Part 14 (1/2)

Inwardly, Rhani sighed. ”You know,” she said, ”I received your letters.

I'm afraid I found them a little peremptory.”

He looked abashed. ”I beg your pardon,” he said. ”I'm afraid I pay less attention to the niceties than my mother did.”

Domna Sam never bothered to be delicate either, Rhani reflected, but she at least knew how. She leaned back in the chair. The images of dead and forgotten Durs looked down their painted noses at her from the walls.

”Well,” she said, ”shall we talk business? As I recall, your letters said you had something very important to discuss with me. 'Business of import to Chabad ...'?” ”Yes,” said Ferris. ”It is important. I would like to propose an alliance between Family Dur and Family Yago. A permanent alliance.”

Rhani frowned. Clearly he was not talking about a kerit farm.

She said, ”What sort of permanent alliance?”

He licked his lips nervously. ”A marital alliance,” he said, and went on before she could talk; ”I know what you're thinking; Yagos don't marry. Neither do Durs. I am thinking of it primarily as a business arrangement.”

Marriage? Rhani thought. He's crazy, that's all. He wants to marry me?

She wondered if this could be one of Domna Sam's schemes. For Domna Sam's sake, she would listen. ”Perhaps you could be more specific,” she said.

He leaned forward. ”I propose,” he said, ”that you and I marry, and have a child -- at least one child, but that would be up to you -- upon whom we could settle a joint inheritance. This agreement would enable our two Families to unite finances as well as lines. The investment advantages of such a merger would be tremendous. It could be profitable for both Families, and for Chabad.”

Rhani rubbed her chin. ”The other Families will be quite disturbed,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. ”So what?”

”It runs counter to all our customs.”

”Yes,” he said, ”but then, it could create others.” He reached, and took a piece of cheese off the mother-of-pearl inlaid tray. Rhani's gla.s.s was empty; she put it down. The slave shuffled forward to refill it. ”No, that's enough,”

Rhani said, and the gla.s.sy-eyed woman stepped back. The vacant smile was distressing; Rhani looked away.

She rarely thought about it, but she had always taken for granted that someday, not soon, she would bear a child. Part of her responsibility as a Yago was to produce an heir. Until then, pills controlled her fertility. She had suppressed as soon as she reached adulthood what it had felt like to _be_ a child. When Aliza Kyneth's youngest was born, she visited the house, and Aliza had let her hold the baby. ”I feel silly -- clumsy,” she had said, cupping the dark fuzzy head to her breast.

Imre took his son from her and cradled him with casual competence. He teased, ”There's more where he came from if you drop him.”

Would it, she wondered, have felt different, would she have felt less clumsy, if she'd been holding her own child?

With a slight shock, she realized that she was taking Ferris' proposal seriously.

He was watching her anxiously; so, she thought, must he often have watched his mother. ”If what you really want is for the Yago and Dur finances to merge,” she said, ”why not propose a corporate merger?” She wondered what he would answer.

He shook his head. ”We can't,” he said. ”The Founders' Agreement prohibits it. The only way to change something in the Founders' Agreement is to have a planetary referendum and add a section to the Const.i.tution.”

”And marriage between us does not const.i.tute a violation of the Agreement?” she said.

”It would, if we did not put fifty percent of our joint capital in trust for the child, or children.”

”What control would we retain of this capital?” she said. ”Who would execute the trust?”

”On Chabad?” he said, surprised. ”Anyone we like.”

It was true. Rhani smiled, wondering if she could name as executor the Investment Committee of the Yago Bank. Arranging to place fifty percent of Yago Corporation capital in a trust might be difficult, but she thought it could be managed. Or did the statute mean fifty percent of her personal capital? She would have to read the Agreement -- something she had not done in fifteen years -- or, better still, discuss the entire scheme with her legal staff. She would have to do that anyway, of course. She wondered what the other Families would say about it, and why none of them had ever thought of such a thing. They were so accustomed to inter-Family rivalry, to compet.i.tion, to spying and bargaining and making secret deals.... Such a merger, she thought, would change utterly the balance of power on Chabad.

That was not an unattractive thought.

Hesitantly she said, ”This could not be our private agreement, Ferris.

Our legal departments would have to work out a contract.”

”Of course.” His voice was eager. ”So you think it's a good idea?”

She scowled. ”I'm not accepting the offer. I want to think about it.”

”Yes, I understand,” he said. He pushed the tray with foodstuffs at her.

”Won't you have something to eat?”

Because she was his guest, Rhani took an applestick from the tray, and bit slowly through the red rind to the soft white heart. She wondered if Ferris thought they could be lovers. ”You know,” she said, ”I have always preferred to arrange my own liaisons....”

He flushed, deeply embarra.s.sed. ”I'm sure we can arrange not to interfere with each others' private lives.”

She watched his fingers stroke the fur of his robe, wondering what he was like in bed. The prospect did not excite her. He probably liked to bed slaves.

Slaves.... She thought of her brother. What would he think of this? ”Is that all you have to discuss with me?” she said.

With the first sign of humor she had seen from him, he said diffidently, ”Isn't that enough?”

Rhani felt suddenly very sorry for him, alone in this great house with only ghosts and slaves on dorazine for company. But pity, she thought, was a bad base on which to do business. It was too bad he was so unattractive.... She stood. Ferris rose. ”Thank you very much for your hospitality, Ferris. I shall go home now.”

”You will -- ”

”I will consider your offer,” she said firmly.

He snapped his fingers. ”My slaves will escort you,” he said, and led her to the front door himself.

The street was hot. The two slaves kept Rhani between them as she walked down the Boulevard. One of them held a white parasol over her head. The tourists were all indoors, hiding from the heat, and the wide road was deserted; mutable as water, the stones seemed to dance in the brilliant, s.h.i.+mmering light.

Abanat _is_ beautiful, Rhani thought with swift, possessive pride.

Perhaps one day she would bring her daughter to this street, and tell her the history of the city. ”_The fountain was built by Orrin Yago_,” she would say.

”_Lisa Yago planted this tree_.”

She hunched her shoulders. Marriage, and with Ferris Dur? It was strange even to think about. She pictured a daughter, a solemn, slender girl with hair the color of wheat, and almond-shaped, amber eyes. I will name her Jade, or Cecilia, or Samantha, Rhani thought. She squinted into the sun, trying to see the child's face, and realized that she was remembering herself.

Then she thought: People are trying to kill me! The image shattered. She looked up; there was her house. ”You may go,” she told the slaves. They bowed and shuffled away. Leaping up the broad steps, she hammered on the door. It opened. The hall was dark, and there seemed to be a lot of people in it.... She heard Binkie say her name, with a sound like a sob.