The Shadow Matrix (53 page)

and Margaret asked about people she knew there. Lew listened for the most part, and

did not seem bored hearing about total strangers. Margaret knew he was studying Ida,

and thought he liked the older woman.

It felt very good to have Ida there, good yet strange at the same time. She seemed to

Margaret to be someone from another world, not the world of University, but just not

Darkover. When the meal was finished, and Ida announced that she wanted a nap,

Margaret was mildly relieved, and guilty at the same time. She watched the small,

gaily dressed figure leave the sitting room, then looked at her father.

"I know, Marguerida. It is sometimes hard to have guests, even the best loved ones.

But I am glad to have the opportunity to meet her, and I think she will have a good

time during her stay."

"I hope so. At least she has better linguistic skills than Ivor did, and will probably feel

comfortable in
casta
soon enough. He would be like an idiot for weeks whenever we

went to a new place, and then one morning he would wake up chattering like a jay. But

during the time when he was speaking pidgin-whatever, I had to do all the translating,

and it was exhausting."

"You really loved him, didn't you?" There was a note in his voice, a kind of sorrow,

and perhaps a little envy as well.

"Yes, I did. And I miss him every day."

21

It was three mornings later when Margaret, Ida, and Donal Alar set off in a small

carriage. Ida was wearing some clothes that Piedra had found for her, a blue tunic and

matching skirt, with several petticoats, and over it, a fine woolen cloak of pale green.

Her wispy gray hair was hidden under a knitted helmet she insisted was a Dorian

cowherd's cap, and while it was peculiar looking, it was properly modest by Darkovan

standards, and warm as well. Ida seemed unperturbed that she might appear eccentric,

which was a relief to Margaret.

As Margaret had anticipated, Ida had begun to use
casta
with a moderate fluency after

she had gotten some rest. She asked the names of things without hesitation, quite

unembarrassed by the present limitations of her vocabulary. She had a large array of

nouns at her command, but her verb forms were still a bit inconsistent. Margaret knew

she would treasure forever the expression on the face of Regis Hastur when Ida asked

him the name of the wood that a chair was carved from, then informed him of its

derivation from some old Terran tongue.

Donal was regaling Ida with a discussion of a hawk he had been training. He would

begin in the Terran Margaret had managed to teach him while they were at Arilinn,

then shift into
casta
when he ran out of vocabulary. Ida listened intently but Margaret

was not sure how much she was learning about hawking. Years of listening to students

had given Ida a great deal of experience with the young, and she noticed that

occasionally the older woman would interrupt in order to tell Donal the Terran word.

They were teaching each other!

Their first stop was not in Threadneedle Street, but in the small Terran cemetery where

Ivor was buried. They

reached it an hour after leaving Comyn Castle, for while it was a shorter journey on

foot, the carriage had to take several detours in order to get through the narrow and icy

streets.

The graveyard was silent, cloaked in snow, the headstones gleaming with ice in the

pale sunlight. When they arrived at Ivor's resting place, they found the earth cleared of

most of the snow, and the entire bed covered in evergreens. It made the other

gravesites seem forlorn and neglected.

"How lovely. What a kindly thing to have done, Marguerida." Ida had fallen into using

the Darkovan version of her name much of the time, though she still occasionally used

the nickname Maggie. "Thank you."

"I did not do it, Ida. It must have been Master Everard, or someone from the Guild. I

sent word to him that I was bringing you here today, and begged off visiting to another

time. I hope you like the stone."

"I do. But why would the Guild people come out in the cold and . . ."

"Out of respect, I assume. When I was here a few months ago, there were fresh

flowers, and the grave had been swept. This cemetery is only for Terrans, and maybe

they thought that, as a fellow musician, it was their duty to look after it."

"That is very thoughtful," Ida mused, staring at the greenery.

Margaret shifted her feet on the cold ground, uncomfortable not with the cold but with

a rush of feelings she could barely contain. "I wrote a dirge this autumn, just the

music," she began, remembering how she had played it on her little harp when she

came back to Thendara. At Neskaya, she had played it again, one evening, and found

words to go with it, much to her surprise and pleasure. "The words came later. It's the

first piece of composition I've done in ages."

"Did you? Can you sing it for me?" Ida seemed a little quiet, strained, her earlier good

spirits gone.

"I can try. This is not the best place to sing."

Donal, who had stayed behind, talking to one of the Guardsmen who had ridden

behind the carriage, now came trudging across the cemetery toward them. His little

boots

made crunching noises in the snow, and she remembered that he needed larger ones.

He looked about with interest, clearly prepared to be amused.

After trying to think of a good excuse not to perform the piece, and wishing she had

thought before she spoke, Margaret took several deep breaths, to warm up her vocal

chords. Whyever had she mentioned her piece? She experienced a self-consciousness

she had not had in years.

At last she began to sing, and became swept up in the melody and the words, so

involved that she did not hear the rustle of cloth behind her. Her voice expanded as she

sang, growing louder with each stanza, and the sound of the words drifted out over the

grave and the nearby headstones, filling her once again with a sense of loss and peace

at the same time. It had needed the words, she realized, and she had done a good job

with them, and somehow found the right ones.

Ida was sobbing softly, and Margaret immediately felt terribly guilty. The sight of the

grief on the face of the older woman tore her heart. What should she do? She could not

move, could not bring herself to embrace the older woman. The ache in her own chest

was almost too great to bear.

After several minutes, Ida dried her eyes with the edge of her cloak. "I hadn't cried, not

a single tear, until now. Thank you, Margaret."

"What?"

"I couldn't. It was all unreal until now." Ida cleared her throat. "You seem to have

attracted an audience," she managed, before another freshet of tears began.

Margaret looked around and discovered that Master Everard and several other people

were standing a respectful distance away, waiting in the snow. There was a big man

she recognized now as Rodrigo, who would succeed Everard as Guildmaster, and

several others who had attended Ivor's funeral the previous spring. One of the women

was openly weeping, and Margaret had the interesting sensation of being pleased by

moving her, and at the same time, a slight sense of discomfort for so public a display

of emotion. In her secret heart, she felt tears were a private thing.

Rodrigo looked at her, then shook his head. "It is regrettable that your position

prevents you from becoming a

member of the Guild,
domna.
You have a beautiful voice. And those words were

splendid."

Master Everard nodded in agreement. "There is nothing to prevent her from being an

unofficial ..."

"A fine idea, Master," Rodrigo boomed.

Ida Davidson blinked fiercely, and Margaret could tell she was glad for the distraction

from the members of the Guild. It gave her a chance to recover again. "That was

beautiful, my dear, even if I only understood a tenth of it. Thank you. I hadn't really let

him go, you see, until now. I kept expecting Ivor to arrive home, grumping about his

stomach. Now I know he is really dead."

That was not for her master, but for Domenic. Or perhaps for both of them. I wish she

could sing it for Mother it might help her. But it would probably just upset her. I do

wish Mother were more like Cousin Marguerida, and did not get so upset over every

little thing.
Then Donal looked up at Margaret. "This is the man who was listening to

the stars sing, isn't it?" He spoke very quietly.

"Yes, Donal, it is."

"I remember you talking to him, when, you know . . ."

"What does he mean, Marguerida?"

"I will tell you later, Ida. Right now I had better introduce you to Master Everard and

these others, before all of us freeze into statues."

"Of course." Ida stamped her feet. "He's really gone," she whispered.
And I cannot

bring him home again. I was a fool to think it. There is no way in this cold to dig up

the coffin, and it would be terrible to do so. And I can't go home without him. I am

sure that Donal just said Ivor was listening to the stars sing
—
which would be just like

him! . Oh, how 1 miss him! That song she made is so tragic and yet so comforting. If

only I could have understood all the words. . . .

Margaret caught the thoughts as they flooded through Ida's mind and felt her face

redden. She hadn't meant to overhear! Ida did not suspect that her former charge was a

telepath. How was she going to explain things? It was too much right then. Her nerves

were too raw, from Ida's grief and her own, to think of anything. Instead, Margaret

turned and greeted the old music master, trying to ignore

the several bobs, bows, and curtsies she received, and began to make proper

introductions.

Ida Davidson had not spent all of her adult life in the circles of academia without

learning precisely how to behave in a variety of circumstances. Her command of
casta

was not yet sufficient to be able to talk to Master Everard fluently, though she made a

noble effort. Margaret watched her control her grief, and marveled. But the cold did

not make for comfort, and after a short time, with promises of a future visit, they

returned to the carriage and continued their journey.

The small brazier in the floor of the carriage had kept it relatively warm during their

absence. When they settled back into their places, Ida said, "Marguerida, I think that it

is going to be impossible to unearth Ivor's coffin for months. I hadn't really considered

that aspect of things when I planned this trip."

"Nor had I. And you are right. The ground is totally frozen. And even if we could, I am

not sure they would let you ship Ivor home. Things in the Federation are in such a

tangle!"

"Damn!"

Margaret was surprised, because she had never heard Ida curse before. Donal watched

their expressions, and reached out to give Ida a gentle pat on the hand. "I never asked

you how long you were staying, Ida. I seem to have had my head in the clouds a lot

lately."

"My return passage is booked for a month from now, but perhaps it can be changed. If

the bureaucrats will permit it!"

"There, at least, I might be able to help. My uncle, Captain Rafe Scott, works at Terran

HQ, and he seems to be very clever at fixing things."

"I don't want to go home without him." I
don't want to go back at all! Without Ivor, it

isn't the same. And with, all the funding cuts, I am likely to find myself out on the

street. He isn't there
—
he is here! No, he isn't anywhere! Ivor
—
curse you for leaving

me
—
again! He always seemed to be going away without me!

Margaret ignored these thoughts as well as she was able. "You have come such a long

way, and now to be frustrated—damn, indeed! But, you know, you will be welcome

here for as long as you like. As far as I am concerned, you can stay here forever. We

have lots of room, and, truthfully, I would love it. Do you really want to go back to

University, with all the things that are happening?" She felt herself tremble just a little,

wondering if she had any right to offer Ida a place on Darkover without asking her

father or Regis Hastur first. Margaret also wondered how much of her generosity was

based on that flash of vision, and how much on her genuine affection for the old

woman. If only human things could be as clear as music!

"Not really. It just isn't the same without Ivor, and even though he was gone a great

deal of the time, and I had charge of our students alone, I always knew he would come

back. It is very sweet of you to offer me a home, too, Margaret. Why, I might even be

able to complete his work here."

"Certainly, you could do that. Or you could just be a lady of leisure. The Alton Domain

would welcome you."
You could stay here, by the fire at Armida, and teach that pretty

girl. I wonder who she is? Alanna Alar, perhaps? Stop this immediately, Margaret

Alton! You are meddling.