“I wouldn’t know about that,” said the elder Montray with unexpected humility. “Languages aren’t my strong point; that’s why I miss Magda; she was my best interpreter. Wasted, of course, as an interpreter; she was the best undercover agent we had. But you think he could, eventually, pass?”
Alessandro Li was trying to meet her eyes; Jaelle colored and dropped her own. There was no way he could know—yet—that this was rude in their society, but Monty spoke up.
“To start with, Sandro,” he said, “you don’t try to make eye contact with a strange woman, not here in the Domains, unless you think she’s a prostitute trying to pick you up. If Jaelle’s husband were here, he could call challenge on you for looking at her like that. Call it your first lesson in cross-cultural courtesy here on Darkover.”
“Oh, right,” the man said promptly, and dropped his eyes. “No offense meant, miss—excuse me—mestra, is that right?”
“None taken,” she said just as promptly, “but this is the kind of thing I mean. Piedro could help him more than I, of course. And it wouldn’t be easy. It would be simpler to prepare—” she gestured toward Monty, who laughed and said, “I’d like to work in the field, of course. But as for sending Sandro out in the field—well, it seems to me that it would make more sense to let the actual fieldwork be done by our trained operatives, the ones who can go out and never be spotted as Terran because in everything that counts they are Darkovan; Haldane, Lorne—Cargill, Kadarin, even myself. Then we could report to Sandro and he could make his final decision from that.”
Russell Montray leaned his chin on his hands and thought about that for a moment. Finally he said, “There’s only one problem with that. Haldane, Lorne, Kadarin—the ones who can really pass in the field—they are Darkovan, for all intents and purposes. Yes, they’ve taken a Service oath, and I’m not questioning their loyalty, but it’s natural that they’d think in terms of what’s best for Darkover, not necessarily what’s best for us. No offense meant, Jaelle—” he mispronounced her name, but at least he wasn’t calling her Mrs. Haldane and she could tell that he meant to be friendly—“but Haldane married Darkovan—and now Magda has pledged to spend half a year in that Free Amazon women’s commune or whatever it is. And we don’t want the decisions made by someone who’s gone native on us; the investigation must be supervised by an objective observer, not prejudiced in favor of the Darkovan view of everything. Do you understand?”
Jaelle stared out the huge window that overlooked the spaceport. One of the Big Ships was there, a ground crew crawling over it, servicing the spaceborne monster which had come here, not because it cared to come to Cottman Four, Darkover, but simply because Darkover was a convenient way station on the way to somewhere else. The quick retort on her tongue, that Sandro Li would be equally prejudiced in favor of the Empire’s view, would not mean anything to Russell Montray.
From this height, the service crew around the ship looked tiny as so many scorpion-ants. No wonder this was why the elder Montray thought of the Darkovan view as something distant, irrelevant. He did not know Darkovans personally, he did not wish to know them, they were something other than human, forever set apart. What was it Bethany had said? The filthiest insult, in Empire language, was to call someone half-human.
“I am going to assign you to Sandra Li, to work with him, to be personally responsible for him,” he said. “It’s your job to work with him on languages, to get him ready for fieldwork, and I’ll hold you responsible if anything happens to him.”
He had used the words, personally responsible, which would have made it a matter of honor and pride to defend him to the death. For a moment Jaelle’s hand, automatically, sought for a knife that was not hanging at her belt; the gesture, arrested, made her feel foolish. She said in a low voice, “On my honor by my oath, I will hold myself responsible for him.”
But Monty had seen the gesture. He said, “We’re not asking you to be his bodyguard, Jaelle. You weren’t hired as a knife fighter. What my father means is—you’re to accompany him if he goes off base, make certain he doesn’t get into any avoidable trouble, avoid any incidents; train him to get along in the Trade City without getting himself into trouble. Understand?”
She nodded. “First of all,” she said, “you must have a Darkovan name. Alessandro is near enough to a name used in the Kilghard Hills, but no one would call a man Sandro’, it is too much like that of Zandru. Zandru is Lord of Choices, good or evil, and of the Nine Hells.”
“Equivalent of the devil,” Monty put in, and Alessandro Li raised his bushy eyebrows. “What would a child named Alessandro be called, then?”
“Probably—Aleki,” Jaelle hazarded, and he pronounced it after her, stumbling. “Ah—lee—kye, is that right?”
She nodded. “And he should—” she hesitated, but these Terranan would not know the difference, and why should she hesitate? “Monty, get him to a barber; a Darkovan-trained one. And get rid of that moustache, first thing. Piedro can help to find him proper clothes.”
Alessandro Li—Aleki, she reminded herself—gently touched the maligned moustache; a little regretfully, she thought. “So begins my transformation into a Darkovan,” he said, at last, with a shrug. “All in the day’s work, I suppose. Where do I find a barber, Monty?”
The transformation was remarkable; Jaelle had not thought it could make so much difference. His face was transformed entirely by the absence of the moustache which had been its strongest feature, and the barber had trimmed the eyebrows, too, giving the whole countenance an entirely different look. Jaelle was curious about the barber who could effect this kind of change—what did he think? Had she supervised a change which would enable this man to spy on her people?
Who are my people? And why? I have never belonged in the Domains, any more than I belonged, as a child, in the Dry Towns. I have never belonged anywhere except among my sisters in the Guild House, and now I have forsworn that… and she broke off, shocked at herself. She had not forsworn anything. It was her right to take a freemate, as she chose, and to accept any lawful employment. She was building a bridge between two worlds, as her friend and sister Magda was doing, as her beloved Piedro was trying to do. Why must the interests of Terran and Darkovan conflict? Could they not be working at what was best for both?
Aleki was looking at her, awaiting her approval. He had been dressed in the fur-and-leather clothing which any sensible man, traveling in the Venza mountains near Thendara, would wear, and the Terran sandals had been replaced by thick boots.
“No one would think you Terran,” she said, and then, confronted with an apparently Darkovan man, was conscious of the immodestly revealing Terran uniform. That was the difference; he took it for granted, a Darkovan would not. To cover her confusion she said quickly, “You don’t smell right; Piedro— Peter would be able to advise you about that better than I.”
“Haldane? I am eager to meet him,” Aleki said. “I know of his work; wasn’t he the first Terran to travel to the seacoast, Temora and Dalereuth? Or was that Magda?”
“They were married at that time,” Jaelle said, “I believe they share the work and the credit. And if you wish to meet Piedro, nothing is easier, will you join us at dinner?”
“A pleasure; would you object if Monty joined us too?”
“Not at all.” Actually, Jaelle was relieved, Monty’s presence made the whole affair simply the business of Intelligence.
Peter was waiting for them inside the entrance to the main cafeteria; he recognized Monty at once, and the two men shook hands. Monty introduced Alessandro Li, repeating also the Darkovan name Aleki which he had been given.
“A pleasure, Haldane. I know your work. I had hoped to meet Magda as well,” Aleki said.
“Well, that could be arranged; she is still in Thendara,” Peter said. “Are men allowed to visit the Guild House, Jaelle?”
“Of course; though they are not allowed to go beyond the Strangers Room,” Jaelle said, and she could see Aleki filing away this informa
tion in his mind.
“I’ll find us a table where we can talk,” Aleki said, moving away, as Peter and Monty went with Jaelle toward the food console dispensers.
Behind them someone said, low but clearly audible, “That’s Haldane’s girl, he picked her up in Thendara. She’s gorgeous, at least now he’s got her in civilized clothes. Back in the mountains, I hear, they still wear animal skins. What legs! Lucky man—I’ve heard all kinds of stories about Darkovan marriage—”
“I heard a girl and all her sisters share the man,” said another voice, “Reckon this one has any sisters? Or maybe Haldane’s into—”
At the first syllable Peter had stiffened, going silent, and now, as the words trailed off into obscene speculation, he whirled, grabbing the man by his shirt front.
“Watch your filthy tongue, you bastard,” he growled. But Jaelle, adrenalin spurting inside her brain, pushed Peter angrily away.
“This is my fight!” She gave Peter another hard shove, so that he reeled and half fell into Monty’s arms, then, her hands stiffening into weapons, caught the man across the throat; he fell as if he had been struck with a hammer. A deftly aimed kick stretched the first speaker, moaning and clutching himself, on the floor. Jaelle, her mouth trembling, and her breath coming in little catching half-sobs, turned back to Peter.
Then black-uniformed Spaceforce guards were there, dragging them apart; Jaelle tightened, but the man only pushed her away, almost respectfully, with his arm; Peter put his arm around her, but she straightened, resentfully. The words of the oath… defend myself by force if I am attacked… turn to no man as of right for protection were beating in her pulse like little hammers inside her head.
The Spaceforce man said mildly, “Disturbing the peace in a public place; shall I give each of you a citation? Can’t you go work out in the gymnasium? The cafeteria isn’t the spot for martial arts.”
Peter snarled, “The filthy bastards were running off at the mouth about my wife!”
“Hard words break no bones,” said the Spaceforce man. “Anyhow, it looks as if the lady can take care of herself.” His eyes rested a moment on Jaelle, and she could almost hear his thoughts, but all he said was “I don’t know what Darkovan customs are, ma’am, and I don’t want to know, but our customs here include, no brawling in public places. You’re a stranger, so I won’t cite you this time, but no more fighting in here, all right? Haldane, you ought to teach your lady to behave herself in public.” He turned away; his partner picked up the man Jaelle had slammed to the ground, who was shaking his head and ruefully fingering his throat. The other was still moaning; he grabbed the offered arm of the Spaceforce man and said, “Can you help me up to Medic?” He groaned again, staggering as he walked. The first man, with the bruised throat, gulped again and came toward Jaelle; she tensed, but he only husked, “Serves me right; me and my big mouth. I got to hand it to you, lady, you fight like a man,” and went to his own table.
Aleki beckoned to them from a table for four in the corner. Peter nodded and went toward the food line. Jaelle was shaking, now that the crisis was over. She chose the first foods she came to, at random, and went back to the table, but when she put a forkful into her mouth she could not swallow.
“I have heard that the Renunciates were fighting women,” Aleki said quietly. “Are you trained with a sword as well?”
She said, and knew her voice was small and shaking, “I can handle a knife. I—” her throat closed.; she touched the healed scar on her cheek. She was still pulsing with fury.
Animal skins! When one of the prized trade items was the luxurious marl-fur from the Hellers, when the supple tanned and dyed leathers from the Kilghard Hills brought almost their weight in copper!
Monty said, “I have seen fighting like that in the Intelligence School; women as well as men are trained to defend themselves. But I had not expected to find it on Darkover—”
“No, most women are trained only to turn to the nearest male for protection!” Jaelle heard the note of contempt in her voice only after she had spoken, and saw the hurt reflected in Peter’s face. He said, sliding into his seat, “They were insulting me, not you, Jaelle. Didn’t it ever occur to you that I was the one being insulted?”
“On my behalf,” she said stiffly.
“All that happened was, you made it worse,” he said, setting his chin in the sulky line she dreaded. “Did you hear those men—teach your lady to behave in public? That’s what you’ve got to do, Jaelle—learn how to behave in public! I don’t care what you do or say when we’re alone, but in public it reflects on me if you behave as if you were just out of some wild village in the Hellers!”
“Reflects on you—” she broke off. He sounded, it occurred to her, rather as Dom Gabriel had sounded when he spoke of the Free Amazons; as if it insulted the men of her family that a woman should learn to defend herself, rather than relying on her menfolk.
He was brought up as a Darkovan, she thought. I thought, as a Terran, he would understand; Terran women are more independent… and with a queer little sickening lurch inside her, Jaelle thought of what Cholayna had said that day; that the personality was formed by the age of seven and could not be much changed thereafter.
Had she been so swift to fight—when, actually, it was Peter being insulted—because she could not bear the thought that perhaps, within herself, there was a woman of the Dry Towns who wished to be chained, as symbol that she was lawfully the property of some man? Had she lashed out with her fists to silence that voice, not the casual obscenities of the two men? Was Peter, inside himself, a man of the Hellers who felt his wife should turn to him in all ways for protection and care? Could either of them ever escape the doom of their upbringing?
Of course we can, she told herself angrily. Otherwise no woman could ever become a Renunciate; and the Renunciates are all women who have renounced their birthright and overcome the chains put on them in childhood by their upbringing. I too shall overcome…
Several of Peter’s friends, who had seen the controversy, made a point of coming over to say something friendly. Evidently the men who had made the rude remarks were not generally liked, and though not many people had heard what remarks started the fight, they disapproved on principle of that kind of rudeness. They lingered on in the cafeteria, drinking and eating and talking, until it took on some of the characteristics of an impromptu party, and finally the kitchen staff had to turn them all out.
But outside, Jaelle turned away invitations to come up to various rooms in quarters and continue the partying. She felt exhausted. She had intended to see the Medic that day, but she had not done so. Peter was still silent and sullen, and she dreaded the reproach that would come into his eyes when they were alone. Had she truly wounded his pride so much?
And should it matter to her—as an Amazon—if she had?
She turned to him as soon as they were alone. “I am sorry—” she said, but he was already speaking. “Jaelle, I didn’t mean to be so—” and as they heard each other, they laughed and fell into one another’s arms.
“You’re wonderful,” he whispered. “I love you so much! I know how hard this is for you—” and again, reassured, she felt that she was sheltering in his love, that it was a rock to cling to in this strange and alien place.
But that night, after they had made love till they were exhausted, and she had fallen asleep in his arms, she roused up shrieking from a dream in which her half-forgotten father, Jalak of the Great House in Shainsa, came with chains for her hands, saying she was far past the age where she should have been wearing them, and when she begged Peter to help her, he stood back and held her while the bracelets were slipped lovingly over her wrists.
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
« ^ »
Magda sat at supper in the dining hall of Thendara Guild House, looking back over her fourth full day as a Renunciate. The first day they had asked her to stay with Keitha, who was feverish and ill from the aftermath of the beating she had received; t
he next day she had been set to help Irmelin in the kitchen. She had been incredibly clumsy about sweeping, and peeling vegetables for supper, but Irmelin had merely made a few grumpy remarks about fine ladies who didn’t ever get their hands dirty. She had been gentle and good-natured about showing her how to wield the ungainly mops and brooms, and to slice vegetables without cutting herself. She found herself helplessly resenting the waiting on table, and dishwashing afterward; why had no one ever invented the simplest labor-saving devices to save women from these dehumanizing tasks?
Today had been worse; she had been sent to work in the stables. She did not mind feeding, watering or even exercising the horses, for in the big paddock the sun was bright overhead and the air fresh and clear, but the heavy barn-shovels were worse than kitchen mops, and the smell of manure was sickening. This, she told herself angrily, is why they had an Industrial Revolution on Terra; somebody got sick and tired of shoveling horse manure!
Her partner in this work was called Rafaella; she remembered that Rafaella was Jaelle’s partner in their travel-counseling business, and had hoped to find her friendly, but Rafaella had had little to say to her. At the end of the day Magda was exhausted; she had never done manual work before, and she was glad to wash off the dirt and grime; but even though she washed her hair, she fancied that the stable smell still clung to it. The smell of the soap was harsh after the perfumed cosmetics of the Terran Zone. She lingered in the hot pool, trying to soak away fatigue, until Doria and another group of very young girls came in, and there was a lot of noisy and cheerful horseplay, running around naked and climbing in and out of the tubs and playfully squabbling over the soap. The noise they made finally drove her out of the pool room entirely, and only later did she admit to herself that she was jealous of the fun they were all having together.