Peacemaker

“One cannot drink lying flat,” Banichi objected.

Bren left the argument, however it might come out, and made his way down the hall barefoot. His head hurt—it didn’t precisely ache; or maybe it did. His scalp certainly hurt. The repair held, however. And he was exhausted. Sleep—he was still not sure was possible. He didn’t think he’d sleep for the next week, his nerves were wound so tight.

But unconsciousness, in the safety of his own bed—he might manage that for a few hours.

There were so many things in motion, so much going on, still, that had to be tracked—over which the Guild did not preside. But Banichi was safe. Everybody was back, or on the way back.

He reached his room, not without the attention of his valets, who waited there.

There was one more piece of business, he thought, closing his fist—the heavy ring, washed clean now, tended to slide and turn and he would not take it off, not for an instant. He could not send it back by courier, even his most trusted staff.

But he could not rouse Tabini-aiji out of bed, either. The matter seemed at an impasse, something he could not resolve.

His valets saw him to bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, looked at the ring in the dim light, thinking . . . so many things yet to do, so many things so long stalled by the situation they’d just, please God, finally set in order, the last piece of what they’d needed to set right before the world would be back in the sane order they’d left when they’d gone off to space.

Better. They no longer had the Human Heritage Party to cause trouble on the other side of the strait.

And the man who’d been trying to run atevi politics on this side of the strait, from a decades-old web of his own design—was dead, tonight. The web would still exist. But the Guild leaders now back in power had every reason to want it eradicated—so it had stopped being his business. The Guild itself would take care of its own problem.

His problems centered now around Tabini’s problems, and the dowager’s. If they could now get certain legislators to move on those—and get those critical bills passed . . .

And get lords appointed in Ajuri and the Kadagidi territory who weren’t working against the aiji . . .

He became aware that he had not dismissed his two valets. They were still standing there, staring at him with concern.

“I shall return this in the morning,” he said of the ring. “Kindly tell Narani, nadiin-ji, that I have to do that in the morning, before anything else.”

Koharu and Supani said they would relay that message, and he simply put himself into bed face down, so his head would not bleed on the clean, starched pillow casing.

It was so good. It was so very good for everyone to be alive, and for them all to be home.

· · ·

“One has finally heard,” Veijico said, “officially, what has happened—at least what Guild Headquarters is saying happened.”

They were all in night-robes—they had been trying to sleep when Veijico and Lucasi had slipped into the guest suite, so sleep was no longer in question. Antaro and Jegari had gotten up to ask what Veijico and Lucasi had learned. Cajeiri had heard that, and he could not stay abed: he had gotten up and asked them to tell him—

But they had gotten nowhere with that explanation, before Gene and Artur had come out of their room and asked what was going on, and then Irene had come out—so there they were, all of them, wrapped in over-sized adult robes, shivering in the lateness of the hour and the spookiness of the whole situation.

“There were a lot of Guild officers who had never come back to Shejidan since the Troubles,” Veijico said. “Your father and your great-grandmother brought them back tonight. The Guildmaster that has been in charge since your father came back to office is overthrown, the Director of Assignments is dead—”

“They got him!” Cajeiri said.

“They did, nandi. We are not supposed to name names of anybody. But that person is gone. And the people who have been high up in the Council have stepped down. Except two who are under arrest. The old officers have come back and they are in charge.”

“This is good,” Cajeiri said for his guests. “A good thing has happened.”

“But we are not supposed to say anything more than that,” Lucasi said, “because the Guild does not discuss its business.”

“But you are happy about it,” Cajeiri said.

“We believe it is good,” Lucasi said, “because of who went to change it.”

“Nand’ Bren and Cenedi-nadi.”

“Yes,” Veijico said. “They did.”

“And they all are back.”

“Now they are, nandi. Banichi is injured. He is home and doing well. Cenedi-nadi, Nawari, all the ones from your great-grandmother’s aishid, are all back and accounted for. We are under a continuing alert: there are a few individuals the Guild is actively hunting tonight, a few who were not in the building tonight, and some who may have gotten out and run or gone into hiding. We—being where we are, and assigned under the former leadership—one is certain all four of us will be up for review, nandi, regarding our assignment with you. Our man’chi will be questioned. We hope we shall not be removed.”

“What is she saying?” Artur asked—it was not the sort of conversation they had ever had, on the ship, and there were words Cajeiri was hardly sure how to translate.

“Everybody is back. There’s still an alert but everything’s all right. It’s still good.” He changed to Ragi. “My father will see you have no trouble, Jico-ji, and I shall remind him. And I shall remind mani, too. I shall by no means let them send you away!”

“We would be honored,” Veijico murmured with a little nod. “And your guests should not worry about this. We should not alarm them.”

“Good people run the Guild now,” Antaro said, little words their guests knew. “They are hunting the bad ones.”

Irene had said nothing, just sat listening, hugging her robe close and shivering a little. “I don’t think we ought to tell our parents everything,” she said with a little laugh, and they all agreed.

“Are you cold?” Cajeiri asked. “We can order tea. Even at night, someone is on duty.”

She shook her head. “Just scared,” she said. “I’m always scared of things.” Another little laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Not sorry,” he said, and gave the old challenge. “Who’s afraid?”

She held up two fingers, just apart. “This much. Just this much.”

“We’re safe,” he said. “Are we safe, Jico-ji?”

“Safer,” Veijico said. “Definitely safer.”

“Good, then!” They had just a little light, sitting there around the table, in the dark. Human eyes were spooky, shadowy, and never taking the light. Veijico’s and Lucasi’s, Antaro’s and Jegari’s, theirs all did, so you could see their eyes shimmery gold, honest and open. But with humans, one had to trust the shadows, and know their intentions were good. Irene shivered, she was so scared, sometimes. Irene had said—she just was that way.

But who had stood there facing his mother without a hint she was scared at all?

Irene.

He understood Irene, he thought. There were two kinds of fear. There was facing bullets, which meant you had to do something. And there was the long slow kind of fear that came of knowing there were problems and there was nothing you could do right away except try not to make things worse. His associates had seen both kinds in their short visit, and not shown anything but a little shiver after it was all over. Even Irene. She was very bright. She thought about things. She thought a lot. And she was certainly no coward.

He was proud of his little household, and he was increasingly sure he could count these three as his. He had attracted very good people. Mani had always said that was the best proof of character . . . that one could know a person by his associates. He felt very happy with himself and them, overall.

And when they all went back to bed—who was it who had to go to bed alone, with all this going on?

Him. And Irene.

“We can all sleep in this room,” he said. It was a huge bed, and there was room enough, and they could just layer the bedding and make it all proper, the way folk did who had only one bed.

So they did that. His aishid got their proper beds for the rest of the night, and he and his associates tucked into various layers of satin comforters and settled down together, like countryfolk with visitors, in the machimi plays.

He had hardly ever felt so safe as then.

14

Getting up in the morning—was not easy. A splitting headache—did not describe the sensation.

Bren slid carefully out of bed, felt his way to the light, and rummaged in the drawer of the little chest for the pill bottles. The scalp wound had swollen. He had no desire at all to investigate it, for fear his head would come apart. He simply swallowed, dry, two capsules of the right color and crawled back into bed face down for a few more moments.

The rest of him was amazingly pain-free. Usually when he and his aishid had been in a situation, he emerged sore in amazing places. But the back of his head paid for all.

And he had to find out how Banichi was doing. That thought, once conceived, would not let him rest. He crawled backward off the high bed, felt after his robe, and padded barefoot down the hall toward the security station and his aishid’s rooms.

The door was open, and there were servants about in the back halls, being relatively quiet. He heard nand’ Siegi’s voice, and Banichi’s, which was reassuring. He reached the little inner corridor, nodded a good morning to Algini and Jago, who were there in half-uniform, and asked, as he stood in the doorway, “How is he?”

“Arguing,” Jago said. “Nand’ Siegi will not permit him to sit up until afternoon.”

“Nor will we,” Algini said, and cast him a look. “You are next, nandi. Nand’ Siegi will deal with that.”

He truly was not looking forward to that. “Cup of tea,” he said, thinking hot tea might steady his stomach. The headache remedy was not sitting well.

He did not, however, get that far. Nand’ Siegi turned in his direction, saw him, and came his way with business in mind.

And treating it did hurt. God, did it hurt! Nand’ Siegi graciously informed him that it would scar somewhat, that he was very lucky it had not fractured his skull, that there were certain symptoms he was to report immediately should they occur, and that he should sleep on his face for several days. He was out of the mood for tea, after that, but by that time Jase was up, breakfast was about to be served, and Supani and Koharu were asking him whether he would dress for breakfast, or have it informally.

He was not sure he could keep toast down, his neck was stiff from tension and he did not want to tilt his head out of vertical. But he advised his valets that he would be paying a visit to Tabini-aiji as soon as the aiji wished. And he got up carefully, trying not to tilt his head, and made it to the little breakfast room, where Jase was having morning tea.

“How’s the head?” Jase asked.

He sat down, staring blankly at the out of focus door, and took about a minute to say, “Sore. Damn sore.”

“Tea?”

The door was still his vision of choice. It was uncomplicated. It didn’t move. And he didn’t have to turn his head to look at it. “Did Kaplan and Polano ever get any sleep?”

“You’re white. Here.” Jase reached across the little breakfast table. A cup of tea thumped down in front of him. “Drink.”

He picked it up and tried, gingerly, without looking at it. It was strong, sugared, and spiced.

“Nand’ Bren needs toast and eggs,” he heard Jase say.

He was far from sure about that. He was not sure about the spice in the tea. He blinked several times, and brought the door completely into focus. That was a start.

“We’re doing fine,” Jase said. “The kids got some sleep, I understand. I did. Algini says he’s been in touch with the Guild periodically during the night, and they’ve run down one of their fugitives. They have three others holed up in a town to the south.”

“Trying to run for the Marid,” Bren murmured, turning his head slightly, trying his focus on Jase’s face, which was a shade blurry. “No surprise. But that won’t be as ready a refuge now.” Two more sips of tea. “Anything else?”

“Nothing that’s reached me,” Jase said.

He was sure there would be messages. The message bowl in the front hall was likely overflowing since dawn. He remembered the bundle of post-mortem letters he had put in Narani’s hands. Retrieving those and destroying those was absolutely urgent.

He said, “Anything from Geigi?”

Jase shook his head. “Nothing. But I don’t expect anything. We haven’t advertised the problem. It’s really been rather quiet until this morning.”

“Last night,” he said, “last night in your venue. How did it really go?”

“Amazingly well,” Jase said, and the eggs and toast arrived. The youngest of the servants spooned eggs onto Bren’s plate, scrambled, thank God, nothing requiring such focus as cracking a shell and eating a soft-boiled egg without spilling it. “Sauce, nandi?”

“Thank you, Beja, no. —The kids,” he prompted Jase. “Damiri-daja. The dowager.”

“Damiri-daja said very little,” Jase said, “except at the last. Irene had a little speech, thanking the household. Damiri-daja asked Irene if her mother approved her being here, remarked how small she is, and told Cajeiri he’d done very well. It was an odd string of questions.”

It was odd—on an evening when her son’s guests were sheltering with her because her husband’s closest allies were out assassinating her elder cousin, who had probably just assassinated her father.

She was about to have a daughter of her own. Was it some maternal impulse?

Or had it been a political statement, intended to annoy her husband—from a woman very close to a politically-driven divorce?

Never forget, either, that her uncle Tatiseigi had been there as witness. God, he wished he’d been there to parse the undercurrents.

“Was Cajeiri upset?”

“Puzzled.”

“Small wonder, that.” He had a bite of toast, and the egg, and with the hot tea, his stomach began to feel warmer and a little steadier. It was awkward to eat, wearing the heavy ring, but he would not take it off. “At least it wasn’t outright warfare.”

“It wasn’t that,” Jase said, “I’m reasonably sure. Irene didn’t seem upset at it. She’s a shy kid. Timid. But she held her ground. We had to translate a question. She answered in very good Ragi, with all the forms I’d have used.”

“Good for her,” Bren said. “Good for Cajeiri. He’s done all right.” He shifted a glance up, as Narani appeared in the door, looking apologetic.

“The aiji wishes your presence, nandi,” Narani said. “At your convenience, the message said. He is in conference with the aiji-dowager.”

God. That meant—show up. Now. Possibly even—rescue me. Fast. He frowned, and those muscles hurt, right along with his neck. “Koharu and Supani,” he said to Narani. “Immediately, nadi-ji, thank you. Tell Algini.” He used the table for leverage to get up, not inclining his head in the process. “Best I get over there,” he said. “He means now.”

“Understood,” Jase said. “If you need me—”

“I’m all right,” he said. “Finish your breakfast.”

There might be another breakfast. Or lunch. He had no clear idea what time it was. He had to dress, get the damage to his scalp covered in a suitable queue, and look civilized, at least.

His valets met him in the hall, went with him into the bedroom—they dressed him, got his boots on without his having to bend over, and arranged his hair very gently so, they assured him, the wound hardly showed. He went out to the foyer, gathered up Algini and Jago—in a timing Narani arranged without any fuss at all, and went out and down the hall—a little dizzy: he was not sure whether that was the headache or the headache cure; but he made it the short distance down the hall and through Tabini’s front door without wobbling.

He could hear the argument in the sitting room, something about Lord Aseida. It was the dowager’s voice, and Tabini’s, that was too quiet to hear. Cenedi was on duty, with Nawari, outside the sitting room door, and that was useful. Algini could have a word with them while he waited.

Jago, however, elected to come in with him.

He walked in, made the motions of a little bow, without putting his head too far out of vertical, and received the wave of Tabini’s hand that meant sit down. “Aijiin-ma,” he said inclusively, and carefully settled.

His late arrival meant a round of tea and, gratefully, a cessation of the argument for a moment.

“You have had a physician’s attendance, surely, paidhi,” Tabini said.

“This morning, aiji-ma. Thank you. And one thanks the aiji-dowager. Banichi and I are doing very well this morning.”

“Your color is shocking,” Ilisidi said.

“I would not risk the best tea service, aiji-ma,” he said, and murmured, to the servant, “more sweet, nadi, if you will. Twice that.” Ordinarily he preferred mildly sweet, but this morning he had an uncommon yen for the fruity taste. And salty eggs. Electrolytes, his conscious brain said. “And do stay near me, nadi. Please take the cup from my hand immediately if I seem to drift.”

“You should not have come,” Tabini said. “You might have declined, paidhi-ji.”

“I could not keep this all morning,” he said, regarding the ring on his hand. He drew down a sip of tea, which did taste good, and faced the quandary of courtesy versus prudence—tea delayed the necessity to get up and return Tabini’s ring . . . he thought so, at least. He was just a little muddled about priorities. And about too many other things. And thoroughly light-headed, and not thinking well, since the exertion of coming here. “In just a moment, aiji-ma.”

“Fool paidhi.” Tabini set down his cup, got up, and came to him and held out his hand.

“Aiji-ma.” Bren had set down his cup, eased the ring off and dropped it into Tabini’s warm hand, which closed, momentarily on his.

“Cold,” Tabini said.

“The tea helps, aiji-ma.”

“Fool,” Tabini said, crossing the little space to sit down again. “Fool. You shielded your own bodyguard last night. I have every suspicion of it.”

“I truthfully cannot remember what I did, aiji-ma. We just sat against the wall, and there was a great deal of racket.”

“Ha,” Ilisidi said. “Racket, one can well imagine. We have had a lifelong curiosity to see the inside of that place. You have cheated us of the sight.”

“I did not get beyond the Council chamber, aiji-ma. And this morning I am losing little details of what I did see there. Which likely will suit the Guild well. But one does understand we came out with everyone alive. Is that true?”

“True,” Tabini said. “One is glad to say, it is true.” Tabini set his cup down, and now conversation could shift. “We have the old Guildmaster back, we hear. The dead have risen up, the missing have returned, the retired have rescinded their retirement, and a handful of high officials installed this last year have proven difficult to find. We hoped that the Council meeting would have had all of them on the premises, but we missed five individuals, we understand. The restored leadership is interviewing members, starting with assignments to the Bujavid, ascertaining man’chi, kinship, past service, asking for references, and any other testimony that may apply. Meanwhile we have a matter arising which will regard the paidhi-aiji, and if you are able to hear it, paidhi, it would be good to set your staff on it this morning.”

“One waits to hear, aiji-ma,” he murmured—hoping it was a small problem.

“The matter of Lord Aseida,” Tabini said, “is a storm blowing up quite rapidly, if predictably. The lords are all uneasy in what happened, and we are particularly concerned that the action may set your good name in question.”

“That fool Topari,” Ilisidi said, “is the one pushing this.”

“Topari is irrelevant,” Tabini said. “Of Tatiseigi’s enemies, he is the very least.”

“The man thinks in conspiracies,” Ilisidi said. “He will argue against the television image if we provide it. He understands such things can be edited. I have it on good authority, he will be the problem. The others will let this fool put his head up and see what the answer is. He is exceedingly upset—the arrest of a lord is his issue—so he claims.”

Topari. A lord of the Cismontane Association, south of the capital—a rural district even more conservative than the Padi Valley Association. It was a Ragi population, in the watershed this side of the Senjin Marid, and running up into the highlands.

That district, one readily recalled, detested humans on principle, did not support the space program, and Topari was part of that little knot of minor lords that, geographically speaking, sat between the Marid and the aishidi’tat. Regarding his relations with Tabini—Topari had not been signatory to Murini’s coup—but likely only because that region rarely joined anything.

The brain was working. The head still hurt, but he felt the little adrenaline surge.

“You can do nothing with him, paidhi,” Tabini said. “And we still say he will not be the principal problem.”

“Leverage,” Ilisidi said, “is his entire motive. Aseida could catch fire and he would care nothing for the man. But Topari sees a way to make a problem to our disadvantage and cause a problem.”

A problem aimed at the aiji-dowager, Bren thought. And asked: “What, aijiin-ma, is his position?”

Right question. Tabini looked very annoyed, and Ilisidi had a quick answer.

“He is currently in a lather over our agreement with the Taisigin Marid,” Ilisidi said. “That is the entire business.”

“I am not about to take issue at a Ragi lord for objecting to the removal of a Ragi lord,” Tabini said. “That is not the approach I can make to this situation, especially with my grandmother as one of the principals in this affair!”

“The paidhi asks the right question. What is his position? Nothing to do with Lord Aseida or lordly prerogatives. We are his real target. He objects to our trade agreement with the Taisigin Marid because he sees it as affecting the Senjin rail line which his grandfather built. He envisions the southern treaty as replacing his precious railroad—the only privately constructed rail still functioning in the aishidi’tat. Because of an imagined danger to his rail segment and his little slice of use-fees on shipments to Senji, he has made me his enemy—I believe tyrant was the precise wording when he discussed my character. And while a reasonable man might have retreated from his rhetoric of several decades past, he views the whole world as an absolute set of numbers. He views negotiation as a fault and a weakness. He calls me fickle, and changeable, but will apparently not believe I can back off from an inconvenient feud which never mattered greatly in the first place! That, Grandson of mine, is his entire concern with the fate of Lord Aseida, but I will wager you he will present a resolution calling for an investigation, and if he has his hand on it, it will be a resolution extravagant in its blame of us and Lord Tatiseigi for attacking that Kadagidi whelp who was trying to kill us!”

“You are not worried about your reputation,” Tabini said.

“Of course not!”

“Well, his resolution will fail, when its own caucus fails to support it. And if the paidhi-aiji will simply supply Lord Tatiseigi with the record Jase-aiji has—you may have the satisfaction of publicly embarrassing Lord Topari.”

“And creating a firestorm around our rail extension!”

God. Railroad politics. Trains were not only vital to the southern mountains, they were the only transport in the southern mountains, besides local trucks on roads that would daunt a mecheita. It was all going to start all over again. One saw it coming, everybody south of Shejidan wanting advantage to their own clan in the routing of the rail extension.

And Topari was the man to start it all sliding.

“Perhaps,” Bren said quietly, “perhaps I can get ahead of the situation, before anyone proposes an investigation.”

“You are wounded, paidhi!”

From Tabini, it was downright touching. Bren lifted a hand, a gesture to plead for a hearing of his point. “I recall the incident of the name-calling.” The old man had, in a legislative session some years ago, called Tatiseigi ineffectual and Ilisidi an Eastern tyrant. Tatiseigi had, in turn, called him greedy, which, within the Conservative Caucus, had seen charges flying about graft and the siting of rail stations. Tatiseigi had emerged from the squabble with perfectly clean hands, since he had fought to keep rail out of his district, not to bring it in. “As I recall, his quarrel with Lord Tatiseigi also dates from the railroad dispute.”

“Absolutely,” Ilisidi said. “Absolutely that is behind his stirring this up.”

“He is not the only one stirring this up,” Tabini said.

“He is the one poised to be a cursed inconvenience,” Ilisidi shot back.

“Tatiseigi can deal with him,” Tabini said, “as deftly as he did the last time.”

“Or I can deal with him,” Bren said, and in the breath he had, with the room somewhat swimming in his vision: “Lord Tatiseigi has human guests at the moment. And Lord Tatiseigi’s complaint is our justification against the Kadagidi, so he cannot take an impartial stance. I have actually exchanged civil words with Lord Topari in the past, unlikely as it may seem.”

“Negotiation with the man?” Tabini asked. “It may only make him a worse problem. He is not accepting of humans.”

“But I sit on the Transportation Committee,” Bren said quietly. “I have not been active on it since our return—but in fact, I will have influence in the plan for the south, and I am the negotiator with the Taisigin Marid, all of which will directly affect his district. My intentions may greatly worry him.”

“The bill on which you and my grandmother have staked an enormous risk—is still not voted on. The whole linked chain of the tribal peoples, Machigi’s agreement, the whole southwest coast, gods less fortunate! is postponed, and may be postponed further, awaiting a resolution of this mess of the succession in two clans. If you make Lord Topari in any wise part of the Aseida stew, it may well spill into the west coast matter, and if those two become linked, every lord and village will take a personal invitation to argue their own modifications to the west coast compromise. We cannot rescue you from that situation, if it goes awry. If you do lend this mountain lord any importance on these grounds or start negotiating with him before the west coast matter is voted on and untouchable, the Aseida matter can blow up into a storm that will take the west coast and the southern agreement with it.”

“One absolutely concurs in your estimate, aiji-ma, and I take your warning. I shall not negotiate with him. But one can advise Lord Topari—privately, politely—with no audience at all—that he is about to step into political quicksand. The Cismontane poses a nuisance to the southern agreement if he becomes a problem, but I may be able to do him a favor.”

“By warning him off this.”

“Warning him, exactly, aiji-ma. If he will talk to me—if he is not a fool, and I have not had the impression that he is. He is a devout ’counter, yes, a traditionalist, yes. But if I warn him away from a political cliff edge, and he avoids a second embarrassing loss to Lord Tatiseigi, then he may even deign to talk to me on the railroad matter, when it comes at issue . . . so long as I am entirely discreet about the contact. He needs publicly to deplore human influence, true. But if I can prevent him taking Aseida’s part in this, and if he warns certain other people off the idea—that will help us. One does recall that he lacks a Guild bodyguard. Several of his neighbors are in the same situation. They will not be getting the information that other lords have already gotten, quietly, from the changed leadership in the Guild. So he is in a position to make a public fuss and then to be embarrassed again, very painfully. But I propose to inform him—in a kindly way. Am I reasoning sanely in this, aijiin-ma? I think so, but a headache hardly improves my reasoning.”

“Will he even speak to you?” Tabini asked. “You are in no condition to go to him. Nor should you!”

“My major domo is a remarkable and traditional gentleman. It would be the crassest rudeness to turn Narani away unheard. I can at least try such an approach and plead my injury to necessitate Lord Topari coming to me.”

A deep breath. A sigh. “Well, well, do your best, paidhi. If you fail, then he may have to have his falling-out with Tatiseigi in public, and it will be untidy, and it may spill over into other debates, but I shall leave it in your hands, if you believe you can work with him. I have two vacant lordships to deal with, neither easy to fill, and I shall not be asking Topari for his opinion.”

“Will you ask Damiri?” Ilisidi asked archly, lips pursed, and Tabini scowled in her direction.

“We are certain you will have advice.”

“Who is her recommendation?”

“I have not asked her. Nor shall until she offers an opinion. Gods less fortunate, woman! She has a father to mourn!”

“Ah. We had hardly expected mourning on that score. But she will not take the lordship. Nor will my great-grandson. Let us agree on that, at least.”

Tabini frowned. “To my certain recollection, I have that decision, alone, and I find no reason to forecast who it will be.” He placed his hands on his thighs, preparatory to rising. “And we have kept the paidhi-aiji, who is distressingly pale, overlong, and made him work much too hard. Paidhi, you and your aishid will pursue the matter you wish to attempt. Cenedi will pursue business of his own. I have a meeting this afternoon with the Assassins’ Guild, regarding . . . business. And the aiji-consort will meanwhile make plans for the Festivity . . . which we are now hopeful will come off without hindrance or extraordinary commotion. Paidhi-ji.”

“Aiji-ma?”

“Rest. Care for your own household. And do not be talked into visiting Topari on his terms. We forbid it.”

“One hears, aiji-ma.”

Tabini rose, and offered his hand to his grandmother. She used his help, and her cane, and Bren rose and bowed as Jago moved close by him, in case the paidhi-aiji should unceremoniously fall on his face. Cenedi was now attending the dowager. Everything was back where it ought to be.

And he—he had to talk to Jase and send Narani on an errand into the city.

Preferably after a ten minute rest, with his eyes shut.

He was aware of his heartbeat in the wound on the back of his skull and tried to decide whether it matched the pounding in his temples. He just wanted to go home, lie down, preferably not on his back, and then maybe have another slice of buttered toast, to settle his stomach.

But he had to launch a campaign before he had that luxury . . . and see if he could move a man who ruled mountains.

He was laying plans even as he walked home with Jago and Algini.

Tell Lord Topari, he would say to Narani, that the paidhi-aiji wishes to forewarn him of evidence in the case of Lord Aseida, and that the paidhi-aiji wishes to meet with him discreetly and in confidence, preferring the honor of his company for tea in his residence— if he will be so accommodating. Say to him that the paidhi-aiji has been injured and is unable to walk any distance, but that the paidhi has heard of his concern and will not rest until he has spoken to him personally.

If there was one thing he had noted in the old lord, it was a sense of eternally frustrated entitlement, a sense that his mountainous district, though Ragi and part of the central lands, received everything last and least. Tea with a human might not be high on the list of honors Lord Topari craved—but Narani, country-bred himself, though coastal, might cajole the man into understanding at least one reason the conference was not taking place in an office.

Lord Topari, like other minor lords, lodged in town during the legislative session. The Cismontane, like many other small associations, seasonally held rooms for their representatives in the tashrid and hasdrawad in a moderately-priced hotel a few rows back from the esplanade at the foot of the Bujavid—off among the restaurants and office supply shops. Narani would take the tram down the lofty steps as far as the esplanade, and walk—it would not be far enough to necessitate local transport.

For the paidhi-aiji and his bodyguards to make the trek—the route would have involved the train station and a conspicuous Guild-supplied bus. He didn’t think he had it in him. He knew he didn’t. And he would, he thought, think better of Lord Topari forever, if Lord Topari would just come up the hill to disagree with him.

· · ·

· · ·

Son of mine, the letter went, that Madam Saidin had brought into the guest quarters, be advised that the official celebration of your birthday will be on the day itself. Jase-aiji will come to your door to escort your guests to the paidhi-aiji’s apartment, and to escort you and your aishid to our apartment for a private breakfast, at the usual time. There will be a small luncheon, late, attended by family and by your personal guests. Appropriate wardrobe will be transferred by staff during breakfast. Kindly advise your young associates of that arrangement. The paidhi-aiji’s staff will assist your guests.

Lord Tatiseigi has been requested, by separate letter, to escort your great-grandmother. He will, starting in late afternoon, lead a private museum tour for all official guests, ending at the supper hour in a buffet reception and formal Festivity for a larger number of guests, in the Audience Hall, to last about three hours.

Understand and explain to your guests that these arrangements in no wise reflect precedence, rank, or favor. The prime consideration is the capacity of the residency lift system and the need for the three of us to arrive at the appropriate time and together, as hosts of the event.

Understand too that for most of the day, your guests will be attached to the paidhi-aiji and Jase-aiji, not to you, nor should you signal or converse with them in public except for passing courtesy. You should direct your full attention to the various guests and officials.

My major domo has provided a list of ranks, titles, colors, and a brief history of the guests—a document which should by no means be carried to the hall. Kindly surrender the list to Madam Saidin once you have committed the necessary information to memory. She will destroy it.

It is also incumbent on you to make a brief speech to the reception guests stating the accomplishments since your last felicitous birthday and complimenting and thanking your guests for their attendance. I shall write it for you, and trust you will have no difficulty learning it. I shall send you that on the day.

Son of mine, your mother and I have every confidence you will carry off this felicitous event, the first state event in which you will stand beside us, with dignity and grace. We are confident you will conduct yourself in a manner that will solidly establish your good reputation before the court.

Bear in mind that your conduct in this event will follow you into adulthood, and that, while your eventual inheritance of the aijinate is presumed, it is an elective office, subject to the approval of the legislature.

Conduct your celebration with due respect to all your guests, old and young, and be aware that among them are individuals in various degrees disapproving of your human associates.

This event does not test your guests. It tests you, and your parents and great-grandmother. Opinions can be reversed, when they are held by honest and intelligent people, and, in your great-grandmother’s words, it is easier to lead a mecheita uphill than to carry him. Keep that in mind, regarding any negative or unpleasant opinions, and be particularly courteous to difficult people.

Be gracious, be pleasant, and if you detect an opinion that seems too obscure to be understood, or should one seem too argumentative or hostile, refer that person to me.

Beyond this event, your personal guests and relations and the ship-aiji and the paidhi-aiji will all return to our apartment for a private reception and, we hope, a far more relaxed end to a successful evening.

Not have his birthday guests with him?

Three hours with lords and legislators and committee people?

A list of old people?

And make a speech?

It was going to be as gruesome as he had thought. Worse. His father had invited all the people he wanted and he had no say at all in it.

That made him mad. It made him very mad. But there was not a thing he could do about it. He had no way to arrange anything. Eisi and Liedi could get things from the kitchen. They could get a platter of teacakes. And they could all dress up and pretend they were having a festivity on the day after, maybe. But he would know it was not official. And his guests would find themselves left out of his real official festivity, and he was supposed to ignore them all evening?

There was a list of names attached, a long one. There must be a hundred of them.

He sank down on the couch and looked at it in despair. Boji, loose, on the chain the staff had found, and with Gene holding it, bounded over and sat on the arm of the couch.

The speech—was not that bad. It was about five lines. He could remember that. But—

“Is it bad news, Jeri-ji?” Artur asked.

What did he say? “My father. One expected something like it.” He looked through the pages again, and there was nothing good to say. “I have to be with them all day. In the evening—a big public party.”

“Then good news!” Irene said.

“Not so good,” he said, holding up the paper with the list. “I have to talk to legislators, hundreds of them. All court dress, all formal court, all evening. You will have to stay with Jase-aiji and nand’ Bren, and I have to stand by my parents and bow to stupid people all evening and smile.” He put on his best court smile, mild, neither happy nor unhappy, just a motion. “I have to smile all evening. And we all have to be proper. All evening. One greatly regrets, nadiin-ji.”

“Well, we can do that,” Gene said. “With Jase-aiji and nand’ Bren, we’re fine, no problem.”

“I shall not let stupid people talk to you,” he said. “If anyone is stupid I will find it out and I shall throw them out of the hall.”

“Are there going to be stupid people?” Irene asked.

He looked at the list, looking for certain names, but he particularly found some pleasant ones. Dur, for one. Young Dur, and his father. “Nobody from Ajuri or Kadagidi,” he said, reassured by what he did see. “Calrunaidi will be there—my cousin on Great-grandmother’s side. I can deal with him. Dur is good. The new lord of the Maschi is good. Lord Machigi’s representative is good—I suppose.” He kept reading, looking for problems. “Nobody really stupid.”

“So we can do it,” Gene said. “We stay with nand’ Bren and stay out of trouble. Is there cake?”

“Cakes?” he asked.

“Birthday cake,” Irene said. “It’s a custom.”

He did remember, from the ship. It was what humans did. Birthday cakes sounded good. “Like teacakes?”

“Big cake,” Artur said, showing him with his hands. “In layers, with sweet stuff between. Fruit drink. We didn’t ever have that at Reunion, not since I was little. But we do, on the station.”

At the Festivity his father would give a speech. Probably the kabiuteri would give a speech. They had things to say on every formal occasion.

And he would give his speech. And stand and bow and probably sign cards.

A big cake sounded like a good idea. It would put everybody in a good mood.

Memorizing the list of guests was going to go faster than he first feared, too, because he already knew a lot of the people who were coming. He could just trust what he knew about them and study the handful he had never met.

Cake with sweet layers between, Artur said. Madam Saidin was handling things, with Great-uncle and Great-grandmother both being busy with the Lord Aseida problem, and nand’ Bren had been involved with the really serious stuff going on with the Guild.

Icing with that delicate tangy-sweet flavor in the best teacakes. His favorite.

Great-uncle’s cook could figure that out, he was sure.

He could ask. He should get some good things on his birthday.

And his guests were being very polite, the way they had been polite and good all the way through the visit, never taking things badly, never sulking—maybe somebody had told them not to. He had had hints they were under orders. But he knew he could not be that good that long if he was bored.

So maybe he had at least kept them from boredom. And maybe they would like seeing all the colors and the Audience Hall. There certainly would be plenty of fancy things and glitter. There was a museum tour beforehand. They would like that. And everything they saw down there would be new to them.

So maybe they would enjoy things more than he thought.

He would be talking to people and bowing and bowing and bowing until his neck ached, smiling just the right way for every rank—while they, he hoped, would be walking around with nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji, looking at things that were new to them. The Audience Hall was fancier than most anything.

He only wished they were all back at Tirnamardi, and that they could go riding again, so they could all have a good time. That would make everything perfect.

Boji climbed up on his shoulder, reached down and tried to grab the papers from his hand. “No,” he said. “Pest.”

Boji climbed down his arm, and when he moved it, took a flying leap for the couch arm, and then back to his shoulder, with a screech that hurt his ear. He reached up and tugged the chain, shortening it considerably. Artur let it go, and he let it run to the end, still holding it, so Boji, who thought he was going to reach the desk, ran along the back of the couch in frustration, and made a dive for the bowl of fruit.

Which he did not reach. “Come here,” Cajeiri said, and gave a series of clicks, mimicking Boji.

Boji came, approaching carefully on all fours, then sat up and stood up, and moved onto Cajeiri’s knee.

“Look at that!” Irene exclaimed.

“He understands you,” Gene said. “What did you say to him?”

“I have no idea,” Cajeiri said, and laughed and scratched Boji on the side of his cheek, which he liked. Boji then climbed up his arm in a vaulting move and ended up on the couch back behind him.

Parid’ji could become attached—not man’chi, so Jegari had said, but something like it. They were sociable among themselves, and with only atevi for a choice, some attached and learned to do clever things like retrieve a ball.

But they also stole things, Jegari had said. And it was true. Boji had made off with his treasured penknife and a brand new hair ribbon, which he had bitten through, freeing his little hands for a jump.

“Artur,” Cajeiri said, and tossed him the end of Boji’s chain. Boji went with it, clever creature, leaping for Artur, and grabbing at the chain in mid-air.

Artur was cleverer than that, and got the chain anyway. Boji had to be content with climbing up to Artur’s shoulder and chittering at him—especially as Artur took him toward the cage. Artur clipped the chain to the grillwork, which gave Boji the freedom of the inside or the outside.

Boji was rather like them, Cajeiri thought, a short chain and a walk from this guarded place to that guarded place.

But they were all right, at least, and there would be a museum tour. His guests were safe. They said they were having a good time. They played with Boji—Boji liked it. They played cards, and he let them win at least half the time.

He sighed, which drew immediate stares from his guests, who were not stupid, so he could not even do that much—let alone throw a tantrum about it all. Being infelicitous eight had been hard. But right now it seemed safe and known. Nine was supposed to be a very felicitous year . . . but Nine was unexplored territory, and he almost wished he could stay just eight.

Being nine, he had to stand there and look important and grown up, but having not one single thing he wanted, for three whole hours.

And give a speech.

That was not an auspicious start of being nine.

15

A little time lying down—that helped. Bren managed a nap very carefully, having shed his coat, and his vest, and lay carefully on his stomach, head on his hand, so as not to wrinkle the shirt.

A knock sounded at the door, and he turned a little and looked from the corner of his eye—it was Jago who had come in.

“Bren-ji. Narani reports Lord Topari is coming. Imminently.”

Damn. And good. “How imminently?”

“Narani estimates half an hour.”

Damn again. He didn’t want to move. But he carefully slid off the bed—he and his valets had agreed that the helpful little stepping-stool should always be set precisely in the middle of the bedframe, so that he could find it infallibly with his foot. “My vest,” he said, “Jago-ji. How is Banichi?”

“Sleeping,” Jago said. “Tano is also sleeping.”

“Good for both,” he said. He straightened his sleeves, saw that Jago had taken not the vest he had just put off to lie down, but the bulletproof one, and considering Topari’s opinion of humans, and his experience in the south, he didn’t argue. He simply slipped his arms into it, and let Jago fasten it. “How did Narani report his disposition?”

“As unhappy.”

“The brown coat.” That was a day-coat that accommodated that vest, the only day-coat that would. Jago took it from the closet and held it for him, helped him settle the shoulders.

“A message from Tabini,” Jago said, the sort of running report he usually got from his valets or his major d’, “regarding the festivity schedule. A message from the aiji-dowager, which is actually Cenedi’s report on security—Algini and I have heard it. There are no surprises.”

“Good,” he said. “Teacakes. Can we manage that?”

“Bindanda has anticipated the need,” Jago said, “and arranged some small pastries, too, in the thought that such things, if unneeded for guests, never go begging.”

“Excellent,” he said. “We need to call Bujavid security.”

“Better,” Jago said. “I shall go downstairs and escort the lord up.”

“Having him in the best mood possible,” he said, “will be an asset. Thank you, Jago-ji.”

“Look at me,” she said, and gently angled his face to look him in the eyes and let him track her finger. “The pupils still match.”

“Good,” he said, wishing he dared take another painkiller. But he had an ill-disposed, rough-edged southerner headed for his apartment and he needed nothing to dull his senses. “The video from nand’ Jase.”

“The video and the viewer will be in the sitting room, should you wish.”

“Excellent. One trusts Topari has a bodyguard.”

“Yes,” Jago said. “Algini just requested their records. If there should be any problem—shall we defer Guild objection to his escort, in the interests of the meeting, or shall we make one and bar them from entry?”

“Let them in,” he said. “Let us be cordial to our guest . . . and do not alarm him. Advise Jase and his aishid—no, I should advise him. His presence might be useful. Otherwise, just let Tano sleep. Surely you and Algini can deal with any problem.”

“One suggests we ask two of the aiji’s guards to fill in, to be sure.”

Tabini’s secondary bodyguards were the dowager’s own, and their presence would brief Tabini and Ilisidi at once they returned to their posts. “Yes,” he said. “Do that. Go.”

She left, moving quickly. He took a slower pace to his office and left the door open, seeing to a little note-taking, while kitchen, serving staff, and Jago collectively saw to it they had a smooth welcome for a very problematic visitor, who must not get stopped and annoyed by the extraordinary security of the third floor.

Jase came in. “Visitor?” Jase asked, in the shorthand way of ship-folk. “I’m told he’s a problem.”

“He can be, easily. Conservative as hell, and he and his staff are probably the only citizens of his district that’ve ever met anybody who wasn’t born in his district.”

“We’ve seen that problem,” Jase said. “Too long between station-calls.”

“Only his district has never made a station-call, even on their own capital, not in the whole existence of the aishidi’tat. The mountain folk only heard about the War of the Landing. They only hear about humans. This fellow’s certainly the only one in his district who’s ever met one of us, and that one is me, so it’s a pretty small sample. Meeting you would double his entire experience. Kaplan and Polano in armor—and the technicalities of that recording from two angles—are going to be a bit much for him, I’m suspecting, but I’ll try not to push matters.”

“We’re there if you need us,” Jase said. “Kaplan and Polano are sleeping off last night. I can send them in if you want.”

“We’ll manage. We have reinforcement from next door.” He noted Narani’s quiet appearance in the doorway. “Very well done, Rani-ji. How was he?”

Narani’s little lift of the brows, the little hesitation, spoke volumes. “One believes, nandi, that the gentleman does not trust the invitation, but considers your position.”

“And detests my filthy self being on this very exclusive floor?”

“That would be my estimation of his views, nandi.”

“I almost want to stay and watch,” Jase said, “but I urgently plan to read a book.”

“I think we’ll record this session, too,” Bren said. “At least the audio. I won’t review it myself, but the Guild will. The new Guild. The Guild that’s not in the least happy with the amount of misinformation that’s flown about in the last several years. I’m expecting them to ask for a copy of the Kadagidi video, too, since it’s come into issue.”

“We have absolutely no objection to that,” Jase said.

The notion that one could rely on the Guild to take in such a tape, quietly disseminate just the information in it to the bodyguards of numerous lords, and that the lords and their bodyguards could have confidence in information under Guild seal being accurate—they had lost that confidence, in the last two years, when they had only feared that the Guild had a few serious leaks.

When they had begun to realize that the security problem was far worse than that—when they’d finally understood they were unable to trust the Guild’s very integrity—that had been a nightmare. If that confidence had ever been undermined in the general public, the whole continent would have gone to hell on the fast track.

That problem was, they hoped, fixed. Fixed, to the point that if it were not that a certain minor lord was about to shipwreck himself and his association on an assumption—he could hope that the Guild would now function in the old way, that Guild experts would view the tape, the Council would review it, and then quietly pass the word through Guild channels, so that they would not have to have a legislative investigation on the matter. Truth was truth, and truth, in this instance, truth had been filmed from two slightly different angles, simultaneously, and it was sworn to by one court official, a foreign head of state, two high lords of the aishidi’tat and a number of senior Guild who’d been there as witnesses. The Guild Council should fairly well accept it as it stood.

It would be a great relief if that happened and it all became quiet.

It would be a great relief if the Lord Aseida matter would drop like a stone and sink out of sight. In the old system, lords who were disposed to support Aseida, for whatever reason, ideally would simply get advice to the contrary, that the Guild, having deliberated, was going to rule against Aseida . . . and life would go on, while Aseida would probably get a quiet retirement in a town where he could live reasonably and settle disputes about hunting rights or tannery fumes, granted he stayed out of trouble.

But the Guild couldn’t straighten its internal business out fast enough in this instance. Tatiseigi could talk to others who would be disturbed by the incident, and persuade them on the strength of his own reputation. But Tatiseigi was not likely to make headway with the man he had publicly embarrassed, and as for the dowager meeting with him—

Not a good idea . . . especially when the real thing at stake was not Lord Aseida’s future, but the Cismontane Association and a few critical kilometers of privately-owned railroad that crossed a vital mountain pass.

So the best he could do was to try . . . and hope that Topari would just let the Aseida matter drift off and talk to him about the thing he really wanted.

Algini eventually came in, saying that Topari was now in the lift system with Jago, and with his own bodyguard. The two Guildsmen from Tabini’s staff had arrived, and were being briefed so far as they could be: they were simply to stand by the door in the event the rural bodyguard caused a problem.

There was no need for the paidhi-aiji to be waiting in the sitting room, looking anxious. Let Narani employ his skills and soothe the gentleman with attentions. Let Topari absorb the hospitality of the fairly traditional household, and be treated as a proper guest. It was not a bureaucratic office, or the legislative waiting room: it was a high court official’s private home, and business would indeed wait while the traditional formalities were played out, and anger settled in the traditional way.

He heard the door open, and heard the arrival. Algini was out in the foyer, standing guard by the office, a convenient place to meet Jago and learn the gentleman’s temper in a handful of discreet signals. The gentleman’s attendants would politely split up, two to attend the gentleman and two to stand in the hall with the aiji’s pair. Weapons? Oh, undoubtedly there would be weapons . . . God only knew what sort—likely hunting pieces—but that was why Tabini’s men were in the hall.

He gave it a little while more, until Narani would have time to see the gentleman seated, time enough to have the servants busy preparing tea, and time to for Narani to intone, in his best formal manner, “I shall inform the paidhi-aiji you are here, nandi.”

He heard the door open and close. He waited.

Jago and Algini let Narani in, Narani said, as cheerfully as if he had not just dealt with an irate country lord, “Lord Topari, nandi, is in the sitting room.”

“Thank you, Rani-ji.” He got up, albeit gingerly, as he was doing things today, and walked into the hall and past the two Guildsmen and the two rural bodyguards, to enter the sitting room by the formal, proper door.

Lord Topari was as he remembered the man, a portly fellow, a little reminiscent of Lord Geigi, except he stood shorter and wider, and he entirely lacked Lord Geigi’s genial manner. Lord Topari had one expression, set like concrete, and his eyes shifted hither and thither as if he expected ambush in this place of antique furnishings and delicate manners. He was dressed in a moderate fashion, a good green twill coat with leather trim, with a little lace at cuffs and collar, decidedly not in current fashion and decidedly not trying to be.

Jago was there already. So was Algini. And the viewer was set up.

“Nandi,” Bren said, paying a painful and absolutely correct little bow as he reached his intended chair. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, let us have a little tea.” He signaled. Servants moved, and absolutely Narani, his master of kabiu, had thought of everything. It was not his most elaborate tea set, in case of breakage, but a very traditional one, about fifty years old; and immediately behind the tea service came a servant with a plate of teacakes and small pastries, the aroma of which complemented the tea. “The hour being such,” Bren said, “one thought the cakes might be welcome.” He took one himself, and took a little bite—should the gentleman have any notion there was any mischief about the cakes.

And if anyone could resist Bindanda’s tea cakes he had no appetite for perfection. Topari did not have the look of a man who disdained fine food, and there was, indeed, a milder expression on that face once the orangelle sweetness reached Topari’s senses.

That cake vanished, rather quickly, and two gulps of tea. The servant with the teacakes offered more.

“I have not been to Halrun,” Bren remarked by way of small talk, naming Topari’s house and village. “Is it high in the mountains?”

“The highest of all capitals,” the man said immediately.

And the coldest, it was reputed.

“One is told it is quite beautiful in the southern mountains.”

“We are not enthusiastic about strangers.”

“Ah. Well, then to the loss of all the world, certainly. I have always enjoyed the snow. And one understands winter never quite leaves Halrun.”

“We do, indeed, keep snow on the peaks in midsummer.”

“But Halrun itself is not at such a height.”

“No,” Topari said shortly, and took another teacake, which disappeared in two bites and a gulp of tea.

“Well, well,” Bren said, seeing that the man was not settling, nor likely to if they wandered too far from the topic. He set his cup down, as host, the signal that business conversation was now in order.

The other cup, minus a last gulp, went down. Curious little gesture. Not quite city manners. The cup clicked onto the table.

“I do again thank you for coming, nandi,” Bren said quietly. “And I shall not waste your time. Sources inform me that you are quite perturbed about the situation of Lord Aseida.”

“I shall not argue it here.”

“One entirely understands, nandi, but I have an utterly different motive in asking you here. I am no authority within the aishidi’tat, merely a voice, but I do know that your district has become very important, or will be so, in the future. Your strong leadership is important, and my principals have no wish to see political damage occur . . .”

“Is that a threat, nandi?”

“By no means, nandi. I have asked you here because I have consulted with others of the Conservative Caucus on the matter of the Kadagidi lord, and clearly you are part of that caucus, equally deserving of the information the others are being given, or may already have. Guild administration has changed. Information is being passed from the Assassins’ Guild to various houses regarding that change and other matters. And realizing that your own bodyguard may not be tapped into that source, and that you have expressed concern about various events, I called you here to give you that information, for fairness’ sake. Appearances will be preserved, I swear to you, and there will be no news of the topic of our meeting. That we two have business could involve a dozen things—the railway and the southern route, among others—perfectly logical for us to discuss.” There was bait on a string. “But most urgently, nandi, let me state the real business, which you need to know—to have proved to your satisfaction: the action at the Kadagidi estate was entirely lawful. My bodyguard was fired upon and wounded. My Guild senior is at present lying abed injured, and as you see, I was not exempt from attack.” He lifted a hand toward the cut on his cheek. “A minor scrape. There were, however, six holes in the bus in which I was standing.”

“That is no proof. It says nothing as to who provoked the incident.”

“I agree. It is no proof at all. But proof exists. First, a document delivered to the Guild last night contains the confession of two members from the Dojisigin Marid, who were coerced to lie in wait for Lord Tatiseigi, in an unFiled assassination which provoked our visit to the Kadagidi—since, at the time of the incident, Lord Tatiseigi had guests who were put at risk: the aiji-dowager, the aiji’s son and heir, myself, one of the ship-aiji and three young folk from the space station.”

“Humans!”

“Indeed, the three innocent human children, nandi, guests of the aishidi’tat, in a diplomatic maneuver important to the aishidi’tat. In the thought that perhaps Lord Aseida, who aided the two Dojisigi to gain access to the Atageini house, might not have known about the foreign guests, who were indeed under deep security at the time—I and a ship-aiji, a former paidhi-aiji—undertook to go personally over to the Kadagidi estate to advise Lord Aseida privately of the situation, and to ask for an apology, in the name of the dowager, and the heir, and Lord Tatiseigi. Had Lord Aseida appeared, heard me, and simply given a verbal apology, that would have settled the matter and relieved Lord Tatiseigi’s honor and his of the burden in private, in such a way that would have ended the incident. The ship-aiji and his bodyguard were there to witness the Kadagidi response in the interests of their aijiin. And whenever a ship-aiji’s guard deploys in a situation, they make a recording to prove what happened in the exchange. That is their custom. And that recording, which I am prepared to show you, shows our action and the Kadagidi response.”

Expression touched Lord Topari’s face, difficult to read: skepticism, one was certain.

“And this will be entered in evidence?”

“Nandi, it is to be filed with the Guild today. The confession of the two Assassins is already filed. And being informed that you are first to ask into the facts, as someone should ask—I have asked you here to see what happened, to see exactly what the Guild Council will see, should you wish to do so. I do not say you will be the last to see it—but you will be the first.”

A suspicious look.

“It will be relatively brief, nandi.”

“Television.”

“Not precisely television, nandi,” Jago said, moving forward, “but this viewer.” She pushed a button and an image flashed up on the bare wall to the left, larger than life. Algini immediately dimmed the lights, and without Lord Topari precisely consenting—the images appeared.

Bren watched Lord Topari, whose face, in the reflected light, was grim and apprehensive, not pleased by what was simply a confusion of shadow at first, then the interior of the bus. It was the moment Jase’s guards had put on their helmets.

“We are beginning,” Bren said, “at the point at which the aiji’s guard commenced recording.”

On the wall, the view swung about, became the driveway, the still-distant house, the porch.

“Those are ship-folk notations superimposed on the image,” Bren said, regarding the numbers at the edge.

That drew a sharp look from Topari.

“What do they say?”

“They are a signature, indicating the name of the guard, indicating the date and time. This is from a camera inside the armor of Jase-aiji’s guard. Jase-aiji’s bodyguards were on duty, as of this point, wearing protective armor.”

Action proceeded. The bus stopped. Banichi got off and hailed the house.

“The paidhi-aiji and the ship-aiji have come to call on Lord Aseida,” Banichi’s voice said distantly, addressing the Kadagidi guard. “They are guests of your next-door neighbor the Atageini lord, and they have been personally inconvenienced by actions confessed to have originated from these grounds. These are matters far above the Guild, nadi, and regarding your lord’s status within the aishidi’tat. Advise your lord of it.”

“That is my Guild senior,” Bren said quietly, “advising the Kadagidi of our approach and our request.”

Kaplan and Polano got off, a confusion of images of the bus door and the side of the house, then a jolt resolving to a steady image of the house door, which had opened. A knot of armed Kadagidi Guild held the porch.

“This is the point at which I exited the bus,” Bren said. “I descended behind the cover of the two ship-folk bodyguards and in the company of my own aishid, hoping to speak to Lord Aseida.”

Banichi stepped again into camera view, rifle in the crook of his arm.

“Are those alive?” the other side called out; and now bright squares flicked here and there and showed shadow-figures within the walls, and one square flicked to the movement of a weapon, on the porch.

“These are the ship-aiji’s personal bodyguard,” Banichi answered. “And the ship-aiji is present on the bus. Be warned. These two ship-folk understand very little Ragi. Make no move that they might misinterpret. The paidhi-aiji and the ship-aiji have come to talk to your lord, and request he come outdoors for the meeting.”

“Our lord will protest this trespass!”

“Your lord will be free to do that at his pleasure,” Banichi retorted. “But advise him that the paidhi-aiji is here on behalf of Tabini-aiji, speaking for his minor son and for the aiji-dowager, the ship-aiji, and his son’s foreign guests, minor children, all of whom were disturbed last night by Guild Assassins who have named your estate as their route into Lord Tatiseigi’s house.”

“We will relay the matter to our lord,” the Kadagidi said. “Wait.”

A man left, through the door to the inside of the house. And thus far there was absolutely nothing wrong with the proceedings.

Except that targeting squares now flickered on shadows inside an apparently transparent building.

Another Guild unit came out onto the porch.

“Banichi!” that unit-senior shouted with no preface at all, swung his rifle up in a flicker of square brackets, and fired.

The scene froze. Stopped.

“I shall advance the image slowly at this point,” Jago said.

It was hard to watch. Banichi fired, clearly the second to fire. In a series of images, Haikuti went backward as Banichi spun and went down, bullets simultaneously hit the bus, and a flash of fire and white cloud obscured their view for a few frames.

“Grenade,” Jago said matter-of-factly. “Theirs.” A fiercer blaze of light enveloped the porch, lit by green brackets.

“Jase-aiji’s guard has fired,” Jago said.

Bren had not seen that happen. He had been on the ground, trying to pull Banichi into cover. Then everybody had poured off the bus, through the smoke still lingering. What the camera showed was appalling.

Shadows ran past the camera—his bodyguard, and the dowager’s men, headed for that porch, which was now a shattered, smoke-obscured ruin.

The image froze again, and went dark.

“This,” Bren said, a little shaken himself, recalling the shock that made the ground shake, the smell, the stinging haze . . . “This is the point of law, nandi, that everything was proceeding in an ordinary way, and the Kadagidi guard had not panicked at the appearance of the ship-folk guards. Everything was proceeding quietly except that that second unit was moving to the door, which none of my guard knew. The Guild senior of the Kadagidi unit exited the building and opened fire on me and my guard. My Guild senior took the fire and fired back. Someone on that porch threw a grenade, and at that instant Jase-aiji’s guard responded with their own weapons.”

Topari sat silent.

“We also extracted, from that house, nandi, evidence of a connection between that Guild unit and the recent upheaval in the south. In the confession of the two Dojisigi Guild involved in the same incident, we have their routing from Murini’s folk in the Marid through the Kadagidi house to attack the Atageini. We also recorded our interview with Lord Aseida, as we transported him to Lord Tatiseigi’s house to give his account to the aiji-dowager. All these records are to go to the Guild, and will be available to Guild members, and ultimately to members of the legislature. The aiji wishes to find a suitable resolution of this matter, as quietly and expeditiously as possible.”

“One sees,” Topari said after a moment, and did not look happy. Then: “For whom are you speaking, nand’ paidhi?”

Entirely civil question, entirely reasonable question.

“In this, I speak for the aiji, nandi. As for my own opinion, for what it matters, despite our differences, I deeply respect your leadership of the Cismontane, which has never acted except in reasonable protection of its natural interests. And, may I say, on the aiji’s behalf, you never accepted Murini as aiji, either.”

“We have not that enthusiastically accepted the aijinate,” Topari muttered, blunt truth, and certainly not to the man’s benefit. He was forthcoming with his opinions, one could say that. As to discretion—one was less sure.

“It is, alas, the old conflict,” Bren said, “the old division between north and south, the guilds and the principle of out-clan assignment.” One was very definitely conscious of the non-Guild status of Topari’s two bodyguards, standing over to the right, opposite Jago and Algini. “But then, the aiji’s maternal clan has only this month made peace with the Atageini after two hundred years of warfare—so the aiji does understand districts that, for some local reason, prefer local security and wish to settle their problems in their own way. Dissent from his administration will never be silenced. Likewise we have been assured that Assassins’ Guild will make a fair investigation. That guild’s former leadership, set aside by Murini, has returned, which is also not yet general knowledge, and you may now have at least as much confidence as you had in the Assassins’ Guild prior to the coup.” He shifted his hands to his knees, signifying an end to the interview. “I thank you for coming, nandi. You have been very courteous. And I shall not urge you to regard anything but what you have seen, which is the same as what others will see within a few hours. I know you have extreme reservations about me and my office, but you have met me courteously in the past and I hoped we could talk. You and I are bound to meet again in this Marid railroad affair—and I am encouraged to hope we can talk, then, too, and do so productively.”

“When you will represent the dowager?”

“She has her views. I shall represent them at her request. But likewise if you have any message for her, I shall certainly carry it. Or to the aiji, either one.”

“Then tell the aiji-dowager that the Cismontane is not pleased with her cursed self-serving agreement. The legislature never appointed her aiji, not in two tries!”

It was worth a diplomatic smile, a diplomatic nod. “I shall not remind her of that, nandi, but if you have observations on the railroad matter, I should be honored to represent you to her and her to you. That is my office.”

Lengthy silence, this time. Then a gravelly: “I shall consider it.” With which, Topari gave a parting style of bow. “Nandi.”

“Nandi.” Bren gave back the same, and Topari gathered his bodyguard and left . . . with Jago both opening the way for them, and escorting them out, because otherwise Topari and his guards could not get downstairs through the lift system . . . and that would tip the situation toward war.

Did we win or lose? Bren wondered, hearing the outer door open and shut. Did I accomplish anything—or open up a worse problem?

The adrenaline and the strength quite ebbed out of him with that thought, and the headache was—had been for several minutes, perhaps, ever since the lights had come back on—back in force. He thought about going to his bedroom, but the adrenaline of the interview wasn’t going to leave him alone. He sank down in the nearest chair, light-headed. “Tea,” he said. “The strong tea, nadiin-ji.”

Servants moved, quickly. Hot water and tea met over at the buffet. He could smell it. His senses felt sandpapered raw, at the same time the room seemed a little blurry.

“You are quite pale, Bren-ji,” Algini said.

“Tea will help. How did that go, Gini-ji? I have no good reading of him.”

“He is a suspicious man,” Algini said, “and verbally reckless. He went further than he expected to go. He was affected by what he saw—I was watching him. He saw your justification, and that, conversely, upset his resolve. He will likely try to reconstruct later how the railroad became involved in the discussion. But that mention has him thinking and wondering if it is a proposed trade. Now he will very likely want to test what you said and be sure he is not being led astray. He is a pessimist by reputation, never ready to assume he is being offered anything good. You have, one believes, made some headway with him.”

“I felt I was bouncing words off a stone wall. But his district has legitimate concerns. I shall see if the dowager can be persuaded about his railroad.”

“Dare you ever have the aiji-dowager and this man in one room?” Algini asked.

He opened his eyes and smiled—only slightly, because it hurt. Algini’s humor was rare, and occasionally irreverent. “I think we should confine that exchange to letters,” he said, and then had a clear thought. “Cenedi might be the logical point of approach.”

“Cenedi would, indeed,” Algini said wryly, “vote to keep those two apart.”

The servant came, with the tea, which was not yet settled in the cup. He sipped it anyway, and found the dark brew a good taste. He heard a door open, down the main hall, heard footsteps not of the household, and knew it was Jase before Jase appeared cautiously at the door.

“Come in,” he said. “Sit. Our visitor has left.”

“So how did it go?” Jase asked.

“Not so bad, perhaps. Hard to say. —The teacakes are still available, are they not, nadiin-ji?” This to the servants standing by.

“Yes, nandi.” One servant was preparing tea for Jase. Another hastened to offer teacakes. Bren declined. Jase didn’t, but waited for his tea.

“The man’s suspicious,” Bren said, “no fool, which is usually good. We’ll see if he finds a way to make trouble or if I offered him enough to intrigue him.”

“Are you all right? You’re pale.”

“Just a little short of breath. It’ll pass.”

“You should be in bed.”

“I’m considering it. But strong tea helps.” He drew a deep breath. “And some things can’t wait. If Topari decides not to raise a legislative fuss over Lord Aseida’s fate, I’ve saved myself at least a week of work.”

“At some cost. Bren, you ought to be in bed.”

“I will. Soon.” He wondered whether his queasy stomach could possibly stand food. Teacake—no, he decided. Nothing of that flavor. Sweet was not sitting well on his stomach. “The Guild knows now exactly what we were dealing with it—and in the way of things, that information will go quietly to every house that has Guild protection, as to what happened, and what the truth was. We won’t have to hold a showing for each and every one of them, I hope. Nasty moment, that.”

Guild would be sending messages out. A lot of them.

The whole political landscape was under repair and revision—a vast improvement over the situation they’d had since they’d come back to the planet.

Damn, it was.

“Sandwich, I think,” he said to Jase. “Then I’m just going to sit in a chair and relax for a while. I think I’ll do that.”

16

Jase-aiji had come to call—Cajeiri had heard the coming and going, and Jegari’s quiet spying had found out that Jase-aiji was talking with Great-uncle, who had been having visitors all morning—political visitors, Jegari said, because of everything that was going on in the Guild.

It was the Conservative Caucus coming and going. Cajeiri knew what that was: Great-uncle was head of it, and Great-grandmother was part of it, or at least—people in it listened to Great-grandmother; but Great-grandmother was busy and Great-uncle was doing all the talking, and thus far his own aishid had kept trying to get information with very little success—except to say that there had been a very serious matter downtown, at Guild Headquarters, and that there was another Ajuri dead—in this case, the old man that had been so much trouble to everybody.

He was not sorry to hear that confirmed. He was worried that Banichi and nand’ Bren had come back wounded, he was glad to hear that they were not in hospital, and he really, really wanted to go to nand’ Bren’s apartment and just see them.

But Madam Saidin had said definitely they were all right, and that nand’ Bren was back at work and busy with business of his own.

But that the Guild might be straightening itself out, and that they had gotten rid of their problem—that was good news.

And if nand’ Bren really was at work, he could not be too badly hurt. So he had sent a message by one of Great-uncle’s staff, asking if everybody was all right and was Banichi hurt? And he had an answer back by the same servant, assuring him that Banichi had just had his original wound giving him trouble and that nand’ Bren just had a headache and a little cut.

He felt a lot better, then.

And if it was not for the letter from his father, he would have been a great deal relieved.

But there was a good thing. Madam Saidin had said they could have the dining room all to themselves this evening, since Great-uncle was invited to mani’s apartment for supper, and the staff would only have them to care for. They could have any dish they could describe. They could even have pizza if that was what they most wanted.

Meanwhile, Great-uncle kept up the meetings, having his bodyguard bring up this person and that person to take tea in the sitting room. One wondered how Great-uncle could drink any more . . . but it went on and on.

Politics. Politics. The Conservatives were the opposite of the liberals most of the time, and they constantly argued with his father.

Everybody would be there, he reminded himself, to wish him well.

No. They would be there to wish he would someday be favorable to what they represented. And if he would not be, they would wish he would never have been born. And still smile and bow to him.

Grown-ups were very good at that.

His father had said once, not so many days ago, something he remembered very keenly, “If you cannot please someone, at least make them believe you might please them.”

“How does one do that with everybody?” he had asked.

“You ask them their opinion,” his father had said, “you listen to it, and you nod and say something good about one thing in their idea.”

“But what if there is nothing good?” he had asked, and for some reason his father had laughed and then said:

“If there is not, then offer them a doorway from their way to your way.”

He had not understood. He had frowned. And his father had said:

“To do that, son of mine—you have to understand both sides.”

That was a little different than Great-grandmother, who said, when he told her what his father had said, “Doorway, is it? Offer them tea, nod politely, charm them, make them think you might agree, and let them modify their position to persuade you. It usually comes to the same thing, but they think they devised the compromise.”

He so hoped he could be that clever someday. But his father and mani had a long head start.

At least with Jase-aiji he had no such worries. Jase-aiji was on the side of the ship-humans getting along with atevi, and Jase-aiji knew atevi customs. Jase-aiji would help his guests put on a very good appearance for a whole roomful of people who had never seen young humans—more, some who had no desire to have humans on the continent at all.

And Madam Saidin was helping, too, to teach them the right phrases.

Even his mother seemed to have taken an interest in Irene—though he was still suspicious, and he especially remembered her pointed remark that it was a good thing somebody asked Irene’s mother.

And he hoped they could all just continue to stay with Great-uncle. It actually seemed Great-uncle enjoyed having his guests in his premises, once Great-uncle had discovered his guests were in awe of his house and his porcelains and his collections. He had never imagined Great-uncle was that easy to charm.

Maybe it was that doorway his father had talked about . . .

So now Great-uncle and Jase-aiji were in the sitting room finding a lot to talk about, after all the others who had visited Great-uncle this morning. Jase-aiji stayed three times as long as most of the Conservatives had, and Veijico said they were talking very seriously about the space station and his guests’ parents.

Well, that was a little scary. What did Great-uncle have to do with the space station at all?

But then Madam Saidin came into the guest suite and said Great-uncle wanted them all to come in the sitting room.

So everybody put on day-coats and made sure of their cuffs and collars, and they all filed out and up to join Great-uncle and nand’ Jase in the sitting room.

One so hoped nothing bad had happened.

They sat, very properly while Great-uncle had them all served tea, and they sat and sipped and listened to Great-uncle make small talk with Jase-aiji.

Then Great-uncle asked casually, “Are you finding everything you need, nephew?” to which the only possible answer was yes.

Then Great-uncle asked, “Do your guests understand what we say?”

“Only about food and clothes, Great-uncle, and the things in your collection. And mecheiti, Great-uncle.”

Great-uncle gave a little laugh, saying: “We hope they may need such words again, nephew.” That set Cajeiri’s heart to beating faster. Then Great-uncle immediately added, “but there are necessary gates to pass. You understand this.”

“Yes, Great-uncle, one does understand. Father sent me a list. I have been studying all the guests. Father will send me a speech to make. It will not be hard. I shall do everything without a mistake.”

“Wise lad,” Great-uncle said.

And that seemed the only point of Great-uncle’s having them there or talking to them at all, which seemed odd. Great-uncle left the apartment, going about his own grown-up business with Great-grandmother and the Conservatives, maybe down the hall in mani’s apartment.

But Jase-aiji stayed behind and explained the arrangements to Gene and Artur and Irene in some detail, telling them that they were to stay very close to him, that they were to bow and thank anyone who wished them well, and be patient with people who might just stand and stare at them. They had already understood that, for the most part, but they listened very solemnly, and agreed that they would be ready for Jase-aiji and his bodyguard to gather them up and escort them down to the festivity.

So it was all just preparation for the festivity, and it was going to happen, and Great-uncle had just called them in for Jase-aiji to meet with them and explain procedures to be absolutely sure his guests understood. That was good.

Cajeiri stood by and listened to the explanation, reminding himself of ship-speak words, learning a few new ones, and meanwhile he kept thinking—

He kept thinking Great-uncle had hinted that there might—there might be a hope of going back to Tirnamardi before his guests had to leave. He was not sure his guests had understood that. He was not sure he ought to tell them, if Jase-aiji failed to mention it, for fear it was only an idle remark and would not happen. Great-uncle’s hint was the sort of thing adults said when they were trying to get someone to behave—what was it his father had said to him?

Make them believe you might please them . . .

It was interesting how well that worked, even on him, even when it was clear as could be what the adults were doing to them.

He had to do everything well—to have even a chance of getting what he most wanted.

That was the way things always worked in politics.

· · ·

Sleep, granted a settled stomach and a sense that things were moderately under control, was actually possible—finally, for the whole rest of the afternoon. Bren surfaced from time to time, listened for any noise in the household that might signal a problem, and drifted again, face down. Jase had taken word on the Topari meeting down the hall to Lord Tatiseigi, head of that caucus, and also to the dowager, who needed to know, and thirdly to Tabini himself—keeping everyone abreast of the little problem which one hoped would not blossom into a big problem before Lord Tatiseigi could talk to several of his most level-headed associates. The Conservative Caucus was briefed about the taped record of the Kadagidi encounter. They would have the chance to view it; and they would form a recommendation on the situation in Ajuri and the situation in the Kadagidi lordship.

The dowager would call in some of the Liberal Caucus and do her own damage control—Dur, in particular, would have some constructive opinions on the Ajuri situation, being part of the local landscape, and in a neighboring association. The Liberals would by no means object: the Liberals would all but hold a celebration at the notion the Kadagidi were being taken to task.

The aiji-consort, meanwhile, was bound to have a personal opinion about the future of Ajuri clan. He’d warned Jase to tread particularly carefully during his visit to Tabini’s apartment, avoiding any contact with Damiri, and to be wary of any setup in the Festivity involving any contact of the children with Damiri. Damiri needed to be involved in planning the Festivity, and she was also well aware of the upheaval in her clan. That marriage had been under stress enough, and Damiri, who had a temper, did not do well with surprises. Whether the demise of Shishogi had made her situation easier or worse—had yet to be proved.

He shut his eyes. He slept the sleep of the moderately just.

And he waked finally with Narani’s gentle presence in the room, turning on the lights.

“Nandi. An invitation from the dowager, for brandy after dinner, or for dinner, if you find yourself in sufficient health for such an event. Jase-aiji and nand’ Tatiseigi are also invited.”

“One hears,” he murmured—there was time enough to get ready for a formal dinner, he was sure, or Narani would not have waked him; but there would not be all that much time, either, granted Narani would not have waked him any earlier than need be. He carefully levered himself up on his arms and put a foot over the edge of the mattress. Two feet—and he set himself upright very carefully.

The headache was indeed still there. More pills were in order.

Perhaps an appeal to Port Jackson for a gross of them.

“Banichi has waked,” Narani informed him, “and he says he is feeling better.”

“Is he following nand’ Siegi’s orders?”

“Somewhat, nandi.”

Somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, set his feet on the ground, and said, “Thank you, Rani-ji.”

He didn’t wait for his valets. He put on his robe and headed down the hall barefoot, straight for the security station, where, indeed, Banichi sat—in uniform, shirtless, but having a heavy uniform jacket draped about his shoulders. The arm was, yes, still taped, Bren noticed critically. But boots were on, hair was in its queue, and Banichi was sitting there upright.

“Is this approved, nadiin?” Bren asked.

“It seemed we would do more harm stopping him,” Tano said.

“Of the two of us,” Banichi said, looking at him, “I seem to be faring better at the moment.”

Barefoot, in his dressing robe, with his hair disheveled and with a brutal headache, Bren said, perhaps a bit shortly, “The dowager has invited me down the hall to dinner tonight. I shall need two attendants, amid all the others who will be present. One of them will not be you, Nichi-ji, and no amount of argument will convince me. You will not need your dress uniform.”

Banichi nodded graciously. And was amused.

“He believes, however,” Jago said, “that he will be in the escort at the young gentleman’s Festivity.”

“The young gentleman,” Banichi said, “would be disappointed otherwise.”

One entirely understood that point: the youngster had regarded Banichi as a second father, during the ship voyage—not to say Banichi had declined the attachment. Banichi would be sorely disappointed to be kept from that event.

“That will be a considerable time standing,” Bren said, not happily; and looked to the others. It could not be the first time a Guild member had been on duty while injured. “Is there a way he can sit down?”

“The service hall,” Algini said. “We can arrange a chair to be there . . . granted his sincere undertaking to use it from time to time.”

“You will use it,” Bren said to Banichi. “Are we agreed?”

“Two chairs,” Banichi said.

He and Banichi were, in fact, a matched set; and an available chair during three hours of standing about, in the case the room started to go around, sounded more than sensible.

“One agrees,” he said, wondering whether his entire aishid had just collectively put one over on him.

· · ·

“We are,” the dowager said after dinner, “hearing good things within the Guild. They are finding the things we fully expected them to find, and perhaps one or two things that surprise us. They are sifting records. They are interviewing reliable people and looking for other people they should be looking for. My grandson may complain about the individuals now in charge there, but they are setting things to rights.”

It was good news.

“In the matter of Lord Aseida’s future,” Ilisidi continued, swirling brandy gently in her glass, “we have a reasonable situation in mind, a small house under the supervision of the very strong-willed lady of Corhenda, a subclan of Cie, a very practical-minded place. It has electricity, but phones are scarce. Its mills and tanneries are a blight, but then it always was barren. His artistic skills—we are told he paints—might enliven the house—perhaps the mills, who knows the limits of his talent? As for who should succeed him in the Kadagidi lordship, nand’ Tatiseigi has a proposal.”

“A modest one,” Tatiseigi said. “He is a Kadagidi gentleman, a third cousin of mine, from the old union of our house with Kadagidi clan. He is ten years my senior, fifteen years retired—he ran the largest Kadagidi granary and the northern plains operations. He is a respectable fellow, never politically active, and what one might call a dedicated administrator. He has, besides, three daughters, and the eldest is a member of the Scholars’ Guild. One believes he would only reluctantly undertake the burden of the lordship—but in order to put his eldest daughter in the line of that succession, he might; her husband is a quiet fellow, affable, whose skill is hunting management: he would not be a bad neighbor.”

“If ever asked,” Bren said with a little nod, “which one hardly expects to be—one would certainly support your opinion, nandi.”

“Pish,” the dowager said. “Nand’ Siegi says we should not keep the paidhi too late tonight. You should go straight to bed, paidhi.”

“Aiji-ma.” Another careful nod.

“Go. You are entirely void of entertainment tonight, paidhi, and you need your sleep.”

One had somewhat suspected it was not his somewhat cheerless and aching company the dowager had desired this evening, but that her aishid and his and Lord Tatiseigi’s should all be in close contact for an hour or so.

And indeed, once he had left the sitting room and gathered up Jago and Algini, there was a somberness about his bodyguard that said he was right in that guess.

They left the apartment, the three of them. They walked down the main hall to their own door, and, once inside:

“Is there news, nadiin-ji?” he asked.

“There is news we should share with Banichi and Tano,” Algini said. “Do not worry about it, Bren-ji.”

“That is hardly going to allow me to rest,” he protested. Narani had let them in; Narani waited to receive his coat, and he unbuttoned the coat and let it slip from his arms. “I shall worry all night.”

“If we do tell you,” Jago said, “you will not rest, either.”

He looked at her. “Tell me, nadiin-ji. I request it.”

“This is a security concern,” Jago said, “but, Bren-ji, this is a Guild matter, and now we have Guild Headquarters operating as it has not, not even in our lifetimes. Have confidence in us.”

He had not gotten that sort of answer from them, he thought, in some time—not since they had come back from space. It was a little off-putting—like the firm closing of a door. And then he thought—that was the way it was, before.

That’s the way it’s always supposed to be.

In that light—he felt perhaps he could oblige Jago and just let it go, as he had not, for some time, been able to let go anything in their realm. They hadn’t known about the Guild’s forty-year-old problem, simmering at a very low level, before the coup had changed things. The people they had just put in charge of the Guild hadn’t known it was going on, either—or they’d have done something to prevent it.

But now the people who should be in charge had finally done something, and his aishid evidently thought the Guild was functioning again.

It wasn’t the paidhi-aiji’s job to second-guess that process. Maybe, knowing what he knew, he should still be alert, and a little on his guard, but even that—

No, if anyone could pick up a problem within the Guild as it reconstituted itself, figure it to be his aishid, and the dowager’s aishid, and if they wanted to close that door on outsiders to their Guild and handle things by their rules, it was not the paidhi’s job to put himself in the middle of it.

“Thank you,” he said with a little bow. “Thank you very much, nadiin-ji. One actually understands. I think I shall be able to sleep, if you are confident.”

“Rely on us,” Jago said, and Algini just said, “Go to bed, Bren-ji.”

· · ·

Traffic in the city had suffered a major disruption with the blockage of the central city freight. Everyone’s mail had been late yesterday.

But despite all confusion and difficulties, the crates from Tirnamardi had made it up to the Bujavid yesterday late, passed security, and finally poured forth wardrobe . . . doubly welcome, Bren thought: he had been hard on his clothes this last few days, and court dress had borne the worst of it.

But nothing that came out of a shipping crate was fit to hang in the paidhi’s closet, or their guest’s, oh, no. The laundry backstairs had been in a frenzy of activity, receiving the contents of the crate and spilling forth freshly cleaned and pressed shirts and trousers and coats in rapid succession, filling two racks in the hall last evening. Now, this morning, when he returned from the bath, his valets opened his closet to show its racks filled with choices.

“One is extremely glad,” he said to his valets, “and pleased, nadiin-ji. Have my casual boots possibly turned up?” He was down to his best and only pair, which had suffered bloodstains, and one lightweight pair of house boots he had never liked and hadn’t packed for Tirnamardi in the first place.

“Indeed, nandi,” Koharu said happily, and from the bottom of the closet, produced, indeed, the newly-returned boots.

But Supani, from the same source, and with a slyly expectant look, brought up a cardboard box done up in tape and string. Supani proffered the box, a wonderful box with a customs tag that said, even before he took it in his hands: apparel: Bren Cameron, paidhi-aiji, the Bujavid, Shejidan. The return address was a tag he well knew: his bootmaker’s.

“It arrived with the crates, nandi.”

His pocket-knife was in the tray atop the bureau. He opened the box in delight, expecting, since it was a largish box for one pair, perhaps two pairs of boots—that worthy gentleman maintained the special forms on a shelf in his workshop, and he had made several orders. But there were three pair, one gray dress, one black casual, and one stout brown pair of laced, high-topped and heavy boots with a note from his bootmaker: If you can destroy these, Mr. Cameron, I’ll replace them at no charge.

He had to laugh, even if his head hurt. He sat down on the dressing bench and tried them on, with his valets’ help. Even the pair with the reinforced tops fit beautifully, and the laces to the toe, not a common style on the mainland, made the heavy ones unexpectedly comfortable. “One is delighted,” he said. “And relieved, considering tomorrow. But I shall prefer the old comfortable house pair today, baji-naji. One has no intention of stirring outside the apartment.”

He went to the little breakfast room, had a lengthy and informal breakfast with Jase—who wanted to be kept abreast of events. He could not be briefed on all of it: there were details he could not divulge—but there were events in the Marid, the entire situation in the south, the situation that was sure to arise over the rail connections, the necessary cooperation of the station aloft where it came to shipping—and completely idle gossip from the station, and from the world—who was where, what the real story was on half a dozen topics, and what the inside story was on Toby’s relationship with Barb.

“True love,” he said with a shrug. “They’re happy. Amazes me, but I’m far from objecting. If my brother ever does inherit this job—Barb’s going to provide some interesting moments. She certainly puzzled Machigi, but we all survived it.”

Jase laughed at the right places. And regaled him with a few Polano anecdotes. It was, all in all, a pleasant afternoon—and they spent an hour of it with his valets, putting Jase in all-out court dress. Jase had brought wardrobe down with him, but not in the newest mode, and the occasion demanded extravagance.

So with a little tuck here and there, and a good shirt, one of his newer coats would do. They settled from that to lunch, including Polano and Kaplan, on a day become remarkably sedate and restful. Algini came back and quietly reported his mission to the Guild accomplished. Measures were being taken. It was the one worrisome spot in the afternoon, the one thing that had him gazing down the hall at Algini’s retreating back, and wondering, in this new resolve of no information, whether there was anything going on that would worry him if he knew. There had been something in Algini’s face, a little tension that said business, but the paidhi-aiji was in the midst of outfitting and entertaining his guest, and Algini had only paid a passing courtesy.

Well, and the youngsters would, so one heard through the servant network, go back with a complete wardrobe of clothes—to model for parents and friends in private, perhaps, and the wardrobe would help them keep the memories—good memories, one hoped, in spite of all the goings-on. God, in spite of all their elders’ machinations current and future, he hoped Cajeiri’s guests could hold on to that bond.

They would get their private birthday party. He swore they would.

When they’d gone out to Tirnamardi, he’d envisioned a modest, low-key celebration, with just one preceding day for the youngsters to arrive from their retreat at Tirnamardi, tour the Bujavid, go to the museum, maybe an art gallery, or some other place the young gentleman and his guests could be assured of protection, then have a little human-style party after the family one. He’d been prepared to offer his dining room for such an event.

They’d come back under entirely different circumstances, and had more time here, and it wasn’t a private party, far from it.

Well, whatever it had mutated into, Tabini willing, they might still go back to the relative privacy and security of Tirnamardi until the shuttle was prepared to fly.

But how that was going to work was becoming increasingly cloudy. The dowager and Lord Tatiseigi’s presence was absolutely required in the day or so after, if the tribal peoples bill was going to be up for debate—not even to mention the succession question in Kadagidi and Ajuri.

He needed to be available for the legislature. None of them were likely to have time to deal with a handful of increasingly restive youngsters.

Jase, however—

Jase could escort the youngsters. Jase was still known onworld as the ship-paidhi. He wasn’t fluent, but he could manage. It was a great deal to ask of Lord Tatiseigi, to turn his estate over to humans . . . so to speak.

But he could send them to his own estate of Najida, maybe. Or Taiben, Taiben, which detested roads, and distrusted outsiders . . .

Taiben would be safer . . . and it had mecheiti . . .

But the young gentleman’s dearly treasured birthday present was resident with a herd in Tirnamardi’s stables, and one did not put a child aboard a mecheita newly introduced to another herd.

Not to mention the politics of putting Tatiseigi’s gift into a Taibeni herd.

He sighed. It was just not going to be easy.

They couldn’t postpone the tribal peoples bill. Too much rode on it. He couldn’t get free. They couldn’t do without Tatiseigi. The dowager had to be there to push the bill.

“Deep thoughts,” Jase said.

“How much ground time do you expect for the shuttle?”

“What? Do you need us out of here faster—or slower?”

“Is there any chance the kids could wait for the next shuttle?”

“No logistical problem with Phoenix or station authorities. We just load cargo instead. Next rotation we load the passenger module and leave six cans of dried fruit and fish paste. The parents, however . . . Shall I ask?”

“Tomorrow will tell,” he said. “Let’s just get the lad through the actual birthday.”

“Not to mention your other operations.”

“I haven’t been a good host.”

“I have no complaints. I really should leave you to your work. I came down here to assist, not to be entertained. And I can see you’re up to your ears.”

“You know, if you could delay the kids to another shuttle, we could actually get that fishing trip.”

“You’re threatening to take me out in a shell with no attitude controls to float on a hundred meter depth of turbulent water. This is the reward.”

He laughed. “I wish I could absolutely promise it. But if you could shake yourself loose for another rotation, we’d have a better chance.”

“This hasn’t been the most opportune timing for us.”

“It’s no accident it hasn’t. But you know that. Past tomorrow, things should be a lot less tense, and there’ll be no public exposure. Can you manage it? These kids . . .”

“I know. Let me have a go at it. Gene’s mother likely won’t object. Irene’s—” Jase shrugged. “Maybe. She’ll run to ask her problematic friends, and they won’t decline a chance that makes the kid more useful. Artur’s parents—they’ll want him back. They’re just parents. But for the sake of an education—”

“He’s certainly getting one.”

“He is, that. Let me give it a try. Pending tomorrow.”

“Yourself?”

“Oh, I’ll be persuasive. If the kids stay, I can’t leave them here alone, can I?” Jase made to get up. “I should leave you to your work, however. I’ve heard the staff coming and going. Things are in progress, and I’m in the way.”

“Never,” Bren said, but it was true, and he’d caught a sign from Narani in the hall that there was important mail in-house. “I had better cross-check with staff, however, and stay up on the details. Supper tonight if we’re lucky.”

“Formal?”

“Informal as hell, I hope. Are you running out of entertainment in there?”

Jase grinned. “We’re amply supplied. My office doesn’t let me alone. And Kaplan and Polano are on the longest leave of their lives, so I’m hearing no complaints. I don’t know where their poker tab stands, but neither one gets more than twenty credits ahead of the other and it’s been ongoing for days.”

“Good.” He laughed. “Good for them.”

He saw Jase to the door, went to his office and settled to look through his mail—was not surprised when Narani arrived with the mail, and prominent in the batch was a message cylinder of the heraldic sort that usually circulated within the upper floors of the Bujavid.

Red and black.

The dowager, he thought, telling himself he needed to ask his staff how the preparations for the event were going.

“Thank you,” he said. “Wait just a moment. There may be a reply.” He opened the cylinder. The seal on the message itself was not the dowager’s, however: it was Tabini’s.

The numbers of the Festivity have officially come in as favorable for the event . . .

Rarely did official ’counters produce anything contrary, for something the aiji firmly decided to schedule. It was a bit of a non-announcement for most long-scheduled events, particularly those naturally containing fortunate numbers.

We have waited for these numbers, considering recent events. We are, as of a few moments ago, absolutely certain of them. Expect, at the Festivity, investment of my son as my heir.

Investment. Nine was a fortunate year, extraordinarily felicitous. But it was also extremely young to be officially set into a will. The traditional number for a child to be invested as heir was . . . he recalled . . . fifteen, the next entirely felicitous number after nine, and offering the greater maturity of that year as well as a fortunate numerology.

A formal investment, however, fended off inheritance disputes, or at least let them happen during the lifetime of the parent, when they could be quashed with authority.

Tabini’s legacy wasn’t a set of fishing or hunting rights.

But it was a little unexpected, this. For various reasons, Tabini himself hadn’t had it. He was not sure it had actually been done for the aijinate since Tabini’s grandfather’s investment. Certainly it wasn’t in Wilson’s notes.

My wife is advised, and I am, in two other letters sent with this one, informing my grandmother and Lord Tatiseigi of my decision.

My decision. Not the plural. Not the imperial we. And not including Damiri in any implication whatever.

“Trouble, nandi?” Narani asked.

“Not trouble, exactly,” he said. “The aiji is going to invest the young gentleman as his heir.”

“Indeed.” Narani hardly lifted a brow. Surprised? It was rare anything surprised Narani.

“It is, apparently, held secret until the event. Please keep it so.” He had no doubts of Narani, who well knew how to keep secrets. “You look surprised, Rani-ji.”

“One would say the last three years have certainly urged it.”

An overthrow of the government and the whole world in upheaval. That, to say the least, was a reason to have intentions clear.

But one still had to wonder.

Had something significant gone on between Tabini and Damiri in the boy’s absence—an understanding reached, or definitively not reached, since Tabini had taken initial steps to shift the birthday party from private celebration to national holiday—on the very day they had gone to the spaceport to pick up the boy’s guests?

Tabini had evidently started that extreme move while they—including the dowager—were on their way out of the Bujavid, and dropping into a communications blackout. It was as if Tabini had waited for that.

He evidently hadn’t mentioned his intentions to Ilisidi—who might have had definite advice about it.

Geigi had hastened the shuttle launch—so the boy had been able to pick up his guests a few days early and enjoy a little vacation before all hell had broken loose.

But had that been the only reason Geigi had moved things up? Had Geigi had a clue this was in the offing?

More, the dowager’s servants were threaded all the way through Tabini’s household. And yet—had she been surprised by it?

All Tabini needed do to arrange it was sit in his office, write a few orders, seal them and send them: Give me the numbers of the event. Give me the numbers if I do thus and such in addition.

Damn, he hoped this didn’t mean Tabini had decided on divorce.

His headache threatened to come back in force.

What had Tabini discussed with Lord Geigi during their private conversations? And did Ilisidi know it was coming?

“Nandi. Will there be an answer?”

He blinked the room back into focus. “Rani-ji. One apologizes. No. No, there will not be an answer to this one. That will do. Thank you.”

“Nandi,” Narani said, and left the office.

God. If Geigi had gone up to the station with orders to get the kids down here . . .

Why? A distraction?

Maybe he was overthinking everything. Things too easily ran in interlocking circles. That didn’t help the headache, either.

But thinking often ran in circles, where Tabini was involved, circles that always ran right back to Tabini’s tendency to keep his own counsel.

Tabini’s quiet, even joking dismissal of his problems with his Ajuri wife?

Never believe Ajuri’s move physically to reach his grandson would be dismissed. No. Tabini had been amazingly forgiving of Komaji’s actions.

Damn.

Today was the day the birthday party should have returned from Tirnamardi, had everything gone as planned when they’d headed out there. Tabini had launched his own plan, ordered the numbers run—which meant he’d long since had to tell the ’counters what he was up to—and then having launched the inquiry about numbers—Tabini would also have had to tell the ’counters and kabiuteri what had happened at Tirnamardi and in the Guild. Keeping it from the arbiters of arrangement and felicity risked an infelicity in the goings-on that could turn into a political earthquake.

He’d had his moment of sheer terror pinned beside that shattered door in the Guild. Tabini had probably had his own moment in his sitting room the day after they’d returned, when Cenedi had told him they were going to go into the Guild and restore the old Guild leadership.

Well, if Tabini had surprised his grandmother with his plan to put the boy into his will—Ilisidi had certainly returned the favor with interest.

And God only knew what strings Tabini had just pulled with the College of Numerology to get a good outcome after the upheaval in the Guild.

He got up from his desk. Painkiller and pleasant company had thus far had kept the headache at bay. He backed it off with two deep breaths, then walked out and down the hall to the security station.

His aishid were all in their outer office, sitting in the arc of desks and consoles, apparently in conference.

“One would not wish to interrupt a discussion, nadiin-ji,” he said quietly, “but one has just received an advisement from the aiji. He intends formally to name the young gentleman his heir tomorrow, in the Audience Hall.”

Four faces showed rare surprise.

“An investiture,” Algini said, rocking his chair back. It was an obscure word, a variation on the modern legal word he had read it to be. “The Guild does not know this. Has he run the numbers?”

“He says they have come back favorable.”

Algini asked, warily: “Did you expect this, nandi?”

“In no wise did I.”

“Sit with us, Bren-ji,” Banichi said, and Bren sat down gingerly on the edge of the counter, closer to eye level. “It explains the aiji’s intention in making this a public event. But did he give a reason, Bren-ji?”

“None. It was a very short letter. He has told Damiri-daja. He said he was writing to the dowager and Lord Tatiseigi.”

“This was not anticipated,” Algini said.

Banichi said dryly, “With encouragement, the best ’counters can find felicity in an earthquake. But it is useful, considering the changes in the Guild, that these ’counters will proclaim felicitous numbers. One trusts he has told them about the substantial changes in the Guild.”

“It was not in the letter,” Bren said, “but this information seems down to the moment.”

“At nine years of age,” Algini said. “This will surprise everyone.”

“Investiture,” Bren repeated. “Different from investment?”

“Only that it applies to the aijinate and to the highest rank of the College of Numerology,” Algini said. “Tabini-aiji was never invested. Had the dowager strongly opposed his accession, that deficiency could have come into legal question. It has continued to be an issue with his detractors, who claim an infelicity in his accession. Murini of course was not given an investiture, and he was certainly an infelicity, with shocks still ongoing. Politically speaking—reviving the ceremony is a brilliant move. Doing it so young is a shock—but it will not be unpopular with the people.”

“What does it do?” Bren said. “I know it in terms of a will. The aijinate is not technically inherited. Does it somehow bind the legislature?”

“It does not,” Banichi said. “In ordinary inheritance, investiture sets business relationships for the future, makes the relationships public. And, especially with a family that has heirs through various contract marriages, it makes the future directorship of the business clear. To pass over an invested heir is only possible if the heir has disgraced the name or committed a crime. Investiture of an heir of the aishidi’tat establishes that the College of Numerology, the chief of which is the only other office that uses investiture, has set a stamp of good numbers on this heir being chosen on this date, and any change in those numbers thereafter has to go back to this point and demonstrate the origin and cause.”

“It makes it far more difficult,” Jago said, “to argue infelicity of origin.”

Origin.

Damiri.

“Nine,” Algini said, “carries the potency of an unbeatable number. And it will be six years,” Algini said, “before another year almost as felicitous. Under present circumstances, with a second child coming, there is certainly motive.”

“This,” Bren said, “effectively disinherits the daughter.”

“As regards the aishidi’tat, yes. It does. Having his son invested before this second child even exists—one sees, entirely, why he would decide on this course. The ninth year is indisputably fortunate; the next entirely felicitous year, the fifteenth—means six years in which speculation—and politics—might build around a second child. Considering the opposition to certain influences on the young gentleman—it is a statement, and a very timely one.”

“It also makes clear,” Banichi said, “that, given the history of the persons involved, the aiji-dowager, not the aiji-consort, could instantly be regent should anything untoward befall Tabini-aiji in the next twelve years. The executor of the inheritance would be, legally, of the aiji’s bloodline.”

“That would cool the opposition,” Jago said, “since the persons most likely to plot against Tabini-aiji have no desire to see the dowager in power.”

“And removing rights of succession for the daughter,” Banichi said, “leaves no argument that could make Damiri-daja regent if he leaves the daughter in her care—as he has promised to do. Damiri-daja may have title to her daughter. But that daughter will not have the aishidi’tat. And there has been some speculation about that, should something happen to Cajeiri.”

“The city will be wild tomorrow night,” Jago said, “once that news is run out.”

“An excitement that would tax resources at the best of times,” Banichi said. “Bren-ji, we have kept this as quiet as possible—but the Guild had a choice last night, when the new leadership seized control of communications. We could continue the old communication system—which could expose our operations to the remnant we are hunting. We could shut the system down entirely. We could continue to use it but redefine the signals for a given few, which could create dangerous confusion. Or we could go ahead with technical changes, which would lock everybody but a chosen few out of the system entirely. The Council opted for the latter, which will deny access to any units not specifically cleared, until they can be approved into the system.”

“We cannot reach the Guild?”

“We can. We, that is to say we four, the dowager’s units, those assigned to the aiji, and those assigned to Lord Tatiseigi, will all be cleared into the system from the beginning. This includes the aiji’s under-classified personal guard; Guild Headquarters, and units that it puts in place in and out of the Bujavid. We have argued to have the young gentleman’s bodyguard put onto the system, but thus far we have not moved the Council on that matter, since the Council is still reviewing records and has not cleared them. It is solely on our recommendation and Cenedi’s that the Council has not removed that unit from the young gentleman’s premises because of the date of their assignment. We will be able to use our equipment through the change, but we are noticing small interruptions. We were warned of this. We are assured there will be no interruptions from tomorrow afternoon, but we count that an optimistic assurance. Reliable Guild assets are moving into position right now, but, in the same security considerations, we are not informed in all cases where, or in protection of what.”

The paidhi-aiji was supposed to stay out of Guild affairs. The resolution of his non-involvement had held, what? Less than a day.

“The Guild, however, does not yet know the aiji’s intention for the event,” Bren said.

“No,” Algini said. “They do not. And this is not information I would gladly commit to the network at the moment.”

“One of us,” Banichi said, “needs to make another journey down to headquarters, before the crowds make van traffic impossible.”

“One hopes they have the headquarters doors back up,” Algini said. “They will have to reduce building security and reactivate numerous units to take duty in the streets, one assumes, without full communications resources.”

“Will you go?” Banichi asked him.

“Surely you will not,” Algini said. “And Cenedi has already made one such trip today.” Algini rose from his chair and reached for his uniform jacket. “Baji-naji, I should be back in an hour or so. I shall inform Cenedi on my way.”

“Take four from Cenedi,” Banichi said. “Better this floor be short five guards than have you approaching Headquarters alone. And ask them again to put the young gentleman’s bodyguard into the network. Name them again those of the Bujavid guard in whom we have confidence. Tell them— I leave it to you what to tell them. Convince them if you can.”

“Yes,” Algini said, agreeing, buckled on his sidearm, zipped his jacket, and left.

At least, Bren thought, the kabiuteri and the ’counters had been discreet enough that the dowager’s network hadn’t picked it up—a testament to the historic integrity of those individuals.

The Bujavid printing office, too, which also prided itself on discretion, had to have gotten its orders now, at least as far as the director, who at least would have cleared the presses to run. The cards to be handed out to the public, as well as the special run for the attendees at the event, would likely be in process within the hour, boxed, and kept in tight security until the official release . . . in the Audience Hall, and on the steps. Such public distributions were limited usually to thirty thousand of the first issue, and while atevi crowds understood the principle of keeping an orderly line, the distribution of cards could not be without Guild presence in force.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Guild presence in force had some problems.

“I had best leave you to your concerns,” Bren said quietly. “I have no needs at the moment. Jase-aiji is in his room and I am answering correspondence. I shall need nothing today that I foresee, unless the dowager sends for me. I shall ask Jase-aiji to check on the children.”

· · ·

He went back to his office, hoping Algini managed a quick passage, and hoping Algini had picked up a unit from the dowager’s household.

Traffic would be picking up down at the foot of the hill. The long-awaited Festivity being tomorrow, the streets down in the hotel district would be filling up with booths. By evening, as the crowds grew, anticipating tomorrow, the smaller streets would become absolutely impassable to van traffic. That meant those wealthy sorts accustomed to the luxury of the finer hotels and their ready transportation were going to have to use the common rail or go on foot to their destinations.

It would not likely be as crowded as at the seasonal celebrations, but short notice or not, people rarely lost the chance for a holiday, and would to go to the largest town or city they could manage—to Shejidan itself if they were near enough. Certainly the whole city population would be involved in the event. Little eateries and open-air pubs would be busy around the clock. The usual number of individuals would imbibe too much, perhaps spend too much, and definitely eat too much, having a splendid time along the way. Musicians would have country dances chaining through amiable crowds—

Or at least that was the sort of atmosphere one hoped would prevail, given the recent goings-on. Number-readers and ’counters real or self-proclaimed would solicit coins at one-legged wandering booths shaded by the black and gold umbrellas of their trade—apt to be a brisker business than usual, given the rumors bound to be circulating in the drinking establishments. Entertainers were not so formal—they’d take the coins that came their way either in a bowl or a bag, as they circulated through the prospective audience. There’d be drink, food, excess before the small hours of the morning . . . likely a little broken pottery, a few canopies knocked askew . . .

He had never, himself, ventured down into the press. He had the security of the Bujavid. In a year when he had felt competent to navigate the events—security had become far too precarious. But he had been as far as the Bujavid’s upper steps, and seen the banners and the press below.

And the colors. Festival clothing observed heraldic colors only for the lords and their households. For everybody else it was a display of only occasional political significance. The lords of provinces and associations would have their tents going up out on the northeastern shoulder of the Bujavid hill, and outward, in an ancient precedence of place. Clans major and minor would be flying their flags there and representing their clan, offering services to any of their own who might need them—impromptu Contract marriages were not unknown, sometimes repented with sobriety.

And the tents offered shelter to clan lords, lost children, and others who might want to take a break from the noisy goings-on in the streets without braving the crowds on the way to the hotels.

Najida was entitled to a tent. He had not provided one—and he should. He was resolved to do it, and to provide transport for Najida folk who wanted to come so far, and for staff of his who wanted to go down: they so deserved that benefit—granted security improved. In a public Festivity, the lords actually resident in the Bujavid would not likely be braving the press of bodies down in the hotel district; but those seasonally resident in the hotel district might well take a night in the tents—the noise on the esplanade was not conducive to sleep. It was ordinarily one night of moderate rowdiness, a second of mild madness and a great deal of food and drink . . . utterly, utterly out of the question, but he conceived the oddest longing to go down there himself—granted his bodyguard ever approved.

Tabini-aiji hadn’t had to organize the city event: city officials, guilds, vendors and licensed purveyors of this and that knew exactly what to do, since they did it several times a year. The aiji only needed issue one phrase in his decree: a day of public Festivity . . . and the restaurants would be preparing to fire up their mobile carts, the vendors would pick their wares, the district officials would prepare banners to be hung, and the whole nation would start looking for train and plane tickets before the echoes died . . .

That would have begun on the very morning they’d been out riding at Tirnamardi, enjoying life.

Well, it was positive politics, this time, a happy event, a chance for people to enjoy themselves.

The numbers had turned out, and the aiji was ready to state that there would be no consideration of a second child as heir. Whatever numbers had prevailed in Cajeiri’s life were taken into account, accepted as favorable, apparently with no more argument.

With human guests to witness it.

With the whole nation to witness it.

Tabini had made his move, one could guess, in some apprehension his own existence was at risk.

Tabini had had no advisement the aiji-dowager was going to make hers in her own fashion, double or nothing, and take on the Guild. They’d surprised each other.

He was not too surprised when a message arrived from the dowager’s apartment, under the dowager’s personal seal.

It said: We trust you have heard from our grandson. Of course the numbers are felicitous. We have seen to that.

Jase-aiji and the young guests will not forget this event. And their attendance will stamp them forever, if they are wise.

Jase-aiji often speaks to the ship and to Lord Geigi. They should not, in decency, be informed yet. Advise him.

The aiji-consort may have her child. We can now be sure of ours.

We are very pleased.

Damn, he thought. But there was nothing in the letter or the conclusion his aishid did not know. It only remained to slip the hint to Jase—without himself being certain quite what the dowager meant by stamp them forever.

“I have a notion,” he said in that conversation with Jase alone in the sitting room, “that the ship-captains and the human authorities are getting a strong signal from Tabini-aiji and the dowager. One only wishes one understood it.” He spoke in Ragi, naturally as breathing, and switched languages, to enter another referent. “A signal about the status of those kids.”

“Does she know about the pressure—to send the Reunioners off to Maudit?”

“She may,” he said. “Between you and me, it’s at least a signal her personal plans don’t include Maudit.”

“I’m not sure I get the nuance. Am I included in this idea?”

“Three kids. One of you. It’s an infelicity if combined. The verb governs all preceding.”

“So I’m included.”

“I think definitely. She’s handed you responsibility for those kids. And they’re not going to Maudit.”

Jase had a troubled look in his eyes. “I had both figured on different grounds, actually, before the message. Tell her, since I figure you’re the designated channel, and I shouldn’t write to her unless she writes to me—”

“That would be true.”

“Tell her I’ll protect the kids. Personally. And officially. And no, if she asks, I’ll keep this from the ship until she agrees I can say something. I answer to Sabin on this, but her word to me was—you make the judgment call.”

Sabin, senior captain, was no fool. Let the one of the four fluent in the language and adept in the culture assess what was going on on the planet. And with the four captains in agreement, and with Lord Geigi, head of the atevi space authority, backing them—the Mospheiran station authorities would be fools to back the emigration of the Reunioner refugees, badly as the Mospheirans wanted to shed the Reunioners . . . who were, never to forget it, actually under the four captains, not the Mospheiran government.

Politics, politics. The aiji-dowager had just, in the atevi proverb, taken hold of the strongest stick to stir the stew, not attempting to use her fingers.

“So the kids aren’t going to Maudit,” Bren said.

“No,” Jase said, a breath of an answer. “Given how things have turned out down here, not any time this century, if I have anything to say about it.”

17

It was the day. It was finally the day. Cajeiri was out of bed at the very first urging, dressed in the better-than-usual shirt and trousers his valets presented, and was slipping on a day-coat when Gene and Artur came rolling out to say, somewhat confusingly, “Please enjoy the day you are born!” And then in ship-speak: “Happy birthday, Jeri-ji!”

He grinned. It was impolite, but he was so happy he could hardly help it. He bowed and said, “Thank you, nadiin-ji,” just as the other lump in the bed sat up and became Irene, with her pale hair every which way. “Oh!” she said, and grabbed her nightrobe in embarrassment, with Eisi and Liedi standing there, and herself where it was not quite proper for her to be.

“We layered the bedclothes, nadiin-ji,” Cajeiri said with a calm little bow, “and we are all very proper, all of us.”

“Indeed, nandi,” Eisi said, unperturbed, and about that time Veijico and Antaro turned up out of their room, in proper dress uniform.

“Happy birthday,” Irene said, from her seat deep in bedclothes. “Happy birthday, Jeri-ji!”

“A felicitous ninth!” Antaro called out. “Our young gentleman has reached his fortunate year!”

The other door opened. Lucasi and Jegari were there, half in uniform. “Felicitations, Jeri-ji!”

“Felicitations, nandi,” Eisi said with a solemn bow, and “Felicitations!” Liedi said.

Boji just shrieked and rattled his cage in excitement.

“Your honored uncle bids you and your guests to breakfast,” Eisi said. “As you please, nandi.”

It was the best morning ever. It truly was.

It was the best breakfast ever, because Uncle’s cook had been asking him ever since they arrived what his favorite things were for every meal, and it was everything he liked in one huge breakfast, just himself and his guests, because staff said Great-uncle was having breakfast with Great-grandmother, and they would all meet for a state lunch at his father’s apartment. Nand’ Jase was to come for him half an hour before noon, but the state lunch was for mid-afternoon because there would be no supper, only the Festivity buffet in the Audience Hall.

That was the gruesome part. He could not have his aishid with him at the moment—Jegari had told him before he and the others had left—because they had to go ahead to nand’ Bren’s apartment and talk to Tano and Algini about codes, which was why they were missing breakfast, and they would meet him there when Jase-aiji brought them all there.

That was one thing he wished somebody had asked him. He would have had cook send a special breakfast for everybody.

Then Madam Saidin stopped him as he left the breakfast room and handed him a rolled paper.

“This is from your father the aiji, young gentleman, your speech to memorize for the Festivity tonight.”

“A long one?” he asked anxiously.

“Only a few lines,” she assured him. “Very short.”

Well, that was not too bad. And Madam would not lie to him. So they all trooped back to the guest quarters, his guests all in good humor, to sit and let breakfast settle for two hours. He got to change to court dress, at least all of the suit except the coat, and his guests got to sit about in comfortable clothes. He was envious of that.

He had to suffer a scratchy flood of lace and memorize a stupid speech.

He unrolled the paper to find out what he had to deal with. And it was not three lines, it was three whole paragraphs.

It started:

I thank all my family, all my associates, all my allies, all my family’s allies, all you good people. I am fortunate nine, today, and I thank you for coming. I thank my mother, who has done her best to guide me, and my great-grandmother . . .

And it went on to say things like:

...lords of the associations, lords of the districts, lords of the provinces, thank you.

...urging cooperation toward a prosperous and felicitous year . . .

He dropped into a chair and went on staring at it. It was a horrid lot of categories to remember in order, and his mind was every which way today.

But he could do it. He had memorized all the districts and the capitals and the imports and exports and the lords and their heirs and their families. He had memorized the names of the treaties, in order, that had built the aishidi’tat. He saw them, and he kept thinking of heraldry and emblems and imports and treaties, when he needed to be thinking about the words.

He had memorized the descent of his family from the War of the Landing.

He had memorized . . .

With a prodigious shriek, Boji streaked to the chair, seized the paper and, trailing his chain, carried it off to the top of the bureau.

“One is extremely sorry, nandi!” Liedi exclaimed.

“Let us not startle him,” he said calmly. “Close all the doors.”

They would not make that mistake.

But all of them stalking Boji made Boji nervous, and with the paper in his teeth, Boji leapt for a tapestry railing, then for the crystal chandelier, setting it rocking and jingling, but trailing the chain.

Eisi snagged it, and tugged. Boji jumped for Eisi’s shoulder, sending the chandelier swinging wildly. Snagged, Boji threw a screaming tantrum and bared his teeth, crumpling the paper in his bony little fist when Eisi tried to get it away from him.

“Boji!” Cajeiri said sharply, and Boji looked his way, wide-eyed above the mangled paper in his paws. “Come here! Come!”

Boji fixed on him. That was a good sign. He held out his hand, and Boji nipped the paper in his teeth and took a flying leap for his arm, where he wrapped himself with all four limbs, Eisi still holding the chain.

“Give it to me, Boji,” Cajeiri said. “Give it to me.” To his surprise, a little tug freed the mangled paper from Boji’s hands. He took the chain from Eisi and, since he was still in vest and shirt, he let Boji run up to his shoulder and perch there, even if his feet hurt. He had the chain. He had the paper. His guests were all amazed and amused and impressed.

He gave the paper a little snap and casually handed Boji off to Liedi, feeling very grown-up, very dignified. Even Great-grandmother could not have called Boji to good behavior. But he had.

“That’s pretty good!” Gene said.

“He’s adding it up,” Irene said. “He knows who to salute, doesn’t he?”

“Smart,” Artur agreed.

He tried not to seem surprised at all. He uncrumpled Father’s letter, which had gotten chewed a bit, and had holes here and there, but it was good enough. He glanced at it enough to know all the words were there.

“Are parid’ji relatives to atevi?” Artur asked, which was a question that upset some people, mani said, but Cenedi had said probably, and his tutor had said . . .

“Maybe,” he said. “There were bigger. There still could be in the mountains on the Southern Island, maybe even this far north. The parid’ji used to live as far south as Shejidan, but all that forest went away. There used to be forest all the way across the Atageini ridge and clear on to the mountains, a long, long time ago. And there was forest all over the Southern Island, except the coast. But that was before the three islands blew up.”

“Volcanoes?” Artur asked in ship-speak. “Mountains and fire?”

“Big explosion!” he said. “Volcanoes.” He wanted to remember that word. “The big map in my office.” That sounded so important. “I can show you where.”

Their eyes lit up. They were excited.

So had he been excited when his new tutor had told him one of the isles was reportedly reappearing above the waves and smoking—and he had immediately had a wicked thought that nand’ Bren’s boat might be able to go to the Southern Island and even down to the Southern Ocean . . .

But then his tutor had talked about the weather in the Southern Ocean, which was why ships did not sail any further south than from the Marid up the west coast, and why the seas between Mospheira and the mainland were far calmer than the open seas where the winds blew all the way around the world without any land to stop them. When the three islands had blown up, that had been the barrier to the Southern Island’s east coast, so even going there now was dangerous.

Lord Machigi’s ships, big metal ships, were going to sail all the way around the teeth of the southern shore, and clear up to mani’s territory in the East. That was part of the new agreement between mani and Lord Machigi. And nand’ Bren said they thought they could do it, if the space folk helped them. He should ask nand’ Jase how they could do that . . .

But the question at hand was about parid’ji and their ancestors, and how the forests had used to be. So with a grand flourish of his cuff lace, he took a stylus and pointed out the continental divide on his beautiful wall map, and told his guests about the white-faced parid’ji which people had used to think were dead people come back to visit them . . .

“Ghosts!” Irene reminded him of the word.

“Ghosts!” he said. And he knew a lot about the superstitions of the East, which he had told them on the ship, in the tunnels, where he had told them about the visiting dead near Malguri and all sorts of scary things they had liked.

They were excited, and with the map he could show them all sorts of things, and every location of every ghost story he knew about . . .

Right until Madam knocked at the outer door and brought Uncle’s staff to gather up his guests’ wardrobe on racks to take to nand’ Bren’s apartment. He had lost track of the time he had. It was almost time for nand’ Jase to come get them.

Well, that was all right. He memorized fast. He pulled the mangled paper from his coat pocket and he would be very careful, when staff wanted him to change to his Festival best, to be sure that paper went with him. He was sure he would get plenty of time to memorize the speech once he reached his father’s apartment. He always had to do a lot of waiting about: everybody said they needed him, but it usually amounted to him sitting in a corner bored and waiting while his father attended some business that had come up.

The rack of court clothes rolled out a back servant’s passage, disappearing into the hidden corridors to reappear, one was certain, in the back halls of nand’ Bren’s apartment, part of the mysteries of servants.

And it had no sooner rattled off out of the bedroom than Madam reported Jase-aiji had arrived to escort them.

“Here we go,” Gene said, as if they were about to take off and fly.

“Here we go,” he echoed. He had yet to be presented his court dress coat. He had on only its vest, a very elegant black and gold. He carried the paper in his hand, and let Madam show them out into the corridor and as far as the front door.

Nand’ Jase waited outside, with his bodyguard in their scary, noisy white armor—but with the faceplates up, so it was just Kaplan and Polano, familiar and lively, in all that strange skin. Mani’s guard, Casimi, had come along, too, perhaps for the numbers. Eisi and Liedi were going to go along to nand’ Bren’s to help his guests dress—but also because nand’ Jase was not as good with Ragi as nand’ Bren, and Kaplan and Polano could hardly put words together.

His valets helped him put on the beautiful court coat Uncle’s tailor had made him—he liked the lapels and wide cuffs, especially, which were inky black, and the rest was all gold and black brocade, the black shiny and the gold sparkly. He slipped the paper into the broad right pocket, patted it flat as he went out, and gave a little bow to Madam Saidin, concerned that his parents might not let him come back this evening, or maybe not even tomorrow, once his parents got their hands on him.

“Thank you, Saidin-daja,” he said. “One hopes one is coming back. Thank cook and thank my great-uncle.”

Great-uncle had not shown up to see them off. But he would see Uncle at lunch, he was quite certain.

And maybe if mani could not get him free of his parents’ apartment, nand’ Bren could invite him, and make everything work out.

· · ·

The youngsters’ wardrobe preceded them, a rattling arrival in the middle hall—there was no missing it. Bren straightened his cuffs, done up in his own court dress, there being no sense dressing twice in the day for an appointment at lunch.

Not so with the youngsters, who arrived in the foyer all shyness and anxiety, with nervous little bows.

“You’re doing fine,” he said in ship-speak, at which there were deep breaths of relief. “Do you understand the schedule? Captain Graham will be back in a moment. He’ll be with you through all the events and you’ll need to stay close to him at all times. Make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room. Is there any problem?”

“No, sir,” Irene said. “We’re all right.”

“Don’t be nervous. Come.” He showed them into the sitting room, where young staff had laid out tea and very small sandwiches. “There will likely be a very fancy lunch, but you daren’t spill anything, and not everything will be safe to eat. My advice is eat all the sandwiches you want before you go, so you’re not that hungry, and when it comes to the buffet tonight—this is very important—stay to the desserts.”

“Neat!”

He had to grin. “I know. Not a hard idea. The desserts are safe—if I spot one that isn’t, I’ll advise Jase. The rolls are safe. Staff is supposed to be careful of you. But if you want to try anything, ask Captain Graham and don’t experiment, not even a taste, no matter how good it looks: we don’t want you to spend tonight in hospital. There’s one tea you absolutely shouldn’t have. He’ll warn you. Fill up here where you know the food is safe, eat very carefully at table and don’t risk spilling anything on your clothes. It’s going to be a long, long day. You’ve been excellent guests. Keep it going just another few hours. It’s very, very important to Cajeiri that you not make a mistake.”

“Yes, sir.” Heads bobbed. Looks were very earnest.

“Anything we can do, anything you need, or if you’re in distress, Jase first, then me, or any of my staff. Got it?”

“Yessir.”

Excellent kids, he thought. Kids who’d been warned within an inch of their lives—but kids who’d borne up in good humor through a hell of a lot that hadn’t been in anyone’s planning.

“You’ve been good beyond any expectation. Carry this evening off for him and there’s an outside chance we can send you somewhere you can have some fun, maybe with the Taibeni.”

“The mecheita-riders?” Eyes went large.

“They’re completely loyal to Cajeiri. A very safe place. And I’ll do everything I can to arrange it, if you just do everything you’re asked, be patient with delays, and don’t mess it up. Twelve more hours, and if the aiji’s enemies don’t create a problem, you’re out of it and clear. Jase will be here in a moment, and he’ll fill in the rest for you.”

God, he hoped he was telling the kids the truth. The combined force of staring, believing eyes went right to the nerves, while his if was still a very big word.

· · ·

“Nandi,” the major domo said, welcoming Cajeiri and his bodyguard into the foyer. Jase-aiji paid courteous nods and immediately left, going back up the hall. “Welcome home, young gentleman.”

“Nadi,” Cajeiri said with the requisite little bow. Servants were close about them—until the ones near the inner hall folded backward in startlement, ducking heads, as his father arrived, his father likewise in court dress, and solemn, and accompanied by two of his bodyguard. All the servants backed up, clearing room, and Cajeiri gave a deeper bow.

“Son of mine,” his father said solemnly. “You look very fine.”

“One is gratified, honored Father.”

“And everything is going smoothly?” his father asked, coming very close to him.

“Yes, honored Father.”

His father took him by the arm very lightly and maneuvered him so that he could speak close to his ear. “Son of mine, you look particularly elegant, and so does your aishid—a credit to your great-uncle’s household, but one needs to forewarn you. Your mother is already having a difficult day, and so is the staff. Your mother had secretly ordered a coat and vest from your regular tailor, and she was not willing to deliver it to your great-uncle’s house, but your tailor is greatly out of sorts about this, and this being her present to you—it has set her out of sorts. If you wish to please your mother—and one advises you this would be very desirable today—send staff to your suite and have them bring the black and red brocade instead.”

He liked his black and gold brocade coat, which his mother would call too old for him, but he was nine today, and he had three red and black ones, besides. He said quietly: “Uncle had Master Kusha come in because of my guests, honored Father. They had nothing suitable, and Master Kusha and his staff worked very hard.”

“One will do everything to honor master Kusha’s efforts, but you would not be politic to ignore your mother’s gift, son of mine. And besides, the ’counters have figured red into the numbers.”

He was not happy. But he understood. “Yes,” he said, and to Jegari: “You know my coats. Can you recognize the new one?”

“Assuredly, nandi,” Jegari said, and with a bow to his father, hurried off through the servants and down the inner hall toward their suite. Cajeiri began sadly unbuttoning the elegant black and gold coat, and his father helped him, with that and with the vest, right there in the foyer in front of everybody. He was sure he blushed, and he was angry about it, but his father was on his side, which was the important thing. And he knew how much politics with his mother mattered, for everybody’s good.

Next time the ’counters did the numbers, however, he swore he was going to have his say in it. And wear black and gold if he wanted to.

But it would be his thirteenth birthday before he ever got another festivity, and his fifteenth before another big one, which he swore was not going to be public, either. He was verging on a bad mood. And could not afford to sulk.

“Very well done,” his father said, handing off his favorite new coat and vest to the major domo, who gave it to the servants to deal with. “Be agreeable, do not frown at your mother, and thank her nicely for the new coat and vest, if you can possibly manage it. Count it training.”

“Yes,” he said. By then Jegari was back, with the new coat and vest, which at least went well with the black trousers and boots, the new vest being shiny black with glittering red woven in, and the coat being nearly all black with a little red—the vest at least fit well, as it should, and the coat fit, and his father with his own hands helped him do all the buttons, in front of all the servants and their bodyguards.

“One is very impressed,” his father said. “You have grown in more than height this year, son of mine. One is very proud.”

That was twice for blushing, but this was for a different reason. He gave a little bow as his father finished the last adjustment of his lace cuffs. “Thank you, honored Father. One will try very hard today.”

“Come to the sitting room,” his father said, and showed him the way as if he were an adult guest in his own home.

His mother was there, in black and green, Ragi and Atageini colors combined. She looked pleased as he came in, and mani had taught him how the game was played. He bowed to his mother, who did not get up—getting up was increasingly hard for her—and bowed a second and a third time, and said, without any sulking,

“Thank you for your gift, honored Mother. One was quite surprised.”

“You look very fine,” she said, looking extremely pleased. “How grown-up you look.”

“One is happy to be a fortunate age,” he said. “Thank you, honored Mother.”

There was, of course, tea. There were very fancy teacakes, one of a flavor he did not like, but his mother did, and he got it by accident. He took one bite, and nerved himself and swallowed the rest of it, smiling and washing it down with tea, thinking it was rather like the change of coats. One could get through anything, if there was a reason.

“The numbers of the day are fortunate,” she said. “And the whole country has turned out to celebrate the day, son of mine. The banners are out and the whole city will be in festival. You may see them from my windows.”

“I shall look,” he said. He truly had no desire even to go into the nursery, which had all the windows, but he thought perhaps he should, at least once, so when he had had his tea, he did go, and stood with his mother looking out past the filmy lace of the nursery windows. Very small and distant, there were colorful banners, and the tops of the tents, and the main street, even farther, crowded with people.

“The city is happy,” she said, with her hand on his shoulder, “and so should you be.”

“One is indeed happy,” he said dutifully, already wishing to be back in the sitting room. “One is very happy.”

“Your father favors you,” she said, and her fingers pressed his shoulder hard. “He favors you so extremely your sister will rely on you for the least scrap of his favor. Say to me that she will not go wanting.”

He did not look at her until one fast, wary glance, and she was gazing out the windows, into the hazy distance.

“I shall take care of my sister,” he said, and her hand pressed once, then relaxed. “Have I not told you I shall? If she relies on me, I shall be her older brother.”

“As you should be,” she said. “Always remember that.”

An uneasy thought struck him. “You will be here, will you not?”

“That is always at your father’s pleasure. But someday it will be at yours.”

“You are my mother,” he said with complete determination. “I only have one.”

“That is good to know,” she said. “Shall we return to the sitting room?”

He was only too glad to do that.

· · ·

Getting three kids into unfamiliar garments and giving them a meaningful lesson on how to keep the cuff lace out of the soup and the soup from landing on one’s collar lace was no small undertaking. Turn your wrist to the outside covered the first; and Keep your chin up was the other. They practiced with water, as less damaging than soup.

“Very well done,” Jase said. “I shall try not to be the one to have soup go astray. You all have your speeches, if you need them.”

“Yes, nandi,” Gene said, with a very proper bow. “And one will pay very close aggravation to persons.”

“Attention,” Bren corrected quietly. It was a very easy mistake. “Elegantly done, Gene-nadi.”

“Attention,” Gene repeated, a little chagrined. “Yes, sir.”

Bren set his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “You three are extraordinary. Keep up the manners just until midnight, and don’t panic if you make a mistake. You’re all three very small, people won’t possibly mistake you for adults, and while children have all kinds of leeway . . . everyone’s very impressed when they get things right. So just bow and apologize, and if you really have an accident, you have several spare shirts in my apartment. We can rescue you if we must, but we’d so much rather not. And the farther we get from the apartment the harder it becomes. Security’s extremely tight.”

“Yes, sir,” Gene said in ship-speak. “We won’t mess things up. We really won’t.”

“Good. Good.” Bren let the boy go and cast a look at Jase. “We’re about due. Dur’s just made it up to the floor. I need to go. If you can follow with the youngsters, we’ll expect you in about ten minutes. Kaplan and Polano are ready?”

“Suited up and ready,” Jase said. “We’ll be right over.”

“See you,” Bren said, and went out to the hall. Staff told staff, and his bodyguard showed up a moment later, Banichi with them, without his sling, at first glance, but then one noted the black, slim support for the injured arm.

Good for that, he thought. He had his hair arranged to hide the stitches, had a little paper of pills, not for atevi consumption, in his right pocket, and a second number of pills, not for human consumption, in the inside pocket of his dress coat, nicely done up, not to mention the discreet little pistol he had in his right-hand coat pocket . . . he had not carried it to the Guild. It did not mean he could not carry it to Tabini’s apartment.

“Nichi-ji,” he said as his aishid joined him. “We are agreed, are we not, each to take a rest as appropriate?”

“We are agreed,” Banichi said.

“Do we have a promise, Nichi-ji?”

“We have an agreement, Bren-ji.”

It was as good as he was getting. Narani opened the door for them, and they walked out and down the short distance to the aiji’s door—which, as it chanced, was still open, Lord Tatiseigi having just arrived with, as it proved, the aiji-dowager.

One simply stood a bit back and let that party sort itself out. There was some little hushed and prolonged to-do involving a coat, about which neither was pleased. But Ilisidi said, “It is the boy’s event, Tati-ji. He will wish not to affront his mother.”

“His mother,” Tatiseigi muttered, but said no more of it.

One didn’t ask. One was simply glad to get through the door, past the foyer, and into the enforced civilization of the dining room, where, indeed, the younger and the elder Dur were already present, and the formalities were a welcome relief.

The dining table was at full extent, with places for thirty-three persons, including Jase and the three youngsters, and an assortment of lords and spouses. It was diplomacy at full stretch. Even Lord Keimi had come in from Taiben—very, very rare that he put in a court appearance; but it was a pleasant arrival. Haijden and Maidin were there. And Jase and Cajeiri’s guests arrived, Jase resplendent in the borrowed coat and the youngsters in immaculate and proper court dress—shy, and a little hesitant about getting to seats, but Jase, who could read the name tags, settled them properly, and sat down in a seat of high rank next to Tatiseigi, who was family—with the youngsters at his left, as Cajeiri’s guests. As minors in Jase’s care, they were seated far higher than their rank would have allowed.

But good-natured Maidin was next to them, and Dur was across the table, which was a very deft bit of diplomacy. The servants brought a cushion for Irene—the boys being just the little degree taller that made a cushion a bit too much; and the youngsters sat with their hands tucked and their eyes darting about the glittering table and the glittering guests—very, very quiet, the three, on best behavior.

Other lords arrived, the Calrunaidi, strangers to the aiji’s inner circle, but on the rise; the Brusini and the Drusi, with current spouses. The company stretched to the end of the table with other arrivals, and the noise level even of quiet conversation became significant.

The youngsters sat staunchly silent, already stuffed with little sandwiches and teacakes, and shyly responding to servants’ questions or deferring them to Jase, who ordered them small glasses of fruit drink . . . which they very judiciously sipped without much tilting.

The table was full. Conversation remained polite. Bren and Jase had followed their own prescription of sandwiches and teacakes to assure they had enough to eat before they had to deal with a full-blown state affair of thirteen courses, three or four involving gravy.

The doors to the hall opened, and Tabini, Damiri, and Cajeiri joined them, the boy in a black and red brocade he had not been wearing when he had stopped by the apartment to drop his guests off. No. He had definitely changed coats. That had been the controversy.

Bren rose, as they all did except Ilisidi. He seated himself when everyone sat down, and the servants began moving about, supplying more wine, or a change of drinks as the kitchen readied the first plates.

There were introductions all around, Calrunaidi being new to the aiji’s table, and Jase not having been at such an event in years. Cajeiri was experienced in state functions—he sat primly proper, kept a pleasant face, accepted the appetizer and didn’t touch it . . . the proper fate of that appetizer in Bren’s own opinion, but Ilisidi relished it.

They had twelve more courses to survive. He ate a very little of very mild things, he was careful about the wine, no matter how tempted, and he listened far more than he spoke. He had the edge of a headache already, and dared not take another pill. The youngsters pushed food about on their plates and only ventured a taste now and again of something which would not drip.

Typical of very large gatherings in Tabini’s apartment, only Tabini’s bodyguards and Cenedi were in evidence: Jago and Tano had sworn to him that Banichi was going to commandeer a chair in the security station and stay there—at very least.

He wished the paidhi-aiji had that option. But he sincerely hoped Banichi was doing exactly that.

They served the seventh course, pickled eggs—one thought of Kaplan and Polano, and Bren wished they had the ones he was served.

Artur made the mistake of moving a dish to accommodate a servant’s reach, and a water goblet nearly went over. Conversation stopped, Artur turned bright red and apologized very quietly. The servant bowed profoundly, embarrassed, and Jase quietly reassured the boy. More, Lord Maidin engaged the youngsters in a kindly way, and the conversation continued, a welcome distraction.

Near the head of the table, Cajeiri relaxed, let go a pent breath, and the dowager kept Tabini and Damiri engaged without missing a beat, while Tatiseigi listened.

Artur remained nervous and quiet, but disaster, thank God, had not happened. Down the table, meanwhile, one of the adult guests had a red wine droplet slowly inching its way down the side of the glass, which Bren watched in dazed, edge-of-headache fascination—until a watchful servant, during service, deftly blotted it with a folded napkin.

Luncheon continued, relentless, to the very last sweet and elaborate confection, a sort of fruity cookie with icing, which the youngsters did not resist; but crumbs were no great calamity.

They had lived through it. And no one had gotten into an argument. The dowager and the aiji-consort had sat across the table from one another without so much as frowning. Lord Tatiseigi had managed a much better mood than he had in the foyer, and he was about to become the center of attention as they moved on to the next event of the day.

It was a great relief.

“We are due in the lower hall,” Tabini said from the head of the table. “We are gratified by the attendance of our intimate guests—and by the unexpected grace of our great ally, one of the ship-aijiin, who has visited our table for the first time in years, and by the attendance of our son’s guests, who have braved the journey itself and behaved very sensibly under extremely trying circumstances. Let us welcome them.”

“Indeed,” most said, while the youngsters looked bewildered—until Jase cued them to bow in place and accept the compliment.

“Now we shall go downstairs,” Tabini said, rising, “and we ask our guests to observe security and keep themselves and staff within the secure area.”

That was the standard request for a formal affair in the lower hall. Events were—one surmised, without looking at a watch—proceeding exactly on schedule. He rose as the others did. Irene slid off her chair with a thump and tried not to look responsible. Bren smiled at her—it was far less racket than most of the heavy chairs made. Over all it was a good show they had made, and he wanted to tell the youngsters so, but there was Lord Calrunaidi looking to renew acquaintance and to comment on the delicacy and manners of the human youngsters—“They are the young gentleman’s age? So very small, so nicely mannered.”

“I shall relay it to them, nandi. Thank you on their behalf. They have worked very hard to acquire court manners to honor the young gentleman.”

“Excellently done,” Calrunaidi said, and nodded to the youngsters across the table. “Excellently done,” he repeated, a little more loudly, as if volume would help understanding.

“Thank you, nandi,” Irene managed to say, and everyone bowed.

“So grown-up!” Lord Calrunaidi said. “Excellently, excellently done!” One thought distractedly that if he could have come by young humans as guests for his own remote household he would have ordered a handful of them. It was one conquest made, and of a rising star at court.

Jase simply and efficiently marshaled the youngsters into a close knot and had them following him as they headed for the door and the outer hall. Jase’s guards were standing by; and they would take the service elevator down—one of the aiji’s guard would get them to the lower hall with a minimum of fuss and back through the servant passages to reach their station.

Impeccable in timing, Banichi and the rest of Bren’s aishid fell right in with him as he reached the foyer, right behind Lord Tatiseigi’s guard. Banichi was, he was glad to see, looking perfectly fine, perfectly in order, and he hoped Banichi had had a chance to lie down for the interval.

They exited to the hall, walked at a leisurely pace toward the lift that would take them downstairs, and stood about the lift door awaiting their own turn, just behind Jase and the youngsters, who were trying to wait quietly and politely.

The lift came back: they made it in, with only his aishid, the youngsters and Jase.

“Well done,” Bren found the chance to say. “Just do as you’ve been doing.”

“Sir,” Gene said; and “I almost ruined everything,” Artur said.

“Not nearly,” Bren said. “You did well. Perfectly well. Relax. Everyone relax.”

Deep breaths. And the lift reached bottom and let them out into the ornate lower hall, which instantly drew looks from the youngsters, who had never yet seen the most ornate hall in the entire Bujavid. There were plinths and pedestals, vases and statues, every door carved and no few gilded, not to mention the sculpted arches of the high ceilings and the carved jade screens and the jeweled live-fire lamps and the milling crowd of not-quite-intimate guests in full court finery in the intersection with the main hall.

“Oh, my God,” he heard Irene say, the youngsters quite frozen in the path of his bodyguard, and the lift needing to return for more guests.

“The Bujavid at full stretch,” Jase said, deftly steering Irene aside and catching Gene by the shoulder. “Just stay with me. I’ll be staying close with nand’ Bren. We’re relying on his security. Don’t stray.”

Tano and Algini were staying with Jase to assist him. Banichi and Jago were at Bren’s back. The main hall was a moving kaleidoscope of people—a good number of them in Guild black, the one element of the Guild presence that a Guild sifting of their membership couldn’t ask to stand down. The lords of clans, districts, and provinces—and in many cases the managers of regional businesses and civil offices had their own security presence, and in all but a few instances it was Guild. It was a security exposure which, given the nature of the event, there was no preventing, and now came the truly worrisome part of the evening. They had tens of thousands of people down on the esplanade and coming partway up the steps to the Bujavid because of the card distributions. The Nine Doors were shut, but they also had reliable guards both out on the landing and inside, between the long steps and this lower, usually public, hall—

Presumably, since Algini’s advisement to the Guild, the Guild had positioned as many units as possible out into the streets to keep order.

But nobody could ever guarantee the streets against fools, and with the best intention in the world, the Guild could not guarantee the man’chi of every member of every unit and every servant in the lower hall. The Shadow Guild had never had any hesitation about civilian casualties—or any other sort. They only hoped that the Shadow Guild was without orders at the moment.

Bren’s heartbeat kicked up as they moved through the crowd—pressing forward, not letting themselves be cut off, on the general path toward the museum—the fivefold doors near the main public entry. Display cases stood as pillars in the middle of the hall, the very first displays of state treasures an ordinary citizen would meet as he came into the lower hall—the emphasis this season was on porcelains.

All five museum doors were open, the space beyond lit with spots of electric light on particular glass cases. Into that central doorway Tabini and Damiri went, with the dowager, and Cajeiri, and Lord Tatiseigi, and the paidhi-aiji had to keep up, maintaining the set order as, within the crowd, other lords began to seek their own assigned order of entry.

It was Lord Tatiseigi’s event, a part of his priceless porcelain collection having been shipped in for public exhibit. Now the opening of the exhibit would be associated, in national memory, with the investiture of his nephew as future aiji of the aishidi’tat. Lord Tatiseigi could hardly be happier . . . that face was not accustomed to smiles, and he clearly had one as he passed the doors.

Bren passed the doors himself, under the scrutiny of the museum’s assigned security, into a vast hall of spotlighted cases containing small tea services and porcelain vases, ancient cloisonnй armor—he was himself pleased to have a chance to see it, knowing it was an unprecedented appearance of the treasures. So many exhibits came and went in the Bujavid, as convenient as a venture downstairs—but he often enough found himself missing the very ones he most wanted to see. This was a very welcome exception.

And the youngsters, who had known only the featureless, identical panels and muted tones of the ship’s passenger section and the stations—they were in awe of living trees and ordinary rocks, convolute porcelains and glittering metalwork and any other texture the world offered them.

More, they had begun to recognize things. One case stood central, centerpiece of the armor exhibits, and they went right for it: a mecheita-rider’s cloisonnй armor, on a model mecheita gleaming in gold accents and war-capped tusks.

From that extraordinary figure, their attention flitted to the tapestry backdrop of mountains and woods, and a company of riders worked in the muted colors of paeshi silk. And they pointed out the fortress on the hill. Would earthborn youngsters even notice the details of a tapestry like that?

He wasn’t sure. He might have, having the interests he did. But he had never been the average youngster. That was how he had landed here, tonight.

“Come in, nandiin, nadiin,” Lord Tatiseigi said, over a provided microphone. “You see pieces which have never traveled outside the Padi Valley, some of which have never entered the national registry until now. Please take your time, and please accept a card for the exhibit itself.”

There was a little murmur of pleased surprise. Signed and ribboned cards were always welcome. And the crowd, cleared bit by bit through the guarded doors, began to disperse through the various aisles of the main exhibit area, and through archways that led to exhibits that were also open this evening—related items, one noted, which placed the Atageini treasures in historical context.

The museum director took the microphone, and began a formal address, thanking the aiji, the aiji-consort, the aiji-dowager, the heir, and Lord Tatiseigi, and then managing a neat segue to future exhibits of ancient blackware and brownware.

And back again, as all but one of the five doors shut, greatly reducing the ventilation in the room, and not helping the general noise level.

The Director segued neatly back again to the exhibit, naming the major eras and regions of porcelain production in terms of glazes and clays subdivided and categorized in a history that went far back before the aishidi’tat.

“. . . you will note, in the fourth row, the legendary Southern blues of the pre-disaster period . . .”

Bren actually understood Southern blues: the beautiful glassy aqua color that could no longer be made in the old way, since the Great Wave had wiped out the Southern Island culture. Tatiseigi did indeed have a collection that rivaled that in Lord Machigi’s district, and one could only surmise what had been lost in that long-ago cataclysm.

“. . . in the peripheral cases, and beyond the western archway, you will discover an interesting sequence of massive figured ware, then the freestanding figures of the Age of the First Northern Rulers, which followed the collapse of the Southern Island . . .”

That was suddenly interesting. The theory that the elaborate figured porcelains of the current age were an outgrowth of the pillar-like Reverence Statues of the northern lands, as the north met porcelain techniques from the survivors of the Southern Island culture . . . that was a notion he had heard, and he was familiar, too, with the theory that there was possibly a relationship to the Grandmother Stones of the tribal peoples, with which every museum-goer on Mospheira was familiar. Those were all but unknown on the mainland . . . except where the Edi and the Gan had settled.

But that theory, their guide said, was mired in controversy involving the origin of the tribal peoples themselves, who refused to accept the notion that they were part of the northern culture. They maintained they were descended from former lords of the Southern Island, and that the Grandmother Stones of the Southern Island had been swept away in the flood.

There was some support for the southern origin: they were a matriarchal people, unlike the patriarchal north.

But there was political heat behind the question, and the Director immediately veered off the topic, beginning to acknowledge the various notables present, a long, long list that was going to take the next quarter hour at least.

Bren bowed a little as his name was mentioned, fairly early in the list. The youngsters, who had showed a very human tendency to flit this way and that, took Jase’s cue to stand respectfully and bow, as Jase and the three of them were mentioned . . .

Then, inevitably drawn by what glittered, and by objects they readily recognized—they were off to peer through the glass at a tall vase covered in parid’ja figures.

The youngsters had drawn attention of their own, admirers of the artworks glancing aside and moving back from the children and whispering discreetly behind hands or printed exhibit guides.

But the fact that the children bowed properly when cued amazed and mollified the onlookers, much as if a trio of parid’ji had shown evidence of civilization. And despite their somewhat excessive energy, they were not misbehaving. Algini and Tano and Jase together availed to keep three youngsters under relatively close management. And onlookers began to relax and smile, even laughing, watching them as much as the exhibit.

Cajeiri likely ached to go through the exhibit with just as much energy—but of course he didn’t leave his parents’ side. Nor could the youngsters go to him or even so much as wave at him, no. It was just not done.

That was the sad part of the affair, one he would mend if he possibly could . . . but there was no help for it. Tabini, and therefore Cajeiri and Damiri, were constantly engaged with important guests this evening, constantly besieged with introductions and well-wishes—a state affair in full spate, and leading to an announcement that would set the boy further apart from ordinary life. What could one say against it? It was the boy’s rank. It was what he did. It was what he was born for and would always have to do.

Maybe, Bren thought, it was the boy’s years on the starship that had sharply defined him—years like his father’s at Malguri, in the dowager’s care. Tabini had sent the boy up to the station with the dowager—and now Tabini had brought three human kids down here, for reasons that a human fenced off very carefully, saying he still didn’t understand the motive. He had to be careful of thinking he understood the motive . . . it was a potentially dangerous step across the interface, the very thing he had been supposed to prevent.

But maybe the motive wasn’t alien from atevi politics. Damiri hadn’t been happy with the dowager from before her son had been taken up to the space station and put in the dowager’s care—while Tabini had drawn the dowager closer and closer, from far back.

He should know. He’d been the initial lure, to get Ilisidi out of Malguri.

He’d had no idea, at that point, how very deeply Ilisidi had detested his predecessor in the paidhi’s office.

Tabini had given him a gun, taken him target-shooting quite illegally, in terms of treaty law—and sent him off to visit his grandmother.

How did a sane man interpret that move? Did the elements add as straightforwardly as they might in a human situation?

Maybe was the same with Tabini’s inviting the kids down now. Experience us. Know us. Make up your own minds. Show us who you are.

They were so damned young.

But could a boy brought up in the heart of court intrigue be that young, or that innocent?

The boy stood, elegant and conspicuous, in a light that made that black coat spark red fire, his darkness and that brightness as ornate as the exhibits, beside a father of which he was the smaller image, beside a smiling mother who, despite her condition, looked as perfect, as iconic, as any cloisonnй image in the cases.

What do I do, he asked himself, to protect this boy? What can I do?

Keep those kids out of trouble. That’s one.

The museum was crowded with the elite—typical of such events, Guild presence had diminished down to two bodyguards for the lesser guests, in the interest of saving space, and the other half of those units would be occupying the hall outside, reinforcing Guild presence on the lower floor. The echoing buzz of voices took on a surreal quality, and he began to realize his thinking had grown just a bit distracted. It was too warm in the room. There were very few benches, and he longed for one . . . but there were none vacant.

“How are you?” he asked Banichi.

“I am not in difficulty,” Banichi said. “Are you?”

“No,” he said, an outright lie. Then, on a breath: “I have a painkiller. Do you need it?”

“No, Bren-ji. Do you?”

“I have had one.” He cast a meaningful glance at Jago—watch him, he wanted to say. Don’t let him push it. But Jago said, “You are quite pale, Bren-ji.”

“Am I?” He drew several deep breaths. “It seems warm in here.”

“It is,” Jago said. “Bren-ji, you will sit down.”

There was a bench, as a lady rose to talk to an associate. Jago deftly moved to the area, the lady moved off, and what could one do?

Bren walked over and quietly sat down, exhaled, did not rest his head against the wall. It was near an air vent. That was a considerable help. The bulletproof vest was hot, and stiff, and a very good idea, he was sure. But he wished he could shed it.

· · ·

It was dull. It was very dull, with the museum committee head making yet another speech.

And Cajeiri remembered the speech he had to give.

One had a chance certainly, with all the other speeches going on, to memorize it.

Except—

Except he had changed coats.

There was still time. There was plenty of time. He was good at memorizing.

“Taro-ji,” Cajeiri whispered, leaning close to his aishid. “The paper. My speech. I left it upstairs, in the other coat. Can you possibly go up and get it, nadi?”

“I shall try,” Antaro promised him, and backed out of the group and left quickly, down the side of the room.

The others had heard. “I should have realized it,” Jegari said. “This is my fault, nandi.”

“I am the one who changed coats,” Cajeiri said and drew a careful, quiet breath, not wishing to have his parents notice the exchange.

“It will not be easy for Taro to get up there,” Veijico said. “They have refused us clearance. They are being very stubborn on that.”

“They.” If it was any of his father’s guard, or his great-grandmother’s, he could deal with that.

“The Guild itself,” Veijico said. “Even Cenedi tried. But they will not clear us to have the codes.”

“Well, but Antaro is clever,” he said. Antaro could very often talk her way through things none of the rest of his aishid could manage.

And it was, after all, his room, his residence she was asking access for. If she could just get upstairs, even if his father’s major domo had sworn on his life not to unlock the apartment door, surely he could just get the paper from his pocket in the closet and slide it out to her.

Surely the rules were not that tight.

Once the major d’ talked to his father, he might have to admit to his father he had lost the paper, but his father would at least have to admit that he and his aishid had solved the problem.

And he would be perfect in his speech. So his father could not fault him.

· · ·

Sitting helped. Bren drew far easier breaths. The cool air from the vent helped even more. Banichi, however, would not take his seat and sit down. And he himself could not stay there. He nerved himself for a rise to his feet.

“Nandi,” Jago warned him just as he came upright, on his feet, and he saw, edging up on him—

Topari and two of his guard.

“Nand’ paidhi,” Topari said, reaching him, and sketched a bow.

How did he get an invitation? was Bren’s initial thought, but he put a smile on his face.

“Nandi. One hopes the evening finds you well.”

“Well enough,” Topari said without a bow. “Nand’ paidhi, you said there would be a meeting. Your office has not answered my letter.”

He had not instructed his secretarial office, not expecting Topari would take that route, and a single day did not put any ordinary message to the top of the stack in his secretarial office. He gave a small, automatic bow, not needing to feign mild surprise. “One rather expected you would simply send to me, nandi, directly, as indeed I invited you to do. What did this letter regard?”

“A meeting,” Topari said—the man had the manners of a mecheita in a mob run. “A meeting with the aiji-dowager.”

“Regarding?”

“I have exchanged messages with several of my neighbors. We have questions. We need to be consulted, more than that—considered—in this rail matter. We insist.”

“Indeed, nandi, there will certainly be a consideration of your interests.”

“Freight is one thing. Passengers are another. We maintain our sovereignty. We shall have no outsiders setting up business in our station.”

“I think it extremely likely we can do business, nandi.” Bren said to him, and thank God young Dur, out of nowhere, moved in with, “May one be introduced, nand’ paidhi?”

It was a rescue, an absolute, self-sacrificing rescue. “Ah! Nandi, nand’ Topari of Hasurjan, up in the southern mountains. His district maintains a rail station which could be quite important in the southern route, and he has concerns that Transport will certainly want to consider.—Nand’ Topari, nand’ Reijiri, whose father is lord of Dur, in the Coastal Association, and who is on the Transport Committee.”

“The father, that, is.”

“Indeed, nandi,” young Dur said, and Bren took the practiced shift of balance and step backward and away, disengagement, with deep gratitude, and without his bodyguard having to remind him of a fictitious other meeting. He extricated himself from the little cul-de-sac and made it all the way to the next aisle of displays. No telling to whom Reijiri might pass the man next, someone worthy, he hoped. He worked his way closer to the front of the hall, and out of convenient view.

There was, one was grateful to see, another air vent.

Then there was a massive waft of cooler air, as two of the four shut doors opened—security had had all the doors shut—and now evidently had relented. No few of the crowd murmured relief.

Antaro arrived inside, one noted, by one of those doors. One had no idea where she had been.

· · ·

“One cannot get through,” Antaro reported, in a tone under the general buzz of conversation in the hall. “I have tried the lifts, the stairs, and the servant passages, and they are all shut down. No one is allowed to operate the lifts and communications are not working. I succeeded in phoning your father’s apartment, and Eisi has retrieved the paper, but he cannot leave the apartment. Even the major domo cannot get clearance to come downstairs, and the guards on the stairs will not even talk to me, nandi. Veijico might. She has more seniority on the books. Or one could go to Cenedi.”

“He would tell mani,” Cajeiri said. “No. No, Taro-ji. It is almost too late as is. They have opened all the doors. Likely we will be going to the Audience Hall almost any moment.”

“One regrets, nandi, one greatly regrets this!”

“By no means,” he said. “I am the one who left the paper. I remember enough of it. I have almost all the pieces. My father will hardly notice. Certainly no one else will. It is by no means your fault.”

“One is very certain,” Antaro said, still breathing hard, “one is very certain it was composed to be felicitous. Be careful of numbers, nandi. Think through the numbers. Your father will have been very careful of that.”

“I shall. I can. It will be all right, Taro-ji. No one will notice it at all.”

“One earnestly hopes,” Antaro said. She had never seemed to be that distressed, even when people were shooting at them.

“It is stupid anyway,” he said, “that they do not recognize us. It is certainly not your fault. And I have it memorized. I just need to recall it.”

He did remember a lot of the speech. There was one line in the first statement he was not sure of, but he could get it back, if only people would let him alone for just a few moments, and if his aishid could protect him from more people wanting to congratulate him on his birthday. There was no way to get off in a corner for quiet. His father insisted he stand nearby, and most of the people who congratulated him he was sure just wanted an excuse to talk to his father.