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  I did try.

  "Look—people don't always understand the forces they use. In fact, it's the usual pattern to use things that work before you know how they work. Maybe in another generation or two we'll know, but we don't now and we'll just have to live with it. That's what reality is about. Do you believe that only the things you personally understand can exist? Do you think if it doesn't have the seal of approval of the University council that it has to be imaginary?"

  And on and on. Not a dent, I swear to you.

  He was pretty condescending about it, too. I will spare you the details of the three solid hours I spent in room 805.

  The thing that annoyed me most about him was that he registered his disbelief in his voice every time he found an inconsistency. Since life is made up of inconsistencies, that was most of the time. Take this business of the status of women on Ivory, which we returned to not once but twice—I tried to make him see that people confound their roles all the time; that doesn't mean the roles aren't there. Kanz, he was living here now, why didn't he just go out

  and talk to people? Cashin probably went through his entire day without ever speaking to the natives on a personal basis. Surrounded himself with Athenans wherever he went—the old ambassador had been like that.

  "Take Queen Elizabeth the First," I said. It was early evening by then, and I wished the room had windows. Kylla must be getting impatient. The gray-haired man, who hadn't said a word, was close to dozing. He came a bit awake then, looking puzzled.

  "Queen Elizabeth the First?" asked Cashin.

  "Queen of an island nation on Earth at a time when female submission to the male was considered as handed down by God—who was a man. But she wasn't only head of state, she was a very popular head of state. Did I make her up?"

  Cashin cleared his throat uncomfortably. Clearly it had crossed his mind that I had.

  "To return to the issue at hand," he said (kanz, he was the one who kept changing the subject), "isn't it a bit convenient that this Ran Cormallon chose you to assist in his business? How can you be sure that he wasn't sent by the Imperial Secret Service to get close to a foreign national?"

  The thought of Ran, Kylla, or any other Cormallon letting themselves be maneuvered by the Imperial Secret Service was laughable. The Secret Service wouldn't have a chance. However, my face wasn't getting warm because of that, or because Cashin had apparently taken a course in how to insult one's allies. It was because Ran had initially offered me a job out of typical Ivoran expediency—I had no family network and could be conveniently murdered later on if I didn't work out.

  Every family has its quirks, though, and I saw no reason to share them with Thomas Cashin.

  "It's getting late," I said. "I'll be expected home for dinner—"

  "Hit a soft spot, have we?" said this annoying man. "What if the whole relationship were a setup? These locals convince you that they're sorcerers, that you're some kind of magician—"

  "I have no magical talent, sir. Nor do most people on Ivory. Even here it's comparatively rare—"

  "Then what about this whole fabrication of your being hired to read cards?"

  I bit my lip. This had all been gone into with Samuel, and a few other people, but saying it to Cashin…

  "Well?"

  "It was a special circumstance," I said finally. "I used a cursed deck of playing cards."

  He closed the folder again with a final and triumphant snap. "I think it's pretty clear, Theodora of Pyrene. You're a constitutional troublemaker. An attention-seeker. A misfit in your birthplace, you try to make up for it by stirring things up everywhere you go. Well, a professional therapist is doubtless called for—I note you did see a few of them while on Athena—but it is hardly the province of this embassy to handle that for you."

  I felt my face turning red again. Nobody likes to hear personal insults, but if this kanz knew how carefully I went through life trying not to be noticed—

  I stood up. "Good-bye, officer," I said, hoping my voice sounded steady. "Please let me know when someone takes over your job who can actually perform it." I was at the door when the gray-bearded man finally spoke.

  "Wait." I looked at him.

  "Please wait," he said. He glanced at Cashin. "Thomas, I'll see you in the conference room in ten minutes."

  Cashin hesitated. The older man said, "That will be all for now."

  Cashin got up and left his own office. Gray Beard gestured me back to the seat. "Please?" he said.

  I sat down. "I don't think we've been introduced."

  "Merril Zarmovi. Sorry I didn't mention it earlier." He was absolutely cool and comfortable in his manner. It was no problem for him to say "please" and "sorry" and probably no problem for him to say anything else he ever had to say. I should have been delighted after the session with Thomas Personality-Plus Cashin, but instead I found myself thinking: This man is dangerous.

  "You must excuse Thomas," he said. "He learned interrogation, not interviewing. It's the way they teach them nowadays. Just a fad, I'm sure; it will pass in a few years."

  That had crossed my mind; after all, the man had been so consistently argumentative. "So this is just some psych

  game you fellows like to play?" That was even more insulting in its way—there were things I was seriously trying to accomplish, and if I wanted to improvise I'd join an acting troupe.

  "Well, not entirely. Thomas was sincere, it was his manners I must apologize for. However, his views are not those of Athenan Outer Security."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that we'd like you to continue to drop by, Theodora of Pyrene. Please don't concern yourself as to how much we believe and how much we don't believe. That's not the sort of thing a person can spend time worrying over in this life. Just come by and talk. We'll serve you coffee if you like; you must miss it on this planet."

  I considered it. "I doubt if Officer Cashin wants to have coffee and cookies with me."

  He smiled. "No." He took out a thin gold rectangle with embossed lettering and handed it to me. "This is my card. Ask for me directly when you come; I'm the Undersecretary for Extraplanetary Affairs."

  I took it. "Did you know Carl Spitav?"

  "The old ambassador? I wouldn't have accepted a posting here if he were still around. He was a bit of an ass."

  I smiled and pocketed the card. "Well, I guess there's no harm in visiting."

  "No harm in the world," said the undersecretary, and he held open the door to show me out.

  Kylla had a few words to say when she came by to pick me up.

  "You missed an entire afternoon of shopping," she said.

  "You can show me everything you bought back at the house," I said. "Do you and Shez want to stay with us or at the Shikron place? Is Lysander in the capital with you?"

  "Thanks, sweetheart, I was counting on your asking. I told them to deliver my parcels to Ran's security station at your house. No, Lysander's back at the main estate—it drives him out of his mind when I take him shopping. I think that's why he gave me the extra hundred in gold, really—he told me to take a week off and get it out of my system."

  "I don't understand why you're not running the finances, Kylla. I thought that was customary in Ivoran houses."

  "The Shikrons are ass-backward that way. But I didn't put up a fuss when they told me—you know how boring it is to keep the House books, Theo."

  "I know that, all right."

  "And this way I spend more money than I ever spent when I had to be responsible. —Even you would loosen up and throw some cash around, darling, if Ran were giving you an allowance instead of the other way around."

  "That may be so," I admitted, for I felt the weight of being trusted with Cormallon's finances.

  "You better give him a temporary increase, though," she added, as our aircar neared the roof of the Cormallon house in the capital. "He'll need it to get ready for the wedding party—"

  "Kylla, please—"

  "Here we are," she said, making
a perfect landing in the empty cistern. We climbed out, our voices echoing on the walls, and took the steps to the roof entrance.

  "It's been a long day for me," I said, and it had been. A long hike in the early morning, a ride into the capital, and a long interrogation at the embassy. "Could we just have a quiet evening?"

  Her eyes went wide. "Of course, Theo." She patted my hand reassuringly. "You know we only want to please you."

  Chapter Two

  There was a message from Ran on the Net for me. His voice came on, deep and casual, as usual. "Theodora, I've got a possible client. I'll bring him to the house for you to meet at the third hour. Don't do surveillance on this one— I told him I'd give him dinner and introduce him to my wife. I'm taking it slow here, so we won't bring up business until I signal you, all right? Treat it as a social-occasion with a House ally… For the moment."

  He signed off there. I called to Kylla, who was in the next room, "Did you hear that, Ky?"

  "I heard it."

  "That's kind of unusual, isn't it? Ran doesn't socialize with clients."

  "Most of them are scum," said Kylla.

  "Well, yes. But a lot of them are socially respectable. And anyway, introducing your wife to one… that's pretty radical, isn't it? If I have to meet them, I'm usually introduced as an assistant in the business."

  "Theo," she called, "I swore I wouldn't bother you again, but is Ran saying you're his wife to make a respectable impression on this client, or, well, how far along are you on the ritual?"

  "Oh, look," I said. "There's another message." I hit the accept.

  "Greetings to the gracious lady Theodora of Pyrene. This is Vathcar Timoris, liaison to the Pyrenese trade delegation. Octavia of Pyrene has expressed an interest in meeting you during her stay on-planet. It is not our wish to intrude on the privacy of any member of the House of Cormallon, but if this is agreeable to you, please contact my office via return message. Thank you for your consideration."

  I stood there, completely disoriented. Octavia? Here on Ivory?

  A moment later I realized Kylla was standing in front of me. "Theo? What's the matter? I called and you didn't hear me."

  I focused on her face, its lines bent with concern. "Kylla!" I grinned. "I think I have a friend in town."

  You have to have bounced around from one place to another as much as I have to appreciate the feeling that sentence gave me.

  "Someone from the university on Athena?" she asked.

  "From Pyrene." I found one of the chairs that Ran had had made especially for me, and sank into it. It was a thousand times more comfortable than the usual Ivoran standard of scattered pillows on the floor.

  "Pyrene? You've never talked about Pyrene much, you know. I always had the impression that you didn't have any friends there." She paused. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  "No, it's okay, I didn't have much in the way of friends. I mean, from my earliest memories, the rest of the creche seemed to go one way, and I went another. But Octavia—"

  Octavia was a tall, blonde, plain-faced girl who liked games (which I hated) and sang in the chorus (I couldn't carry a note) and was in many ways just another member of our creche-group. But she had a soul of deviltry and wicked eyes, and— "Kylla, if you'd ever seen her swinging on the bathroom doors while imitating an ape, you'd never have forgotten it either." Octavia and I had been inseparable for about six years; I remember that when she was assigned to a different study-class than I was, people actually came up to me and offered their sympathy. It was Octavia who joined me in putting wads of wet paper in the creche study machine on that glorious night before graduation.

  Then she'd gone to another city to follow her assigned track of career internship, and I'd eventually gotten the scholarship to Athena.

  "Great gods of scholars," I said. "Octavia. Oh, Ky, I've got to call her."

  She was smiling. "Well, call away, sweetheart; it's nice to see you enthusiastic. You're always so damned controlled."

  I was already on the Net. The liaison's office was closed, but there was a standing order to put me through to the inn where the Pyrenese delegation was staying. A few minutes later I heard:

  "Octavia of Pyrene here, machinery export specialist. May I help you?"

  "Tavia? It's Teddy. I just got your message!"

  "Oh, hello, Teddy. I heard you were on Ivory." Her voice was calm.

  "Tavia, I can't get you on-screen. Don't you have your visuals open?"

  There was a pause. "I didn't think they used visuals here."

  "Well, not as a rule, but there's no law against it. No reason we can't."

  My screen shimmered and I saw Octavia, a decade older but still nine-tenths the same, still more than recognizable. I felt myself grinning.

  "Tav, you look wonderful."

  She blinked at the screen. "You've changed, Teddy. You look completely different."

  Well, I'd lost some weight, and the Ivoran clothes can be a little flashy if you're not accustomed to them. She didn't say it as though it were a compliment, though.

  "Well, the years have been eventful. I heard you got married."

  "Yes. Two kids."

  "Are they with you?" I asked, and then shut up. My reflexes were all screwed up from the time on Athena and Ivory; of course they weren't with her. They'd be in a creche. I said quickly. "We must get together. How long will you be on-planet?"

  "Six local months in the capital, and six in the provinces. I just arrived last week."

  "I can't get over it! Talk about luck, I never thought I'd see you again. What about dinner tomorrow? We can go to the Lantern Gardens and drink tah and wine until they throw us out."

  She smiled, a little amused at my enthusiasm. "Tomorrow's fine. Can I bring someone from the delegation?"

  "Well, if you want." I'd been hoping for a chance to talk

  about old times, and new ones too, I guess. Still, Kylla might want to come, and I didn't want her to feel left out.

  "I might bring someone myself. I'll see you at the third hour."

  "Off, then, Teddy."

  "Off, Tavia."

  I cut the connection. I'd ask Ran as a matter of form when he showed up, but I doubted he had any interest in meeting someone from my past. Ran's view of the world was what you might call Ran-o-centric; in spite of having stayed on Athena, I don't think he really believed that I'd had a past before I met him.

  Maybe it was a reaction to all that self-sacrifice they'd tried to instill on Pyrene, but I found his blatant ego refreshing.

  Kylla said, "Hadn't you better change, if you want to be the respectable wife by the time Ran brings this person home?"

  I looked down at the robe and wide trousers I'd hiked in this morning, sat in for the trip, and sweated into during my interrogation this afternoon. "Oops."

  Kylla grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the closet. "I'll help you get ready, and then I suppose I'd better get going myself. You know how nervous these clients can be; I don't guess he'll want a Shikron hanging around while he explains his illegal activities."

  Ky's instincts for clothing and cosmetics are impeccable. I washed up quickly and put on everything she laid out for me, and then ran down to the door while still hooking a gold hoop in one ear.

  Ran was showing his guest in. I darted a look out to the street before the door closed and saw a closed carriage pulled by two implanted driving beasts. Closed carriages are unusual in summer, when rain was rare. So this client preferred discretion, did he?

  "My wife and House associate," said Ran, as he pulled off his blue outer robe. "And my sister," he added, gesturing to Kylla. "May I present Tarkal Vellorin?"

  The client bowed. He was in late middle age, balding, strong and stocky-looking—he looked like a man whose life was just at the point where he was most in control of it. His bow was graceful, and while his head was down Kylla

  met my eyes and made a face, and I knew that she recognized him and his name wasn't Tarkal Vellorin.

 
"My sister's of the family of Shikron these days," said Ran. He smiled. "I didn't expect to see you here, Ky. Where's the most beautiful girl in all Shikron?" he asked, looking around for Shez.

  "Right here," said Kylla, as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

  "No, the other most beautiful girl."

  "Ah. She's at the house with her nurse right now—" meaning the house the Shikrons kept in the capital, a big place by the canal, "—and that's where I should be going, too. I'm in town for a week of shopping, so you'll see plenty of me yet, brother. 'Bye, Theo." And I got a peck, too.

  " 'Bye, Kylla."

  As she left I caught Tarkal Whoever Vellorin glancing in my direction. I smiled impassively. His thoughts were plain: Why had the first of Cormallon married a barbarian? I dress in the most irreproachable Ivoran clothes, but nothing can hide the fact that I tend to be the shortest and lightest skinned person in any room, and that my hair, instead of being black, is a red-brown color that always takes them by surprise. Ran and Kylla were both perfect Ivoran products: Tall, dark-eyed, vibrantly beautiful. Standing next to them, I tended to wonder what I was doing there myself.

  Fortunately Ran's tastes were exotic. One might even say perverse.

  Not that I'm complaining.

  "I've ordered supper from the Golden Oven," Ran said then. "I thought we might eat on the balcony over the courtyard. How does that sound?"

  "Excellent," I said, and took our client's outer robe like a dutiful wife, pretending not to notice the dagger in his belt, nor the more bulky lump by his lower leg. Actually I was fairly drooling by that time, as I hadn't had time for lunch.

  He must have called in his order early; the Net signaled someone at the door before we could show our guest upstairs. "We'll need a fork for the messenger," said Ran, making a quick detour through our tiny kitchen before joining me at the door. We opened it to find a boy in the livery of The Golden Oven, with a carton in his arms. A wagon

  out on the street was full of similar cartons; another boy stood guard over it.

  "Come in," said Ran.

  Tarkel Whomever was watching us, as was only normal. Ran took the buckets from the messenger's box and set them on the low table nearest the door. They both began methodically opening the containers, and delightful smells filled the room. Ran handed the fork to the messenger, who took a small bit from each bucket, put them on a plate, and ate them. Most messengers get all their meals this way; they tend to be healthy and well-fed, and only a small percentage come up unlucky.