The Shadow Matrix (55 page)

Aaron nodded at Margaret. "I want you to be as beautifully garbed as you are lovely. I

don't get too many opportunities to dress fine ladies, but, as you say, once this is seen, I

will be beleaguered." He gave a deep sigh, but the twinkle in his dark eyes belied his

apparent dismay.

Margaret had to laugh, at both Aaron's expression, and the slightly scandalized one on

Manuella's face. "I know, Aaron. It is a terrible burden to be a genius. But someone has

to do it."

"Please, my lady," Manuella protested, holding back a grin of her own. "Don't

encourage him. He is difficult enough as it is."

"Difficult! I am the kindliest and most patient of men, wife. Now, please take her into

the back and see to the fit. I think the underrobe will have to be taken in a bit. You

really must eat more, Lady."

"If I ate any more, Aaron," she protested, "I would do nothing else." She heard him

chuckle at this.

"1 should be so fortunate," he rumbled at her back, and she could hear him pat his

middle.

Margaret followed Manuella toward the back area as Ida came out from behind the

curtains, trailed by Nella, who had a look on her face of barely suppressed merriment.

Ida glanced at Margaret, well aware of the expression on the face of the girl, and gave

a little shrug.
The language is very slippery, and I think I said something odd
—
no

matter.
She did not seem at all discomforted by her gaffe, and Margaret sensed that she

was actually having a very good time. She had a sudden spurt of delight, glad that Ida

was there, that

she was finding her way around in
casta,
but most of all that everything was going

well.

The boy, Doevid, who had gone to the loft, came down the narrow stairs balancing

several bolts as if they were matchsticks, and plopped them on the table. Margaret

hesitated for a second, wondering if she should stay and translate for the older woman,

then decided that Ida was perfectly capable of doing that herself, and that Donal was

there to help.

In the back of the shop, it was quite warm. The smell of tea from the samovar that

stood on a small table wafted up and made her mouth water. Margaret had not realized

she was thirsty until now, but she knew that tea and fine silk did not mix, so she

disrobed, except for her underwear and mitts, and let Manuella slip the violet

undertunic onto her body inside out. The woman begin to pin along the seams, poking

Margaret occasionally. She felt bony and uncomfortable, and wished she were not so

skinny. It was as if the matrix on her skin consumed more energy than she could put

into her body.

There should really be some way to regulate the matrix,
she thought, trying not to

fidget.
Everything is energy, or so the physicists say
—
so why are we entirely

dependent on food as an energy source for matrix work? Because we are human

beings,
she reflected rather ruefully,
not machines or angels.
She let her speculation

lapse and wiggled her toes in her boots. The feel of the silk against her skin was very

nice, and she started to think of nothing in particular, which was a vast relief.

When Manuella was satisfied with her adjustments, she slipped the overtunic on, again

wrong side to, muttering, under her breath. Her generous mouth was full of pins, so

conversation was impossible, and Margaret did not want to talk anyhow. She was deep

in the almost sensual enjoyment of the present moment. Here, there were no demands.

Her shoulders drooped a little, and then she remembered that she had to stand up

straight.

For an instant she was a little girl again, in a long line of small girls, hearing Matron

tell them to keep their shoulders back, their hands folded in front of them, their feet

together. She could almost smell the cold, dry air of the

dormitory at the John Reade Orphanage. Then the feeling passed, and she was herself

once more, adult and tired.

"You can come over to the glass, now,
domna.
You won't see the full effect until the

gown is altered, but the colors are wonderful for you. Aaron thought the gold of the

gauze was like your eyes."

Margaret moved carefully toward the mirror, and saw herself, pale-skinned and red-

haired, reflected in the shining surface. The gown clung to her length like a sheath, and

the small ruff beneath her chin was more becoming than she would have believed. "I

look pretty fine, don't I?"

"Yes, you do. Of course, it helps that you have a good figure. Aaron nearly tears his

hair out when someone comes in who is all curves and bulges, plump as a pigeon, and

wants a fitted gown."

"No curves on me!"

"Now, now. There are a few, but just in the proper places."

"My chest is too flat!"

Manuella chuckled. "Be glad. The generous breasted sag after a few children. I will

take it off now. Would you care for some tea?" Manuella began gently pulling the

garments off over Margaret's head.

"Oh, thank you. My mouth feels so dry, and my throat ... I was singing in the

graveyard a while ago, and I think the cold air has made it sore."

Manuella made no comment, as if singing in the cemetery were a perfectly ordinary

event, and put the gown back on its well padded hanger. While Margaret redressed, she

poured tea into a thick mug, added two dollops of honey, and handed it to her. It was

hot, but not scalding, and very sweet, but Margaret half emptied the container in her

thirst. It slid down her throat smoothly, soothing her overworked vocal cords.

They went back into the front of the shop, and found that the cobbler had arrived,

holding a bundle in his arms. Margaret realized that she would have to sit down for this

part of the fitting, and brightened immediately. She sank onto a bench that sat beside

the stair to the loft, and let the cobbler remove her boots, cupping her mug in her hands

and feeling the warmth of the remaining tea seep into her palms.

Aaron and Ida were standing at the cutting table, and Ida was fingering the various

fabrics, and chattering away to the big tailor, in a nice mixture of
casta
and Terran that

did not seem to confuse the man at all. They made a funny picture, tall Aaron bending

over tiny Ida, but they were getting along very well.

She looked around for Donal then, her heart speeding up for fear she had lost him.

Margaret knew that no harm could come to him in Aaron's shop, but every time she

looked at her charming little cousin, she remembered how she had inadvertently sent

him into the overworld, and that he could have died there. Ah, there he was, in the

shadow of the wide shelf that ran along the street, where goods were displayed in fine

weather. There was someone with him, bent down to the level of the boy, in dark

clothing, with his face turned away, so she could not recognize him.

Then she caught a glimpse of rufus-colored hair, and a quick, familiar gesture. "Ethan?

Is that you?"

The cobbler had her feet in his hands, and was slipping something over her hose, but

Margaret hardly noticed. "How do they feel?"

"Yes,
domna,
it is me. I was just talking to your cousin here, because he had a lot of

questions." Ethan stood up, stepped from the shadows, and came to greet her, beaming.

"He wanted to know about the Big Ships, and, oh, everything, just like I did when I

met you."

"How do they feel?" repeated the cobbler, ignoring everything except his art.

Dutifully, Margaret wriggled her toes, and found the soft slippers did not pinch. She set

her mug down on the bench, rose to her feet, and took a few steps. Ethan moved closer.

He was still a skinny lad, but seemed to have grown a couple of inches in the months

since she had last seen him. His face no longer had the hungry look of a frustrated boy.

She remembered how she had gone to the letter writer in the Horse Market, as she was

leaving with Rafaella for the Kilghards, and dictated an introduction to Captain Rafe

Scott for him.

On impulse, she bent down and hugged him. She was pleased and surprised when he

returned it Indeed, his hug was fierce, hard and full of unspoken emotions. There was

nothing complicated about these feeling, for they were clear

and simple. Margaret wished everything were as easy as getting Ethan started on the

way to the stars had been.

The cobbler was a single-minded fellow, if an artist, and tugged at her sleeve,

demanding her attention. "They do not pinch, but the sole on the left one seems to poke

me where it oughtn't. The arch is just a bit too low, I think." She rocked forward onto

her toes, then back on her heels. "Yes, that's it."

"Very good. I wish all my customers noticed such things. They come in," he explained,

"and take their shoes, then complain that they are not right, when they did not take the

time to try them on."

"I learned a long time ago to pay attention to my feet, since an ill-fitting shoe will sour

my disposition very quickly." She went back to the bench and let the cobbler peer at

her feet, watching him take out a small ruler with arcane markings on it, measure

something, then nod to himself. At last he was satisfied, removed the slippers, put them

into a soft, cloth sack, and promised to have them delivered to Comyn Castle the

following day. Before he could escape, she told him to measure Donal, and the lad

grinned up at her.

Margaret sat on the bench, stocking-footed and too tired to put her footwear back on.

Ethan sat down on one side of her while Donal was being measured. "You have grown,

haven't you?" she asked.

"I have done that. Both my body, and my brain, which seems to expand more all the

time. I am studying mathematics, as you said I must. It is very hard, but I love it. The

Captain says I have a lot of talent for it. And, if the Terranan don't close the port, I will

begin some engineering classes in the spring."

"Close the port?"

"HQ has more rumors than all of Darkover, and one is that they are going to close the

port. The Captain says not to worry, so I don't. Well, not too much." The hero worship

in his voice when he spoke Rafe Scott's title was unmistakable, and Margaret felt that

she had done a good thing in sending Ethan to her uncle.

"It is as good as you hoped it would be, Ethan?"

He did not answer immediately, but looked thoughtful. "It is not anything like I

imagined," he said at last, "not at

all, but it is interesting. The mathematics are wonderful—I am doing calculus now,

which the Captain says I need in order to understand spatial relationships." -

"Calculus? I never got that far."

Ethan grinned. "Well, it truly strains my brain." Margaret could tell he was proud of his

accomplishment, and knew that he probably had no one close who could understand

what it meant.

"How does your family feel about all this?"

"They did not like it, at first, but Father said I had to do what was right for me. Mother

tried to make me promise never to take ship, wanted me to sit around in HQ and write

reports, but Father said not to be silly, that if I was offered the chance to travel, it was

my fate to do it. She cried a lot, but then she stopped. Now she is trying to find me a

girl, so I will change my mind or something. Mothers!" He said this last word with

great feeling.

"How is Geremy?" She remembered his cousin, and how the two young men had led

them to the house of Master Everard the day she had returned to Darkover. Only half a

year had passed since that day, but so much had occurred that she felt she was an

entirely different person—one she barely knew and did not entirely trust. It was a very

disspiriting thought, and she set it away abruptly.

Ethan rolled his eyes toward the heavy beams in the ceiling very comically, and lifted

his long hands with an expression of helplessness. "Geremy has fallen in love, and

stands around mooning over Rachel Maclvan like a ninny. , It is really disgusting! She

has several others trailing after her, like a goose with a lot of goslings, for she is pretty

enough, I guess. But vain, and really stupid."

"Have you told him that?" Margaret was amused, and she could tell that Donal, beside

her, was taking it all in. It struck her that this must be a peculiar experience for her

young cousin, that he had lived all of his. short life in the shadow of his nervous

parents, and that he had no real idea of how other boys behaved. He would be old

enough to enter the Cadets in a couple of years, if Ariel Alar permitted it. Which she

might not, being the person she was. At least she knew that Ethan was completely

trustworthy, and that he would not lead Donal into mischief.

"No, I haven't. He would just be cross with me. I listen

to his attempts at poetry, and his discussion of Rachel's hair, skin, the shape of her

nose, and all of that, and pretend to be interested. I am too busy with my studies for

girls, anyhow, so I do not see him often enough to be bored with it, but I do miss the