said, "I think you must be mistaken—"

  "Possibly," said Ran, "but listen to our evidence." He told Loden Broca the story of his ring. "Clearly it was the focus for the murder," he finished. "And you've already told us nobody knew you were going to give it to Kade."

  You could practically see an invisible iron anvil settling on Loden's shoulders.

  I said, "Have there been any other attempts on your life?"

  He made some fishlike motions with his lips, then said, "No. And they know where to find me, it's no secret I live here… although I… generally don't answer the door. I like privacy."

  The grave's a fine and private place, said the scholar's voice in my head. I didn't have a lot of respect for Loden Broca as a human being, but suddenly I felt sorry for him. His life, such as it was, was rapidly going down the chute. Maybe he was a bad gambler and hung out in tith-parlors, but did that mean he deserved to die? This dingy room was the best he'd done for himself, and now he was going to lose that, and possibly his job, and possibly a lot more.

  Once I'd lived in a cheap inn, and gone hungry when I couldn't work.

  I gave Ran a look which he met with alarm. "We've done what we can," he said quickly, walking toward the door. "We felt we should warn you. Come along, Theodora, we've got a lot to do."

  "Wait a minute," I said, irritated. I groped for the moneypouch on the belt beneath my outerrobe, and pulled out two ten-tabal coins by feel. I stepped over to the bed and said, "Here." Loden put out a hand, still looking rather blank, and I dropped them into it. "Maybe you should leave the capital for a while. Do the Mercians have any branches elsewhere?"

  "In Timial," said Loden. "But my supervisor would be more suspicious than ever if I asked for a transfer."

  "Theodora," said Ran, from the doorway, with a trace of grimness.

  "All right, all right," I muttered, and joined him.

  "Best of luck, sir Broca Mercia," said Ran politely.

  Loden nodded, sitting in the dark, that blank look still on his face. We left him there.

  That night I woke up a few hours before dawn, and decided to go downstairs to get a drink of water. I stumbled down, half-awake, got the drink, and was making my way along the hall to the stairs to go back up, when I saw a shape in the dimness by the front door that shouldn't have been there. A large, bulky shape. A man-sized shape, lying on the floor.

  My heart started going like a power drill. How could someone possibly have gotten in? Ran had the house spell-protected. Not that they couldn't get past that if they wanted to, but only a fool would deliberately bring down a curse on his head. Not to mention there were the locks and bolts to contend with. But there he was. My brain tried to figure out some other shape that could legitimately be hulking there in the darkness, but nothing came to mind. What the hell was he doing on the floor? Did he break in, get tired, and take a nap? Nerves of steel; or just stupid? Gods, what if this was another corpse? Which would suggest somebody else was likely in the house at this very moment…

  These thoughts stampeded through my head, one after the other, like a crowd that's just heard "Fire!" It was only about three seconds since I'd first seen his shape there in the shadows. It was too dark to make out his face; were his eyes open or closed? Well, we were going to have to assume they were closed because otherwise we were in the deep kanz. I kept moving forward, very gently, till I reached the stairs. Then I started backward up the first couple of steps.

  The shape heaved itself up, shoving my heartrate into the stratosphere. I'd half-convinced myself he was dead. I flew up the stairs yelling, "RAN!"

  With a yell like that and let me tell you, I put my heart and soul into it—you'd think he'd get the pistol from its compartment in the headboard before he did anything else. And you'd be right.

  In nonemergencies he's hard to get up, but he was already standing in the doorway to the bedroom, armed, by the time I got there. "There's somebody here," I panted.

  Probably right behind me, in fact. I threw a look over my shoulder, saw a moving shape on the stairs, ducked past Ran and went for the knife hanging from yesterday's belt on the corner of the bed. Then I turned around.

  Lights snapped on. We all blinked. Ran said, "Sim? There's not anybody else here, is there?"

  A rumbly voice said, "No, none I saw. I think I startled the lady."

  I'd reached the doorway. At the end of the hall, looking slightly embarrassed, was a man of about forty, wearing a conservative street tunic with a nightrobe over it. There was a holster showing beneath the nightrobe, but his hands were empty. I looked at him, then back at my husband. I said, "Ran?"

  He turned and laid the pistol on the sleeping platform. He said, "Theodora, this is my cousin Sim, from Mira-Stoden."-

  One of Ran's innumerable cousins? I decided it would be better for my marriage if I put down my knife also. I opened my mouth to say something telling to Ran, then closed it and turned to Sim. "Honored by this meeting." I turned back to Ran. "What's he doing here in the middle of the night?"

  "You went to sleep early," said Ran. "He got in after you went to bed. I was going to tell you in the morning— I didn't know you'd go downstairs. Or if you did, I thought I'd wake up when you left the bed."

  "I don't know why. You never wake up when I leave the bed. I do it every night."

  "You do?—Anyway, breakfast would have been plenty of time to reintroduce you properly."

  "i?e-introduce?"

  "You must remember Sim. He was at our wedding party."

  "Everyone in the known universe was at our wedding party." I glanced toward Sim, who looked silently uncomfortable. "Hello, Sim. Sorry if I startled you."

  "Quite all right, lady Theodora. Sorry I gave you such a shock."

  Fortunately he was too embarrassed by the whole incident to call attention to himself by opening up the long exchange of complimentary apologies we might have gotten trapped in. "Please drop the 'lady,' since we're definitely introduced. Ah, may I ask why you were lying by the door? It seems an eccentric place to choose to sleep. Not that you aren't welcome to bed down anywhere you like, of course."

  I felt Ran's fingers on my arm as he stepped in to relieve Sim of further explanation. "It's the traditional place for bodyguards to sleep, Theodora. I asked Sim to come stay with us for a while. After what happened in Trade Square, it seemed prudent. My cousin's worked in security before."

  "I… see." I scanned Ran's face, which as usual was giving little away. "You left me with the impression that you didn't consider us as still in danger. Now that the case is closed."

  "It's possible that not everyone has heard yet that the case is closed. You know I like to be careful, Theodora."

  "Yes, I do know that." I paused. "Will Sim be accompanying you to the council meetings? It'll cause a little talk, won't it?"

  "Well, actually I thought that when I went to the meetings he'd stay with you."

 
"I see," I said again.

  "I thought it might give you more sense of security," he added.

  I felt my chest, which was thumping the exhausted rhythm of a mount that's been ridden hard for the day and needs wiping down. "You thought it would give me a sense of security." I walked past Ran and back into the bedroom, tapping the back of his hand where it rested on the doorway. "We'll discuss that further in the morning." I pulled open the coverlet and slid into bed.

  I heard Ran's voice say, "I guess we'll see you at breakfast, Sim."

  "Sorry about the excitement," came the reply.

  "It's all right."

  "Say, do you folks have tri-grain in the larder? I always have that for breakfast."

  "I wouldn't worry about that right now, Sim."

  I heard steps going down the stairs, and pulled the coverlet over my head. "Gods of fools and scholars."

  "Did you say something?" asked Ran.

  "I said good night."

  * * *

  So four days later I was sitting in the arboretum of the Taka Hospitality Building, just down the river from the Imperial Park, with a hulking shadow named Sim waiting by the entrance. The Taka had gone up a mere ten years ago, a durasteel tower with weapon-proof glass and endless suites of rooms, providing conference facilities for all persuasions—polished mahogany tables, seating twenty at a time, with full Net facilities, for the more democratic meetings; polished marble bowls with a raised podium in the center for more arena-like get-togethers; polished stone group baths, with or without pleasant Taka personnel to scrub your back while you discuss business. There were also group beds, for when the intellectual and physical aspects of discussion became blurrily entwined. I know all this because they had a brochure in the lobby.

  I was not, you see, invited to the Cormallon council meeting, taking place at that moment on the twenty-first floor. (In a room with a table, Ran assured me.) This was a branch-heads-only meeting. I had been invited to the financial controllers' conference, that takes place in the spring; since women traditionally handle the budget, that one is heavily female. Supposedly the branch heads meeting is more policy-oriented, although as Ran pointed out, nothing can really be settled in a day. But just in case anyone was tempted to make any promises he couldn't keep, each delegate would have been primed by his sister, wife, or mother before coming, as to what he could give away and what he couldn't.

  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 kno
w, 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."