Marianne, the Magus & the Manticore (10 page)

So, you be careful. Do not ask any questions where
she
can hear you. Be a simple, pretty little kinswoman except when you are alone with Makr Avehl. Or me, of course."

He had frightened her rather badly, and she huddled in her corner of the front seat while he pulled the car back onto the road and continued their journey. They had entered a forest, and the light splashed through the windshield at them, broken by leaf lace into glimmering spatters. "What do you mean, forbidden things?" she asked at last.

He shook his head. "Do you know Zurvan?"

She told him what she had heard at the lecture. "That's all I know. Zurvan is your god."

"More than that. Both male and female is Zurvan. Both dark and light. Both pain and joy. One who includes all. In balance. Now, if
somebody
tried to upset the balance, to make more dark than light, that would be forbidden. That person would not be Kavi. When you are alone with Makr Avehl, you ask about the shamans. You know that word?"

She nodded, amazed at this tack and scarcely believing that she was listening to this odd talk.

"Russia has lots of black shamans," he said. "In places where the government does not go. There are places like that, even in Russia. Forests, deep chasms in wooded places. So, now Lubovosk has shamans, too. They say they don't need any religion there, you know. Not in Russia, no." He laughed as though this were very funny. "But still, they brought those black shamans to Lubovosk. To learn, do you suppose? Or to teach. Or, maybe, just to make a great confusion. Anyhow, you be a quiet inconspicuous person and don't make that woman pay much attention to you." They drove on for a time in silence.

"Can the Kavi—can Makr Avehl do tricks? I mean," she said hastily, seeing his expression of disapproval, "can he do—

supernatural things?"

"What sort of things? Kavi can do many very wonderful things, certainly."

"Could he—oh, could he deliver a letter into a locked room?

Could he make a phone hook itself up so that he could call someone?"

Aghrehond laughed. "Oh, these are only little things. Of course. Any Kavi could do simple things like these. What is it, after all, but moving something very small?" He went on chuckling to himself, and she could not tell if he were teasing her or not. He drove for a few miles in silence, then pointed away to the right. "There is the house we have rented for this season. Not so beautiful as the Residence in Alphenlicht, but very nice."

It glowed gently in the morning sun, white-columned over its rose brick, gentled with ivy, stretching along the curve of the hill in wide, welcoming wings. Makr Avehl had not yet returned from his business in New York, she was told, but she felt no lack of welcome as Aghrehond introduced her to Ellat Zahmani, Makr Avehl's sister, a stout middle-aged woman with a charming smile who offered her a second breakfast, a sun-drenched library, a brief expedition on horseback, or a walk around the gardens. Laughing, Marianne accepted the second breakfast and a walk in the gardens. It was there that Makr Avehl found them.

He kissed Ellat on the cheek, then Marianne, in precisely the same way, so quickly that she could not take alarm. "Aghrehond has gone to the train to meet your brother," he said.

'Tahiti will arrive later this afternoon. I think we will not call her Tahiti, however. We will be very dignified, very political, very correct. We will all say Madame Delubovoska."

"I will keep very quiet," Marianne said. "Your cribbage partner suggested it."

"You see!" Ellat's voice was serious. She shook her head.

"Makr Avehl, I'm not alone in thinking this is a mistake. Bad enough to invite her, but to have the child here—forgive me, Marianne, I know you're not a child, but anyone younger than I am gets called a child when I am feeling motherly—to have the child here may stir her up. She's not likely to enjoy the idea of reinforcements. An American Kavi? She'll hate the idea."

"What is a Kavi?" demanded Marianne. "Green used that word. Am I one? How did I get to be one?"

"Ah, well," Makr Avehl drew them together. "Your father, dear Marianne, was a Kavi. Almost certainly. I'm not absolutely sure, can't be until I check the library at home, but I think he was a cousin whose family left Alphenlicht some fifty years ago. They came to America with a few relatives. There may have been some intermarriage. Now, I
am
sure who your mother was. She was the daughter of an official in the Alphenlicht embassy in Washington. All of these people were—

or could have been—Kavi, which is simply our name for the hereditary family which governs Alphenlicht. Some consider it a kind of dynasty, others a kind of priesthood, but it means no more than you wish it to in your case. It was what I had in mind when I called you a kinswoman. Do you mind?"

"Is Harvey one?"

Makr Avehl shook his head. "We generally think of lineage as coming through the mother. When we use the word Kavi, we don't only mean bloodlines, we mean other things, too—

matters of belief and behavior. No; I much doubt your half brother could be Kavi."

Ellat obviously thought this might have upset Marianne, and she started to explain. "In Lubovosk, after the separation, there was a good deal of racial mixing with another line."

"Shamans?" nodded Marianne.

"There," exclaimed Ellat. "Aghrehond talks too much, Makr Avehl. He can't learn to keep his mouth shut."

"I think I'm the culprit, Ellat. Marianne and I had occasion to discuss shamans in another context. Yes. Black shamans, devil worshipers. We don't use the word 'Kavi' for any of that line. I suppose Aghrehond told you to be prudently quiet about all this with Tahiti here?"

"Yes, he told me. The problem is, I don't know how you're going to avoid the subject. Devil worship, shamanism and similar things happen to be Harvey's favorite professional topic, and he'll be after it like a cat after a mouse."

"Is that so? I hadn't considered that. I knew, of course, that he has written on the subject of Alphenlicht—I've read some of it. But I hadn't thought that his interest extended to Lubovoskan cultural attributes... .Well, of course it would. His kinfolk are there! I wonder how old he was when he first met them? When he first learned of them? How old was he when his mother died?"

"It seems to me he was ten or eleven. Old enough to resent Papa Zahmani marrying again so soon, only a year later. I know Harvey went to Lubovosk or somewhere over there when he was twenty-one or -two." He had been back only briefly when Mama had died. She would not forget that. "The trip was a graduation present from Papa. Then, I know he went again, that same year, just before Papa died."

"Well then, he will be well up on the subject, and we may expect him to raise issues which we would prefer not to discuss in the company we will have. I'll take him in hand at lunch.

Ellat, you'll have to manage him tonight. Divert him."

"If you have any very pretty guests," suggested Marianne,

"that might do it."

Ellat shook her head, frowning. "The Winston-Forbeses are coming to dinner tonight. Their daughter is very attractive, but very young."

"He'll like that," said Marianne, without thinking and without seeing the odd, distracted look which Makr Avehl fixed on her. "The younger, the better."

It seemed for a time that she might have been concerned about nothing. Harvey arrived in the big car, chatting with Aghrehond as though they were old friends. He greeted Makr Avehl with courtesy, Ellat with gallantry, Marianne with a proper peck on the cheek and a smile which only she could have recognized as ominous.

Marianne took a deep breath and put herself out to be pleasant. "How was the trip down, Harvey? Is there a station near?"

"About half an hour away. It was a very pleasant trip. Very kind of you to have asked me and my little sister down, sir.

As a sometime student, Marianne does not often get this kind of treat." Charming smile. Guileless voice.
Sometime student.

Marianne fumed impotently.

"You're most welcome, Professor Zahmani," Ellat being equally charming. "Your sister honors our home, and you we welcome because of your interest in our part of the world. Do come in. You have just time to erase the stains of travel before lunch."

"I'll show him in, Ellat. Professor, I wanted to talk with you about that paper you did in the
Journal of Archaeology—

last June was it?—comparing the Cave of Light with the barsom prophecies of the Medes...." And Makr Avehl led Harvey away into the upper reaches of the house, still talking.

Ellat squeezed her arm. "Don't worry. We have two other couples as luncheon guests."

"Tahiti?"

"Not until much later this afternoon. She is driving down.

Now we will enjoy our lunch. Makr Avehl has told me his impulsive invitation to your brother—no, it is a half brother, only, isn't it?—well, that this invitation brings us a guest who turns out to be unwelcome. I am glad you overcame your dislike of him enough to come. We will stay well apart from him, and Makr Avehl will keep him occupied."

And he did keep him occupied all during lunch, Harvey so far forgetting himself at times as to let his voice rise in tem-peramental disagreement. Makr Avehl received these expostulations gravely, nodding, commenting, smiling. Harvey was certainly not getting the better of the argument, but the sound of his sharp-edged voice made Marianne shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Ellat nudged her knee. "Don't worry about it. So far they haven't gotten past the fifth century A.D. They're still talking about King Khosrow's persecution of the heretics."

"How can you tell?"

"It's what Makr Avehl always talks about when he doesn't want to talk about something else," she smiled. "Even Prime Ministers and High Priests are men, and men are somewhat predictable, you know. Besides, he lectures. He has this dreadful habit of pontificating at great length about things others don't care about. Hadn't you noticed?"

"He does a little," Marianne admitted, "but I don't really mind. The things he has to say are interesting."

"Even if you were not interested, he would still wave his finger at you and tell you all about it. I tell him, 'Makr Avehl, try to listen sometimes. When you cease talking and there is only silence, it is because you have ended all conversation.'

He only laughs at me. Sometimes, I think, he tries to do better, but he forgets. I tell myself it is because he is shy."

"Shy? The Prime Minister? Shy?"

Ellat gave her a conspiratorial look. "Yes. Shy. He talks at such great length about impersonal things to avoid worrying about people. Oh, I have seen him spend great hours thinking up tortuous reasons why people behave as they do, all because he will not admit they are simply ignorant, or silly, or tired.

He is a great one for explanations, Makr Avehl, but only when he must. Most times he would rather not think about people.

They confuse him."

This was a new thought for Marianne, and she glanced at Makr Avehl, catching the brilliant three-cornered smile he threw her way and feeling her face flushing as it seemed to do each time she looked at him. Shy. Well. It was an explanation, though not one she was sure she believed. Perhaps Ellat was only teasing her.

She turned to the guest on her other side and smiled monosyllabic responses to a long, one-sided conversation about politics, turning back to Ellat in relief a little while later. "That poor woman on Makr Avehl's other side isn't getting into the conversation much." She was watching the woman covertly, a quiet woman with a quiet, impressionable face.

"That poor woman is the LaPlante Professor of Archaeology at the University of Ankara. I wouldn't worry about her. She will probably write some paper in one of the journals taking issue with your half brother on some abstruse academic subject."

"Good Lord! Does Harvey know who she is?"

"I doubt it. Makr Avehl introduced her as Madame Andami.

That's her husband across the table from you. He's very deaf and makes no attempt at conversation, but he enjoys food very much. I like them a good deal. She is interesting and he is restful. However, Madame Andami is not the name she uses professionally."

"So Harvey has been set up to make a fool of himself. Do I get the impression you all do not like my brother much?"

Ellat looked shocked. "What would make you say such a thing? I think Makr Avehl knows that you do not like him very much. He knows this so well that he spent most of an hour on the phone with me yesterday, talking of you, and of your half brother. Very serious talk. So I cannot tell you not to take him seriously, as I might tell some other young thing. A gentle warning, you know the kind of thing? No, to you I say something else again. He may seem to be invulnerable and very strong. Sometimes he is very strong indeed, but he is not invulnerable." She gave Marianne a meaningful look which confused her enormously, then giggled, unexpectedly, an almost shocking sound coming from that dignified person. "So, even if we are sympathetic to your side of whatever problem brews, we have done nothing Professor Zahmani could complain of. If he is not civil enough to converse across the table and find out what his luncheon partner does—well, what occurs thereafter must be his fault, no?"

Marianne, being human, found the thought of Harvey's dis-comfiture very pleasant indeed.

After lunch, Makr Avehl suggested that they all go riding.

Harvey had not brought riding clothes. He demurred, explaining that he would be happy spending a few quiet hours in the library. The others left him there with Ellat while they went into the afternoon sun and the freshness of spring. Madame Andami cast aside her quiet, listening pose and rode like a centaur, laughing when Marianne complimented her on her seat. "I have ridden donkeys, mules, camels, even elephants.

You have not a bad seat yourself, young woman."

"I haven't really ridden in years. Before my mother died we lived in the country, and I had my own horse. I still miss him."

"Ah, horses are a very great love to many girls of that age.

I have been told it is something very Freudian."