Thorn rolled over and tried to cut Duun's ankles from under him.
Thorn ended on his belly this time, spitting the sand that glued itself to his face and hands and body; Duun's knee was in his back, his arm twisted painfully. Duun let him up and sat down on the sand.
(Invitation?) But Duun held up his hand. "No." Duun said, "not wise."
Thorn knew where that attack would have taken him— into Duun's grip when he refused to go sailing over Duun and halfway to the wall. And Duun's teeth at his throat. Never grapple, Duun had hammered home to him. Nature shorted you, not me. And Duun had grinned at him that day to make the point.
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Thorn tucked his knees up and locked his arms about them, panting. Sweat ran into his eyes and he wiped a gritty hand across his brow, flexed the fingers and held them out.
"You're pulling your claws, Duun-hatani." Pain welled up and hurt his chest and it was not all the pain of several meetings with the floor. "You'd have me in tatters. You'd tear my throat out. Anybody normal— would."
"Eyes," Duun reminded him, with a touch at his own brow-shadowed eye.
"That's worst. You let me at your face. Never."
"I'm sorry, Duun."
"You wouldn't be sorry. You'd be blind. Damn right I pull it. You do that again I'll scar you. Hear?"
Thorn rocked his body in something like a bow. He hurt. His bones ached as if they had all been reseated.
"Yes, Duun."
"But as for the claws— they might take you if they could touch you. If you were a fool. I'm very good, Thorn. Doesn't that tell you something?"
Thorn paused a long time. The ache got into his throat and stuck there, embarrassing him. "That I might be."
"Did you touch me?"
"No, Duun-hatani."
"Do I hear
can't
now?"
"No, Duun-hatani."
"The outsiders have gotten into your head. Their moves have infected you.
Do you let them touch you?"
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"They touch each other. Not me."
"They touch you— here." Duun touched his brow. "You lose your focus.
Youth, Thorn. Give that up too."
Thorn drew another painful breath. (They're yours. Aren't they? A hatani dictates the moves others make…. Duun-hatani.) "What can they teach me you can't?"
"What is ordinary. What the world is."
(The world is wide, minnow.)
"Duun— they act like I was nothing unusual."
Duun shrugged.
"They're lying, aren't they?"
"What does your judgment tell you?"
"They're lying. They're pretending. You sent them. You're in control of all of it."
"Tkkssss. You have a suspicious mind, Haras-hatani."
"You've always been. Is that close enough to beating you?
No one's
like me. There aren't any. I'm different. And they're so bust not noticing it they shout it.
Why,
Duun?"
"You build bridges in the sky."
"On
rock.
On what I see and don't see." Thorn's muscles began to shake; he clenched his arms about his knees the harder and tried not to show the shivering, but Duun would see. Duun missed nothing. "What's wrong with me? How did I turn out this way?"
"Doubtless the gods did it."
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The blasphemy shocked him, from Duun. He piled one atop it. "The gods have a sense of humor?"
Duun's ears went back. "We'll talk about it later."
"You'll never give me my answer. Will you?"
A long silence. Yes and no trembled on a knife's edge. For the first time Thorn felt Duun was close to answering him and a breath might tip the balance. He held that breath till his sides ached.
"No," Duun said then. "Not yet."
* * *
Ellud laid back his ears. "I handed them over to you."
"Come, Ellud. How many sides do you face at once?"
Ellud shifted uncomfortably on his desk. "I'm fending rocks, Duun; you know that."
"I know that. I want to know who you're talking to."
"The council. The council wants to talk to
him.
"
"No."
"You say no. They get no from you and come to my back door. I'm getting supply shortages; I'm getting delivery delays; I'm getting records lost."
"Not coincidence."
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"Not at this rate," Ellud said. Duun drew a deep breath and straightened his back; Ellud held up a hand. "I'll take care of it, Duun. I'd have come to you if I couldn't."
"How does Tshon report me?"
Ellud's mouth dropped. "Duun—"
"I'm not offended. How does she report me?"
"I— told Council you're quite stable. Her report was an advantage. To both of us."
Duun smiled. With all the horror that expression had for the beholder; and he was always, with Ellud, aware of it. "I sent council a letter. If they want a hatani sanction individually and singly— let them forget their contract.
The government made it. They've got it to my dying day."
"Or his."
"Are you telling me something, Ellud?"
"I don't remember telling you anything. I'd have to swear I didn't."
Few things disturbed Duun's centering. This was one. Ellud grew very still, hands loose in his lap, for a long while staring at that stare.
"If there were to be an accident," Duun said.
"I don't know how it would come. He's hatani, you said. He wouldn't be easy. Duun— you have to understand. It's not just council; it's public pressure: the matter at Sheon— got out."
Duun said nothing and Ellud lifted a modifying hand, sketched diffident explanation. "They called the magistrates, the magistrates called the province head— back when they thought they'd run afoul of the Guild, when they thought they'd hatani troubles up to their armpits— well, the matter got blown up larger: a few offices got onto it, and a few wealthy 89
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landholders at some dinner party— Well, a note went out to political interest here. And Rothen's successor—"
"Shbit."
"Shbit. Exactly. Wants to play politics. On the issue the whole thing's gone sour." Ellud made a helpless motion. "Duun, hard as it is to think anyone could be shortsighted enough—"
"I don't find it hard at all. "I have a very fine appreciation of venality. And stupidity. Tomorrow doesn't come and a stone cast up doesn't come down.
For a renunciate, I'm a verypractical man, Ellud. You should remember that."
"I remember." In a small, hoarse voice. "Duun, for the gods' own sake—they're trying to get between you and the Guilds. You know that's how they'll work. They're trying to slow my office down with their paper-delays. They want documentation of malfeasance. I'm making duplicates of everything. I've got them in a packet in hands that will get them to the Guild— if— anything should happen."
"Wise."
"People are frightened, Dunn."
"Go on guarding the back door. I'll take care of the front.
I
will."
"For the gods' sakes—"
Duun gave him a cold stare. "Calling on Shbit would solve it."
"You couldn't get to him."
"Couldn't?" Duun pursed his mouth. He drew in air that stank of politics and his blood ran faster. "Watch me."
"Gods. Don't. Don't. Ammunition's all I want. Listen— Duun. Just let me take it awhile. Let me handle it. What happens to me when the pieces start 90
Cuckoo's Egg
hitting the ground? You've got the Guild. I've got no cover. You think I can't manage it? I managed it while you were rusting in the hills for sixteen years. For the gods' sake, leave politics to me and get me what I need. You've got enough in your lap. Trust me for this."
Duun scowled. "Meaning?"
"Just— let me pile up data. Awhile."
"The Guild's another answer. He might make it."
"Gods. You don't mean that."
"We're very catholic."
Ellud's ears sank in dismay.
"I'm working on it," Duun said. "I tell you that. But he's not ready yet."
"You know what that would cause?"
"And prevent."
There was a long silence. Then: "The tapes, Duun. For the gods' sakes,
start
them. Can you do that?"
Duun stared and thought about it. "Yes."
* * *
"We get thrown out of our jobs," Betan said.
"What's your
job
?" Thorn asked, because everything they said puzzled him.
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Their faces went closed to him then, on secrets they would not share.
* * *
Sometimes the problems made vague sense. And sometimes they did not.
(What in the world comes in two hundred twenty-fours?) (Stars. Trees. Kinds of grass. The ways of a river. The stubbornness of a child.)
(I can reckon the speed of the wind, name the stars, the cities of the world—)
"…in order, the particles—"
Betan brushed his arm as she bent above him. She smelled of something different. She had no reticence with him. She took no care how she leaned past him. The column of her throat was undefended, her body sleek coated and ripe with musk—
"You got it right," Sphitti said as they clustered about his desk sitting on its edges. "Here's an application now. If you were drifting in midair— no friction and no gravity—"
(They're trying to trip me.) "You can't."
"Say that you could."
Betan flicked an ear at him. Perhaps it was a joke at his expense.
"Write it down," said Cloen.
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"I don't have to."
"Let him do it his way," Sphitti said. Then he had to get it right.
"That's right," Elanhen said then, checking what he said.
"Damn hatani arrogance," Cloen said when he was not quite out of earshot, when he and Elanhen were off together at Cloen's desk.
It hurt. Thorn was not immune to that.
(Duun, what do I do when people insult me? When they hate me? How do I answer, Duun?)
But he never asked it aloud. The shame of it distressed him. And he thought that he should come up with that answer on his own.
* * *
"It's not words at all!"
"Pretend it is. Just try. Record it. Play it back till there's no difference."
Thorn looked at Betan, at Sphitti. At two gray pairs of eyes. He felt indignation at this, as if they had made this one up. But they had never joked with him, not on lessons.
He put the plug into his ear and listened. Tried to pronounce the babble.
(They'll be laughing. It sounds like water running.) He looked around at them, but they found other things to do, with the computer and with their own studies. He turned back to his work, put his hands over his eyes to shut out the world.
(Remembering days on Sheon's porch, the hiyi blooms—) 93
Cuckoo's Egg
He mouthed the noises. He slowed down the machine and ran it fast and memorized the sequences. It was harder than Sphitti's physics. The plug gave him an earache.
"I've had enough of that," he said after he had gotten the start of it down and they gathered about to hear it. He would never have said that to Duun, but they accepted such things.
"That's all you're supposed to do in the mornings," Elanhen said. "You keep at that."
Thorn sat there amid his desk. He thought that he could beat any of them (even Betan, because Duun had made him believe that he was good).
"Get to work," Cloen said.
"I'm going home," Thorn said.
"You can't. The door's locked. The guard won't let you."
"Shut up, Cloen," Betan said. "Thorn,
do
the work. Please. I'm asking."
Thorn glared at Cloen. At Betan too. (But it was pleasant that they said please to him. No one did. It occurred to him that they had to worry what they would do if he grew recalcitrant; and that they had to fear him (even Betan) the way he had to fear Duun. And that was a pleasant thought.) He cut off the tape, found his place in it again as the others drifted back to their places; and he did what Betan had asked until his ear hurt and his head ached.
But when they were leaving he contrived that Cloen should brush against him.
He sent Cloen against the foyer wall with a move of his arm. And stood there, in a shocked tableau of fellow-students and the guard outside the open door.
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"I'm hatani. Lay a hand on me again and I'll break it."
Cloen's ears were back. His jaw had dropped. He stood away from the wall and looked at Elanhen. "I never touched him!"
Thorn walked out. An escort always came to bring him home. Duun's idea.
Duun's direction. Thorn swept a gesture at the man waiting for him outside and never looked back.
* * *
"I think you hit me," Duun said, with a darkness in his eves; and sudden fear washed over Thorn like icewater. Thorn backed up. He had not hit Duun; and one thing came to him at once: that someone had been on the phone when he came in. "What should I do about it?" Duun asked. "Well, Haras-hatani?"
"I'm sorry, Duun." Thorn sweated. (Gods,
move
on me! Come
on
!) His concentration shredded. He dared not back out now. And he had never faced Duun in temper; he had never looked to. (O gods, Duun, don't kill me!)
"The knife, minnow. Lay it down. Do you hear me? I'm telling you— lay it down."