by Doris Egan
"Then I apologize, Stereth. That was very considerate of you."
"Damned right it was." He glanced irritably around, then said, "Let's leave this pink fellow." He gestured toward the immense flower. "I don't feel I can compete with him for your attention."
We moved farther into the arboretum, settling beside one of the fountains. The entrance was exactly opposite now, half-hidden by leaves though it was, and you could just make out Sim in the distance. Splashing water backed the rest of the conversation.
Stereth said, "By the way, who's the large gentleman who takes such an interest?"
"A cousin of Ran's. Here to see the capital." Sim came stolidly forward a few meters to keep us better in view.
"Ah." Stereth smiled toward him in a friendly way. "I take it he's only interested in those parts of the capital you happen to be in." Perhaps coincidentally, Stereth placed his hands in plain sight on his knees. Then he turned to me and said, "So tell me now, old comrade. Don't make me get you drunk, like in the old days."
I was startled. "Honestly, you know as much as I do about Kade Porath—"
"Damn Kade Porath. He's a passing business matter. He lived long ago and in another country. Not even his family will miss him in six months." His glasses gleamed in the overhead light. "I want to know why you have that pinched look on your face. I don't believe it's from a case of sorcer-ous assassination."
The trouble with being on your guard all the time is that when you hear a kind voice it starts to unravel you. As you may have gathered, our relations with Stereth are complex, to say the least, but I had reason to believe he was genuinely concerned about my welfare. As concerned as he ever is about anything; he's a little bit dead in some ways. But he was always true to his troops, as long as he knew they were dependable.
"Now, you see what I mean?" I heard Stereth's voice continue. "There your expression goes, screwing itself up again."
I wasn't near tears, but I was having a hard time maintaining equilibrium. "Oh, gods," I said finally. "It's nothing important to an Ivor an."
"An Ivoran? Don't try to categorize me, Tymon, it won't work for you. Just spill it."
I took a deep breath. "Ran's upstairs trying to explain to the council why we don't have any children yet."
He blinked. This was obviously nothing he'd expected to hear. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You're barren, is that it? Tymon, there are ways around this, in terms of House heirs. You can—"
"No, no, no. That is, I may be, with Ran, but we don't know yet. Look, it's a complicated issue, but the thing that really bothers me is that I'm scared of getting pregnant." A sudden thought hit me. "Cantry!"
"What does my wife have to do with this?"
"She's part-barbarian, isn't she?"
"Actually, she's fult-barbarian. Both her parents were Tellysian."
I was crestfallen. "So we still don't know. But wait a minute, Stereth, what about your kids?"
I saw a surprised look come into his eyes. Stereth had had a child, but that was a long time ago, by subjective reckoning; it was dead now. I said, quickly, "I mean, what if Cantry gets pregnant?"
Anyone else would have been annoyed with me by now, but Stereth is incapable of annoyance when he's after something he wants. Even if it's only a whim to find out what's bothering his old companion of the road. He said, mildly, "That's not an issue with us. My wife can't have children."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's a long story, Tymon. And isn't it time now to tell me why you're so interested?"
I started to explain the species problem to him, and he held up a hand.
"I see." He thought. "You took a chance when you decided to marry into an Ivoran house, didn't you."
"We both took a chance. But I keep having this feeling— I don't know what it is, I'm not usually that intuitive—that if I try to have Ran's child, I'll die doing it."
Intuitions like this are not dismissed on Ivory, even by my gangster friend Stereth. He sat there thoughtfully, laying his chin on one fist. "This is serious," he said finally. "What does the council say?"
"Oh, gods, I don't want to tell the council! They'll make him marry somebody else!"
Why could I tell all this to Stereth, when it was so hard to say to Ran?
Stereth lifted his chin. "Ran doesn't respect your feelings in this?"
"I haven't told him."
He shook his head. "Tymon, tymon."
"You know how he is about duty; I don't want him to think I'm a coward."
He chuckled. "Given your past history, I really don't think that's something you have to worry about."
"This is different. This is… more personal, more… immediate. Stereth, a few days ago in Trade Square somebody tried to knife me. I was closer to death, in terms of seconds, than I've ever been in my life, and that includes the Sector. It threw me."
"Normal, Tymon."
"It wouldn't have thrown you."
"I'm not normal." We both knew this to be true.
I said, "I don't know… I feel as though I came too close to the other side of the mirror. Maybe I'm being oversensitive to think Ran would lose respect for me, but I'm not exactly filled with respect myself."
"You're dwelling too much on a simple physical reaction. The body wants to live. You can't help feeling it."
"So it might just be a simple case of the jitters? I've been hoping that's all it is."
"Take advice from your Uncle Stereth, sweetheart. Tell Ran about your doubts. Get drunk if you have to. Gods, he's a sorcerer; he ought to have a better idea of what's good intuition and what isn't. Why struggle along by yourself, when expert knowledge is available?"
I was quiet, and Stereth let me be for a minute. Then I said, "You know, I'm not usually the sort who gets agonizingly introspective. I guess I expect to screw up my own life to some extent, but in cases like this, where the consequences go beyond myself—it's like I'm letting the team down. That's why I hate responsibility."
I thought he'd have something to say to that, but he didn't. I found myself going on. "And what if I don't die? What if I produce some kind of monster? Or a baby that'll suffer for the rest of his life because I decided to take a chance? Do you know, when I learned to pilot an aircar, I found I could go ahead with the thought of crashing and dying, but the idea of crashing into somebody else and killing them totally paralyzed me?"
I was coming up with thoughts I hadn't fully acknowledged until now. "You're very good at this, you know?" I said, with a trace of anger.
"You're only telling me all this because you really want to tell Ran," he said mildly. "Don't blame me for it. And please don't look upset with me, or the large fellow over there will come over to see what I've done to you."
I said suddenly, "Gods, I hate the idea of every Cormal-lon on the planet pinning their hopes on me!"
For some reason this made him smile. Having said all he was going to say, Stereth sat there with me by the fountain, holding my hand. We must have sat for a good quarter of an hour, at least, following our own trains of thought, when he remarked out of nowhere, "The other side of the mirror… There's a saying in the empire; 'Sons and daughters are what we have instead of cemeteries.' The continuation of the House, affirmation of life, that kind of thing. You know, having kids could be the best thing for you; it's easier to be brave on someone else's behalf than on your own." He smiled. "Or so I've heard. We can't go by my reactions; they're too idiosyncratic."
"Huh. That's certainly the truth." I turned to him. "Stereth, what's all this business about the Tellysian embassy? Why are you building connections there? Loan-sharking to the ambassadorial staff will only get you in trouble."
He smiled, pulled off his glasses, and polished them again. Then he put them on.
I said, "And what's all this about the Tolla? Did you know they were involved?"
He got up, leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek. "The Tolla," he said, "are a figment of the imagination of barbarian newscasters." Then he bowed li
ke a gentleman— the first time he'd ever taken leave of me in such a fashion—and turned and walked the length of the arboretum out to the main lobby.
I spent the day in the park—Sim trailed me at a discreet distance, and I did not invite him closer because I wanted to think—and returned to the arboretum in late afternoon. I left a message at the lobby desk to have Ran paged when he came down, and that's where he found me, by the fountain. "You waited here all day?" he asked. He sat down beside me on the bench where Stereth had sat.
"No, I was up the street in the park most of the time." Walking about the fine grounds and considering those topics a virtuous Ivoran woman ought to think about: Murder, loansharking, outplanet terrorism, and whether to have children. "You don't look happy."
"No," he agreed. He took a breath. "They insisted on discussing our marriage. I told them the implant story, but they said there was no harm in having a backup plan ready. One of my cousins pulled out an unofficial list of junior wives."
Well, I couldn't complain that he wasn't telling me everything. "What did you do?"
"There's a breakfast meeting tomorrow before we break up. I said I'd discuss my position then."
I'd done a lot of thinking in the park. "Here's what I want you to do. When you see them tomorrow, tell them that your wife says any further action is unnecessary. Tell them we'll have a child by next year's meeting."
He looked at me.
I said, "Tell them if I don't know, who does?"
Chapter 13
I dreamed of tombs again that night.
In the morning I slept late and heavily, and woke up disoriented. Ran had already left for the breakfast meeting, so I got up, pulled on a nightrobe and puttered around getting some fruit and a roll. Usually I wash up and dress right away, to get the morning routine over with, but today I gave myself a little slack, as though I already felt like an invalid.
At my suggestion, Sim had gone along with Ran to the Taka Building. I'd told them last night that I'd be home all morning, with no need for a bodyguard, and why waste his cousin's talents? I hoped Sim would hulk discreetly.
I brought my cup of tah over to the Net link and asked for messages. Stereth's old message still lay there with its privacy code intact, unread, like something dead. A message from Kylla saying to call her. And a message from Loden Broca Mercia.
Loden Broca Mercia? I wouldn't have thought he even had a Net code. I read:
Gracious lady:
Your kindness was much appreciated. Something has happened that forces me to beg your help again, much as I would wish not to. Please come to my room as soon as possible. This is an emergency. I need to see you right away. Every minute counts.
Loden Broca
Heavens! It was timed as half an hour ago. Barbarian that I am, a direct appeal for help seemed to me to call for an answer, and I couldn't say that the message hadn't hit a desperate note. Clearly some action needed to be taken immediately. My imagination started to race. What the hell was going on at Loden Broca's? In my mind's eye I saw men trying to break down his door while he cowered inside… in which case, how had he gotten to a Net terminal? All right, scratch that vision.
But damn it, what was I supposed to do about his problem? Surely I'd been through enough lately. Suddenly I recalled my embarrassing flight through the house the other night, pursued by Cousin Sim… Two days later, alone by the Net link, I felt my face get warm. I had not, perhaps, been comporting myself at my best these past few days.
I abandoned the remains of my breakfast, splashed water on my face, and pulled on my clothes. Enough of the invalid life.
Now… should I call Ran before I go? I really didn't want to interrupt his breakfast meeting when he was busy bringing the council around to where I wanted them to be. I penned a brief note saying where I was going and hurried to the door. Then I paused. All right, you don't want to act like a coward, but there's no need to act like a fool, either, is there? I went back to the trapdoor in the closet by the stairway, opened it, and took out one of the pistols and a new charge. Then I wrapped a green silk scarf around my head, tucking up my red-brown hair, and set a sun hat over it. The picture of Ivoran normalcy, if a little on the small side. The bulge under my robe would not be seen as unusual by anybody.
I arrived at Loden's inn sweaty and breathless, about twenty minutes later. There was no one out front. I slowed down, checking the doorway and the nearby buildings. Paranoia is always helpful. Maybe I shouldn't have come, it wasn't really my business what trouble Loden got into… but the man did appeal for help.
It was daytime, so the main door was unbolted. I was wondering whether to just cross he street and try pulling on the handle when it burst open in front of me. Loden appeared, hauling a dirty mattress. As he pulled it down the steps a skinny, gray-haired man strode up and stood in the doorway behind him. "And don't leave your kanz on my steps," he yelled. "Put it in the road! And you've got one more trip, and I lock the door behind you!"
I took my hand off the tip of the pistol, where it had apparently gone without my command. The gray-haired man slammed the door. Loden wrestled the mattress down to the edge of the road. He didn't appear to see me.
I walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped slightly. "Gracious lady!" he exclaimed. "Thank you for coming—"
"That was your landlord, wasn't it," I said.
"Uh, yes. He seems to have gotten himself excited—I didn't do anything—"
"You had me run over here because you're being evicted."
"He's throwing me out on the street! I have nowhere to go—"
I turned and started walking away. He ran after me. "Wait! Wait, noble lady, please—you haven't heard the whole story. Just give me a few seconds—you're here anyway."
I stopped and waited. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Look, it's more serious than you think. I'm suspended without pay from the Mercia Agency. Len's throwing me out here because I'm a couple of weeks late. I'm not on the job any more, so I don't have guards around me; I'm not even behind shelter at night. You're the one who told me my life was in danger! What am I supposed to do?"
He did have a point. The odds on his getting killed had gone way up. "Looks like it's time for you to leave town," I said.
"But if I do that, they'll never take me back into the Mercians. It's the only thing I'm trained for. And I owe them the rest of my journeyman duty."
I sighed. He did seem to be painted into a corner. "I don't see what you think I can do."
"I don't know either, but… isn't there something?"
Suddenly Loden seemed very young. In standard reckoning, he must have been less than twenty—inexperienced, from the provinces… and a trouble-seeking idiot. Ran would never agree to take this kid in, and I didn't blame him. Where else could we tuck him away? Kylla's? I'd never saddle her with this. "I suppose I could lend you some money for an inn," I said reluctantly, knowing the House of Cormallon would never see that money again.
He pursed his lips. "Uh… if there's any other way… there's no security in an inn, gracious lady. Not from somebody who really wants to get you. I haven't been able to sleep a full night here since you warned me."
"Well, what is it you want?"
"I don't know."
We stood there on the edge of the dusty street. I said, "All right, what's left in your room?"
"Clothes," he said eagerly. "Robes and uniforms, boots and sandals."
"Get what you can carry into a sack. Don't get a second sack for me—I'm not carrying anything." I glanced at the dirty mattress suspiciously—heaven knew what was living in it—and said, "and throw that thing away."
He dropped it at once into the street and went back indoors.
As it turned out, when he took a long time upstairs, I went up and helped him go through his possessions. And I did end up carrying a sack, of course. You probably suspected I would.
We marched through the streets with our respective loads, and I thought, What a sucker
you are, Theodora.
I had him drop off the two sacks at a street laundry, which I paid for. Then I led him to the road outside our house. He put his foot onto one of the four concrete steps that lead to our front door, and I said, "Wait a minute, sonny."
Sonny? Where had that come from? Suddenly I felt like a grandmother. He stood down again and waited.
I said, "I'm not bringing a stranger onto the territory of my husband's House. I don't know you, and you haven't impressed me with your reliability." A trifle harsh, but my real opinion of him was that the only reason I absolved him from suspicion in Kade's murder was because he struck me as having no ability whatsoever to plan ahead. Granted that Ran felt the murder was poorly executed, if Loden had been involved I strongly doubted it would have come off at all. On grounds of incompetence alone, it was far more likely he was just what he seemed—a person in deep trouble.
I circled around to the back of our steps, by the wall,
and tapped a square durasteel plate about a meter and a half high. "This is our security station for receiving parcels. Nobody can see inside, and its walls are six centimeters thick, pure weapon-proof material. It's ventilated, because in olden times a Cormallon retainer used to sit in there to receive and open the mail." I grinned suddenly. "A very brave retainer, I assume. Anyway, there's room to sit up or lie down in it, and we can give you a slops bucket for your personal needs. That's no worse than some inns. It's a safe enough place to sleep."
I looked at him. "Or if you feel it offends your dignity, I can lend you that money for another inn."
He said at once, "No, this will be fine." Then he hesitated. "You are serious, right?"
"Look, I went to your place today to risk my life for you, and I'll do what I can for you otherwise, but I'm not bringing you on Cormallon territory. So make up your mind—"
"No, no—I didn't mean—I'll be happy to stay here. Just till I figure out what to do next."
Yeah, the Emperor will step down from the throne and start sailing paper boats in the park before you come to any intelligent decision. —Nasty, Theodora. Be fair. The boy is under a lot of pressure.