C. J. CHERRYH

INTRUDER

A Foreigner Novel

C.J. CHERRYH

THE FOREIGNER UNIVERSE

FOREIGNER

PRECURSOR

INVADER

DEFENDER

INHERITOR

EXPLORER

DESTROYER

CONSPIRATOR

PRETENDER

DECEIVER

DELIVERER

BETRAYER

INTRUDER

THE ALLIANCE-UNION UNIVERSE

REGENESIS

DOWNBELOW STATION

THE DEEP BEYOND Omnibus:

Serpent’s Reach | Cuckoo’s Egg

ALLIANCE SPACE Omnibus:

Merchanter’s Luck | 40,000 in Gehenna

AT THE EDGE OF SPACE Omnibus:

Brothers of Earth | Hunter of Worlds

THE FADED SUN Omnibus:

Kesrith | Shon’jir | Kutath

THE CHANUR NOVELS

THE CHANUR SAGA Omnibus:

The Pride Of Chanur | Chanur’s Venture | The Kif Strike Back

CHANUR’S ENDGAME Omnibus:

Chanur’s Homecoming | Chanur’s Legacy

THE MORGAINE CYCLE

THE MORGAINE SAGA Omnibus:

Gate of Ivrel | Well of Shiuan | Fires of Azeroth

EXILE’S GATE

OTHER WORKS:

THE DREAMING TREE Omnibus:

The Tree of Swords and Jewels | The Dreamstone

ALTERNATE REALITIES Omnibus:

Port Eternity | Wave Without a Shore | Voyager in Night

THE COLLECTED SHORT FICTION OF C.J. CHERRYH

ANGEL WITH THE SWORD

C. J. CHERRYH

INTRUDER

A Foreigner Novel

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM FOUNDER

375 Hudson Street, New York NY 10014

ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM

SHEILA E. GILBERT

PUBLISHERS

http://www.dawbooks.com

Copyright © 2012 by C.J. Cherryh

All rights reserved.

Jacket art by Todd Lockwood.

DAW Books Collectors No. 1578.

ISBN: 978-1-101-56071-6

DAW Books are distributed by the Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Book designed by Stanley S. Drate/Folio Graphics Co., Inc.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

First Printing, March 2012

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

To Jane, for always being there

and always coming through.

Table of Contents

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2

3

4

5

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7

8

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10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

1

Spring in the southwest, and the heavens had opened—not the gentle rains of the summer, but a sheeting deluge that warped the spring landscape beyond the tinted windows of the bus.

Inside, warm and dry, working on a tray table almost sufficient for his paper notes, Bren Cameron enjoyed a sip of tea from a scandalous plastic cup. He had the four-seat executive arrangement to himself at the moment, and his briefcase lay open on the adjacent seat. His four-person bodyguard had all gone to the rear of the bus to converse with the young contingent of Guildsmen they’d been handed for protection, and that left him room to work.

Lightning flashed just uphill from the bus. Thunder cracked—worrisome for electronics, but he wasn’t working on his computer this trip. That machine had far, far too much in its storage to be bringing it into Taisigi territory, and he’d sent it on to the capital with his valets and significant items of furniture, the computer itself to be hand carried and guarded every step of the way. The spiral-bound notebook was enough for him, along with a stack of loose-leaf work and printouts and, within the briefcase, a folder of very official papers, vellum with red and black wax seals and carefully preserved ribbons.

A dark presence moved down the aisle, loomed over him and switched out the vacuum-thermos teapot on his little work surface. Jago was not a servant—the sidearm attested to that. So did the black leather of the Assassins’ Guild. She stood a head taller than any tall human, black-skinned, golden-eyed—atevi, in short, native to the world, as humans were not. She was half of the senior pair of his atevi bodyguard—a bodyguard, and his lover, moderately discreetly, of some years now.

He was the sole human on the bus, a single individual of fair hair and pale skin and pale civilian dress in a company of black-uniformed atevi. He was the sole human on the mainland, by now, and his personal world had gotten back to the atevi norm, where he looked up at everyone he talked to and struggled with steps and furniture. He was not a small man—as humans went. But here, even a small teacup meant a generous pouring, and the seat he occupied, scaled for atevi, accommodated human stature with a footrest.

It was his bus. And it had such amenities. He was dressed for court, lace at the cuffs and collar, a pale blue vest. His coat, beige brocade, hung behind the driver. He had his fair hair braided, and the ribbon that tied that braid was white, the badge of the paidhi-aiji— translator for the aiji, the ruler of the aishidi’tat, the Western Association. The white ribbon meant peace and nonviolence, the paidhi’s job being that of an intercessor in the affairs of lords.

The white ribbon was supposed to mean peace and nonviolence, at least, and the gun he usually carried in his pocket was in the luggage this trip. The bulletproof vest was only a precaution.

Jago made a second trip forward to advise him, leaning on the seat back across the aisle. “We have just crossed the border, Bren-ji.”

The border out of Sarini Province, that was.

So they were now in Taisigi district, in what had been hostile territory for centuries—a place he never would have contemplated entering. Not on his life.

But he’d already been there. He’d negotiated with the lord of the Taisigi. He’d gotten out in fairly good shape, despite the efforts of some.

And he was coming back, to finish what he’d started, now that the Assassins’ Guild had taken “supportive control” of Tanaja, the capital of Taisigi clan.

“Will you want lunch, Bren-ji?” Jago asked him. The galley on their well-appointed bus was in operation. A pleasant aroma had informed him of that some while ago.

“A light one, Jago-ji, half a sandwich, perhaps.” There was no knowing whether they were going to attend a formal dinner tonight—or a firefight. Although the odds were considerably against the latter, one still never quite bet on anything, not where it regarded the lord of the Taisigi…who had just a little reason to be upset about recent events. “Have we made contact yet?”

“With the Guild, yes,” Jago said. “Not yet with Lord Machigi’s staff.”

“Let me know when you have, Jago-ji.”

“Yes,” she said, and went back down the aisle.

He poured another small dose of tea, sipped it, reflexively saved his papers from a spill as the bus hit a hole, and took a fleeting note: Road improvement, Targai-Najida to border—for a time when relations might be easier. They were still on the Sarini plateau, but the road—which on the atevi mainland meant a strip of mud, gravel, or mowed grass leading somewhere the railways didn’t go—would start descending hereafter, headed for the heart of the Marid, an arm of the wider sea that was its own small world.

The Taisigi whose lord he proposed to visit were one of the five clans of the Marid.

Lord Machigi of the Taisigin Marid had become the last man standing of the three most powerful Marid lords. The three lords had plotted, each in his own way, to take over the west coast of the aishidi’tat; unfortunately, one Bren Cameron, whose country estate lay on the West Coast, on Najida Peninsula, had decided to take a vacation right in the middle of the territory in question.

The Marid, immediately seeing something ominous in his presence, had attempted to assassinate him and his young guest, Cajeiri—who happened to be the eight-year-old son of Tabini-aiji, the ruler of the aishidi’tat.

That had brought in the lad’s great-grandmother, not the quiet sort of great-grandmother, but the lord of the East and not the power to cross if one wanted a long life.

Hence the paidhi’s current trip to Tanaja, in a shiny red and black bus, with his own bodyguard and ten junior Guildsmen. His bodyguard hadn’t been sure the juniors were an asset—more apt to need protection than to provide it, in Jago’s words; but they were the guard the Guild had come up with on short notice, the Guild having deployed almost all its senior assets in the recent Marid action, and when all was said, ten additional Guildsmen with equipment certainly looked formidable.

So the younger contingent came along—in case absolutely everything he’d worked out with the young lord of the Taisigi had gone to blazes overnight. Which, in the volatile politics of the aishidi’tat, was not impossible.

Go talk to Machigi, the aiji-dowager had said—Ilisidi, the aiji’s grandmother and young Cajeiri’s great-grandmother. Get Machigi to give up his claim on the West Coast and ally with us. In turn, we shall stop the Guild from assassinating him. That was the order that had sent him to Tanaja the first time.

So…in the upshot of it all, two Marid lords who hadn’t won Ilisidi’s favorable attention were now dead, their houses occupied by the Assassins’ Guild, who were busy going through their records and finding out a host of things the deceased lords would not have wanted published to the world…or to their own clans.

And here he was back in Lord Machigi’s territory for the second time in two weeks. Machigi’s premises were also being occupied by Guild forces, but in a theoretically benevolent way.

Tabini-aiji, back in the capital of the aishidi’tat, in Shejidan, was still watching the operation in some curiosity—rather in the manner of one watching two trains run at one another, as Bren saw it. Tabini could have vetoed the notion. He hadn’t. He’d let his grandmother run the operation, backing her up as needed…and possibly intending to let any adverse events bounce back on Ilisidi, not on him.

But Ilisidi’s plan was apparently still going smoothly.

The potential in the situation had been damned scary for about three very unsettled days, in which the Assassins’ Guild in the capital had met to consider a massive operation against a sizable portion of its own membership—a faction of the Assassins’ Guild which, three years ago, had overthrown Tabini’s rule for two significant years and then fled the capital when Tabini had come back on a wave of popular support. The Assassins that had supported the usurper, Murini, had run south…and reorganized.

Worse, Guild internal secrecy had covered the problem. It had covered it so damned well that not even Tabini-aiji had known—because Tabini, who had replaced his Guild-approved bodyguard with men of his own clan, who were not high up enough in the Guild to suit the Guild leadership…. had somehow fallen off the list of persons to be informed of certain maneuvers.

Politics, politics, politics. The Guild had started running its own operation, trying to mop up their recent split, not advising Tabini of everything it knew—

Like the fact that the splinter group had moved beyond organizing in the Marid—that they had turned the two northernmost lord of the Marid into puppet lords, putting the two clans at their direction.

Tabini still hadn’t been told, because his bodyguard, who should have informed him, had ties and relatives not approved by the Guild leadership.

The aiji-dowager’s bodyguard hadn’t been told, either—first because she was in close company with the aiji, and second because she had been a guest of a lord with notoriously lax security, who might innocently have blown the Guild operation.

So secret were the inner workings of the Guild that the paidhi’s high-ranking bodyguard hadn’t been told, either, and his bodyguard contained at least one person who was tapped into the Guild at highest levels. Algini, partnered with Tano, had reasonably expected information he hadn’t received.

Why not? Because his lord, the paidhi-aiji, was working closely with Tabini and the aiji-dowager, and somebody high up in the Guild was in the final stages of planning a strike against the renegades in the south and was absolutely not confiding in the messy households of people who actually lived lives outside the rules of the Guild, and who were running around near the sphere of action at the time.

And what then happened?

The Guild’s enemies tried to assassinate the paidhi-aiji, because he’d walked into their operations, unadvised.

Then they’d gone on attacking, because the aiji-dowager and Tabini’s young son had added themselves to the target zone.

Just run over to Tanaja and get Machigi to join us…that had been Ilisidi’s approach to the situation that had landed on them at Najida.

And that had tripped up the Guild’s maneuvering for good and all, since Machigi had been the first target the Guild had been putting the pressure on.

An ignorant intervention?

One didn’t quite think so. The hell Ilisidi’s bodyguard hadn’t started to get information that the Guild hadn’t been willing to give to Tabini, once bullets had started flying, and the hell the aiji-dowager hadn’t made threats and promises to get it out of them—the aiji-dowager’s chief bodyguard, Cenedi, probably allying with Algini to get accesses. The paidhi-aiji knew the smell of politics when it wafted past him. Cenedi had started finding things out, and then Algini had started finding things out, as the machinery started to move.

Now the Guild in Shejidan had the shadow-Guild on the run. The average citizen in the northern Marid might know that his own lord had died, yes. That they were also missing a minister or two might take longer to notice. The sudden appearance of uniformed Guild in the halls of government would be the only sign—and that would get to the flower market and the fishmonger by the city rumor mill…that and certain government offices opening under the direction of lower-level officials, senior officials having had the sense to resign and go tend their personal business…

That was the pattern in Senji clan territory, north of here, the other side of the Maschi district. It was the same across the Marid Sea, in Dojisigi clan, where most of the shadow-Guild had clustered—and where some of the nastiest fighting had gone on.

The Guild had told Tabini, finally; the Guild had been in communication with Ilisidi, and right now the paidhi’s bodyguard was in radio contact with the Guild authority, and everybody was talking to everybody else.

Going into Taisigi territory was still a scary proposition. But it certainly beat the last trip. He had packed hiking boots this trip. He’d sworn to himself he would never go anywhere again without hiking boots.

And—theoretically—this time the Guild would courteously warn them if they were heading into a trap.

He had his lunch while lightning broke around them, while from time to time the windshield went awash with water. It was a typical spring front, coming in off the straits. But with luck, the worst of the weather would blow past them and be off across the Marid Sea by the time they got to Tanaja, on the coast.

Meet with Machigi and then call and arrange a secure flight from the airport over in Sarini Province, a bus ride back to the airport, and on to Shejidan. For business. A lot of business.

His guests had all departed from Najida. Young Cajeiri had flown back to Shejidan yesterday—Tabini-aiji had insisted on a plane flight, no more train rides. Young Dur had flown his own plane home yesterday, too, ahead of the storm. Dur’s father, going home by sea as of two days ago, would have had a rougher trip, at least at the outset.

Ilisidi and her security team would have taken off hours ago, just ahead of the incoming front, the last of his guests to leave. She would change planes at Shejidan, not delaying for pleasantries, and continue on to her own estate, Malguri, across the continental divide. She was taking Lord Geigi’s traitorous nephew Baiji with her—under close guard. Baiji was a fool, but he had his uses—primarily in begetting an heir.

Lord Geigi himself was still over at Kajiminda, the estate neighboring Najida, lingering to straighten up some last-moment business there, before catching the next shuttle back to the space station and getting back his real job.

So the construction crew would be moving in tomorrow to repair Najida’s main hallway and the roof with more than the patches that currently kept the rain out. And to do some major renovation while they were at it.

He loved that little estate. He wanted to stay and supervise the construction and be consulted for small decisions.

But he had a promise to keep. And a duty to perform.

And if he succeeded, the world would change.

2

It was going to be goodbye for good to the little bedroom in Great-grandmother’s apartment, and Cajeiri was not happy. It had been home ever since they had gotten back from space, but where they were going next was their real home…which they had not been able to go back to until now.

It was repaired, since the coup. The bullet holes were patched. It was repainted.

But in Cajeiri’s view, his room there was going to be only one more room in the Bujavid.

Where Cajeiri had rather not be in the first place.

He had only been infelicitous six when he had last seen his parents’ real apartment in the Bujavid.

Oh, it was a fine place, the Bujavid. His father had his offices and his audience hall here. Here the legislature sat, and here was the national library. Here almost all the most important lords lived when they were in town, and the halls were full of important and historic things, and all that.

But his father’s newly painted apartment was so—clean. So white. So—modern. He had had a look through the doors yesterday, only that. And it was just—white. Which was actually the way he remembered it, from long, long ago.

He had only really lived in that apartment when he was a baby. He had, since then, lived in Great-uncle Tatiseigi’s house; and then he had gone up in the shuttle and lived on the starship, and he had flown on the starship farther than anybody on earth could imagine; and he had traveled back to the space station—which he had had to leave in a hurry, leaving all the people he had met in space.

And then he had flown back down to the world with nand’ Bren and Great-grandmother, because his father had been overthrown and enemies were in control of the capital, and they—he and Great-grandmother and Father and nand’ Bren—had had to fight their way from Uncle Tatiseigi’s house back to the Bujavid again and set his father back in power.

So he had come to live in this room, in Great-grandmother’s apartment, which had stayed safe during the Troubles. His father and his mother had lived here, too. And he had been almost a whole year living in this warm little bedroom. And taking lessons from his incredibly boring tutors—well, except for one small incident. Or two.

His father had of course become aiji again, so his father was obliged to live in the Bujavid and, as soon as he could, to have his own apartment back. They were cramped, living with Great-grandmother.

But he had rather live with Great-grandmother or with nand’ Bren, which was where he had just been—at Najida—even if he had only gotten to go out in a boat once.

Well, twice, if one counted the accident. But that had not exactly been a proper boat.

And everything was better at Najida now, and just when there was a real chance nand’ Bren could have taken him out every day on his boat, or nand’ Toby could have—his parents wanted him back in Shejidan, and told him he had to fly home.

Great-grandmother had gotten to stay in Najida. And now she was coming back, but she was not even going to come in from the airport. She was taking that fool Baiji to meet the girl he was going to have to marry.

So he did not even get to see her.

And now everybody was running around in excitement because they were moving back to their own apartment, as if that was good news.

They were moving there tomorrow.

And that was where he would have to live.

Forever.

With a boring tutor giving him boring lessons.

He had ever so much rather have his lessons from Great-grandmother, even if she did thwack his ear for mistakes.

Or from nand’ Bren, who had taught him all sorts of things.

Or from Banichi, who was Guild, and incredibly scary and very kind and understanding. Those were his best teachers. Ever.

When they had been on the starship, nand’ Bren had given him vids from the human archive, about dinosaurs and musketeers and horses. He never got those any more. He scarcely ever got to spend time with nand’ Bren and Banichi.

And worst of all, Great-uncle Tatiseigi was back in residence in the Bujavid, now, and they would probably have to have dinner with him once a week once they had a dining room.

Then his mother’s Ajuri clan relatives were coming in, because the legislature was about to meet, and they would take any excuse to come visit. The aunts were not so bad. But Grandfather was appalling.

Mother was about to have a baby, that was the problem. That was a lot of the problems. The Ajuri were all excited about it, as if his mother did not already have him. They were probably saying that this baby would never be exposed to nand’ Bren, and they would far rather a baby that they could rule—

They would certainly rather have somebody they could influence. He had had far too much to do with Great-grandmother and with humans. That was what they thought. He was sure of it.

Great-grandmother would come back when she had gotten Baiji married off.

But by then he would have moved out of this apartment, with his parents, with all sorts of rules.

In their apartment, he would have a whole lot of their staff watching him. A lot of his parents’ staff who had not been killed in the coup had been off on paid leave since his father had come back to power because there was just no room for them in Great-grandmother’s apartment.

But his father’s staff would be all over the new apartment, and he would not be able to make a move without somebody reporting it to his father or his mother.

It was just dismal.

Pack, they had told him. Or would you rather the servants did it?

He most certainly did not want the servants going through his things. They would hardly know what was important. The things they could handle were in the closet—which was a lot of clothes—and what was not clothes was in the boxes on the floor, which were his drawings and his notes.

And then there were the important things in his pocket, where he kept his slingshota, along with three fat perfect rocks from Najida’s little garden, which he never ever meant to shoot where he could lose them. They were more precious to him than anything but the slingshota itself.

It was not very much to own for somebody who was the heir of all the aishidi’tat. But it was all he really cared about keeping. Not counting the clothes. Which he personally did not count. The servants could move those.

He was just short of his felicitous ninth year, and in one more day he was going to be miserable for the rest of his life.

He had his own bodyguard now, at least: Antaro and Jegari, who were not Guild yet, just apprentices. They were sibs, from Taiben, and they were almost grown, but they understood him better than anybody in the Bujavid.

And now there were Lucasi and Veijico, another brother and sister team, who were real Guild and carried weapons and wore the black uniforms and everything. His father had assigned them to him. His father was not thoroughly pleased with them ever since Najida. But they had learned a lot, and improved. So they were his, and he would not let them go.

His parents had promised him his bodyguard would have rooms of their own in the new apartment. And he would have a little suite. Which was good. He had not even been interested in looking at it when he had had a chance to look in on the apartment.

They had told him no, there would be no windows where they were going, not in his suite; he had not been surprised, but he was not happy about it, either. Ever since coming back to the Bujavid, he had felt closed in. Mani’s apartment had not just a window, but a whole balcony you could sit on. But his father’s bodyguard would not let him go out there.

So for the rest of his life, he would just have to sit in his windowless little suite and do homework and ask the servants to do anything that was remotely interesting. He had wanted this morning to go to the library and look up things about the Marid, because he had gotten interested in it, but his father’s bodyguard would not let him out of the apartment.

That was a forecast, was it not? It was just what things would be.

He was bored and angry, and went disconsolately from one thing to another, he tried to read the book nand’ Bren had lent him and wished he still had the vids from the ship that he had grown up with.

He wished even more that he had his companions from the ship, humans his age. He really wished there were someone, anyone, his age that he could talk to. But he was the aiji’s son, and who got to be associated with him at all was a political question, and important, and so far there was no boy his age in the whole world that his father approved of.

And if ever his father approved, he still had to get his mother to approve, and Great-grandmother, and Uncle Tatiseigi, and his Ajuri grandfather.

It was just grim here.

And it was going to be grim. Forever. His mother and his father and his grandfather and Uncle Tatiseigi had his whole life planned.

He sat down at his little desk, took a pad of paper and a pen, which had come with the desk, and, still furious, drew Najida estate the way he remembered it. He put in the rocks at the turn of the walk that led down the hill to the harbor. He put in nand’ Bren’s boat, and nand’ Toby’s. He ran out of paper for the little rowboat he had borrowed.

He ruined that, and drew it again on another sheet of paper. He constantly tried to draw things, to remember them when he had to move again. And he kept his drawings secret, among his Important Things, in that box on the floor.

Then it occurred to him he should draw this room, because once he had moved out, there was never any guarantee he would be back, or that the room would stay the way it was, once he had no say in the matter. So he drew it next, the tassels on the bedcover, the desk he was using, the hangings on the wall, the tapestry with the picture of a boat, and, most important, his big map of the whole of the aishidi’tat.

Veijico knocked and came in. “Nandi. A message from your mother. She wants you.”

Damn, he thought. And thought it twice. And again. He was not supposed to say that word out loud even if it was ship-speak and nobody had any idea it was swearing. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Maybe it was a security lecture coming. His father had already had the security lecture with him. The legislature was going into session and there were controversial bills going to be on the floor, which brought out crazy people, who had any citizen’s right to be on the bottom, public floor of the Bujavid, so he must remember that.

And there could be people who were much more dangerous than simply crazy. There could be elements of the renegade Guild that they had not caught yet. The shadow-Guild, nand’ Bren called it. And they were scary.

So he was supposed to stay in the apartment.

He knew about defense. He had been with mani and Cenedi and nand’ Bren and Banichi over at Najida, in all the shooting. He had defended the house, had he not? He had defended mani.

And those people had been armed and bent on killing everybody.

He had killed somebody—more than one somebody in the course of things, though it upset him to think about it, and he sometimes dreamed about it; he did not want to say that to his bodyguard, whose job was to save him from situations like that. He had things he remembered and kept all to himself. Grown-up things.

But his parents never gave him credit for knowing anything at all.

He had no choice about going to his mother, now, however. He got up and put on his coat, with Veijico’s help, and when he went out the door of his room, the rest of his aishid was waiting for him. They were probably curious, being as bored and shut-in as he was, and with the same things ahead of them. So they were going to go with him and watch him get in trouble. He hardly blamed them. But:

“You can all stay outside,” he said, annoyed with it all. “One expects a security lecture. And you know all of that.”

“Yes,” Antaro said, speaking for the aishid; so they would stand outside the door, waiting for details.

His mother, three doors down the hall, didn’t have any of her bodyguard on duty…what with her guard, and his father’s, and his, the bodyguards all bumped into one another in the halls, and his young aishid had their own hard time, dealing with senior Guild, whose business was always more important and who always got the right of way.

He reached his mother’s door, and Antaro knocked, once.

His mother’s major d’, Lady Adsi, opened for him and let him into his mother’s borrowed little sitting room.

“Your mother is expecting you, young gentleman,” Lady Adsi said, and left him to stand there facing nothing in particular while she disappeared through the inner door of his parents’ suite.

In a moment more his mother came through that door. She was very pregnant, but she was always beautiful. Today she had on a blue drapey coat and a lot of blue and white lace, and she smiled at him. That was supposed to be reassuring—but it was not entirely a reassurance, if one knew his mother.

He bowed. She bowed. She smelled like flowers, she always did. She waved a lacy hand toward her desk and went and sat down there, slightly sideways, to face him.

He came closer, folding his hands behind his back, and waited, wondering what kind of report about him could have come in, from what place, and how much trouble he was in.

“So, are you packed, son of mine?” she asked.

“Yes, honored Mother,” he said quietly, properly, though sneaking a glance over the papers she had out on the desk. One looked like a building plan. He thought it might be Najida. But it looked different. The rooms were all wrong.

It was, he realized, the new apartment, showing how the rooms were laid out. And she drew from under it another diagram that might be just an enlarged part of that plan, with several rooms attached.

“This is your suite,” she told him, and he looked hard, and tried to memorize it on the spot. It was a proper suite, the way he had had at Najida—well, except the hall it opened onto would not be the main hall of the Bujavid, but a hall inside the larger apartment, where there was no hope of getting outside unobserved.

But it had its own sitting room and a second little room for some purpose, and there was a master bedroom and closet, and beyond that a little hall, and a pair of rooms next to the bedroom, each, he decided, with closets. That pair of rooms would be for his aishid.

And she did not take the diagram away. She turned it so he could better see it.

“This will be your suite,” she said, and pointed out the numbers on the sides of the room. “These are the dimensions. You will have your own little office, do you see, for your homework.”

The extra room was about the size of the closet in the bedroom, but if it was an office, it would be a place for his projects, and that was excellent. His things would not be in danger of being stepped on. And he would have a table. And bookshelves.

“But you do not have enough furniture to fill it, son of mine,” she said.

One had supposed furniture would just turn up. Furniture always had turned up. He never had any choice in it.

His mother pulled out another paper and laid it atop the plan, a paper which had official-looking printing and a red stamp with the Ragi crest.

“This is an authorization,” she said, “for you to go down to the storerooms.”

“Storerooms. Downstairs?” The Bujavid had a lot of levels, and most of them were storage, all the way down to the train station. But he had never been there. Outside the apartment. Outside the apartment was an exciting notion.

“There is a warehouse office on the fifth level, which your aishid will have no trouble finding by this number.” She pointed it out, at the top of the paper. “Give the supervisor this paper. I have a copy. You are old enough now to have some notion what you would like. Your father and I thought you might like to apply your own energies to this matter. So in storeroom 15—it says here, do you see? —is your furniture from when you were a baby. Some was damaged in the coup; some was not and has been warehoused since. But one is sure you will have outgrown that. You have the floor plan, with its dimensions, do you see? This will show you what will fit, and you may ask your aishid for their help, but you must not show this paper to the supervisor: Everything about the new apartment is classified and not in his need to know. He may see this paper, which has the general dimensions.” Another paper, with little written on it. “You and your aishid may pick out any furnishings you please. They simply have to fit the space you have.”

“Anything?”

His mother briefly held up a forefinger. “Within the bounds of size and taste, son of mine.”

“A television?”

“No.”

“Honored Mother, it is educational!”

“When one has a good recommendation from your tutor, one may consider it. Not until then.”

He sighed. He was not in the least surprised. Even mani had not let him have a television.

“One day, son of mine. Not now. And because you are young, there must be a few other restrictions. You may pick antiquities, but they must be only of metal or wood, nothing breakable, nothing embroidered, and nothing with a delicate finish or patina.”

“One has never broken anything! Well, not often. Not in months.”

“One trusts you would not willingly be so unfortunate. But if your choice of furnishing is breakable, if it can be stained or easily damaged, it must not be an antiquity or a public treasure. And do not overcrowd your rooms, mind. Listen to the supervisor’s advice. And note too that a respected master of kabiu will arrange what you choose in a harmony appropriate to the household, so do not give him too hard a task. You will make a list of the tag numbers of those things you wish moved to your suite and deliver that list back to the supervisor. Or you can take back any of your old furniture you would like.”

“One would ever so prefer to choose new things, honored Mother!”

“Then do.” She handed him the paper and the plan. “So go, go, be about it!”

“Yes, honored Mother!” He sketched a bow and headed for the door at too much speed. Great-grandmother would have checked him sharply for such a departure. He checked himself and turned and bowed properly, deliberately, lest he offend his mother and lose a privilege just granted. “One is very gratified by your permission,” he said properly. “Honored Mother.”

A very faint smile lay under her solemnity. It was his favorite of her expressions.

“Go,” she shaped with her lips, smiling, and gave a little waggle of her fingers.

He left quietly, shut the door, and let a grin break wide as he faced his aishid, fairly dancing in place.

“We get to go down to the storerooms and pick out furniture!” he said. It was the best, most exciting thing since he had gotten here. He held up the papers. “And you can pick, too!”

The papers with the Ragi seal on them meant they had permission to go to the lifts. By themselves. And Lucasi and Veijico, in uniform, had their sidearms with them, and Antaro and Jegari had the small badges which meant Guild-in-training. The guards at the lifts made no objections at all to such a proper entourage, with proper papers. And Lucasi had a lift key, which he used once they got in. “So nobody can stop the lift,” he said importantly, as the lift clanked into motion.

They went straight down for a good distance; the lift stopped and let them out in a very officelike corridor that showed other, dimly lit corridors. The place was significantly deserted. Spooky. Their steps echoed.

Lucasi had the paperwork, but did not so much as check it, not since his first look; he said something obscure to Veijico, she said, “Yes, one agrees,” and they kept walking down the hall, arriving at the supervisor’s office, having contacted the supervisor as they walked.

And the supervisor very politely rose as they entered, looked at the official paper, bowed, then took up a stack of white tags with strings and a little roll of tape, which he brought with him. Veijico gave him the permissible paper with the room sizes. And the supervisor personally led them out and down the hall to a long, long dimly lit side hall, past doors with just numbers on them. He opened the one marked 15 and turned on the lights inside.

It was a huge, dim, cold room full of furniture that made shadows, shadows upon shadows, more than the lights could deal with. The whole room smelled of something like incense, or vermin-poison. And it held the most wonderful jumble of beds and chairs, some items under brown canvas, some just stacked with pieces of cardboard or blankets between.

“One might show you first what is already tagged for you, young lord,” the supervisor said.

“One wishes to see it, nadi,” Cajeiri said, and followed the man to a set-aside area with a little bureau and a little bedstead and a rolled up carpet. The bureau and the bed had carved flowers. And he almost remembered that bureau with a little favor.

But it was undersized. Baby furniture. It was downright embarrassing to think he had ever used it.

And there were far more wonderful things all around them.

“We are permitted to choose different ones,” Cajeiri said.

“That you may, young lord. If one could ask your preferences, one might show you other choices.”

“Carving,” he said at once. He had seen better carving on a lot of furniture around them, some with gilt, some without. “A lot of carving. With animals, not flowers, and not gold. The most carving there is. You would not have any dinosauri…”

The man looked puzzled. “No, nandi. One must confess ignorance of such.”

“Well, big animals, then. With trees. Except,” he added reluctantly, “we are not permitted to have antiquities.”

“I know several such sets,” the supervisor said, and led the way far down the aisle between towering stacks of old furniture.

The first set was all right, dusty, but the animals were all gracefully running, more suggestions than real animals. The second one had animals just grazing. That was fine. But not what he wanted.

The third, around the corner, had fierce wild animals snarling out of a headboard and a big one with tusks, staring face-on from a matching bureau with white and black stone eyes. “This one, nadi!” he said. “And this!”

So a tag went on that set. And he had most of the bedroom. It was a big bed. Bigger than the one he had in mani’s apartment.

“You will need chairs for a sitting room, young gentleman; we have a suggestion for seven chairs. And a table. A desk for an office. Carpet for three rooms. All these things.”

“And my aishid will have their beds and carpets,” he said. “And they can choose for themselves. Whatever they want. But we favor red for ourselves.”

“Red. One will strive to find the best,” the supervisor said.

There were five wonderful chairs. Mani would approve. They were heavy wood and tapestry had the most marvelous embroidery of mountains in medallions on the backs and seats, each one different. There was a side table of light and dark striped wood that was almost an antique. And for his office there was a desk that had a picture of a sailing ship, an old sailing ship, with sails. He liked that almost as much as the bedroom set. It reminded him of Najida.

There was a red figured carpet that was fifty years old and hedging on antiquity, too, but the supervisor said if it was in the bedroom, it would surely not be spilled on; and it was a wonderful carpet, with pictures woven in around the border of a forest and fortresses and animals, with a big tree for most of the pattern, but the bed would cover that.

Then his aishid picked out beds and side tables and chairs for their rooms: Lucasi and Veijico liked plain furniture with pale striped wood, and Antaro and Jegari liked a dark set that had trees and hunting scenes like Taiben forests, and they agreed to mix it up, because Veijico and Antaro had one room and Lucasi and Jegari had the other. But that was all right, too: Mother had said there would be a master of kabiu to sort all that out and put vases and hangings and such that would make it felicitous, however they scrambled the sets.

It was a lot of walking and pulling back canvas covers and looking at things. He thought they would all smell of vermin-poison by the time they got out of the warehouse.

But they were only half done. The supervisor showed them a side room and shelves and shelves of vases and bowls and little nested tables and statues and wall hangings. The supervisor pulled out several hangings he thought might suit, and Antaro wanted a hunting one that he rejected, himself. He took one that was mountains and lakes and a boat on the lake, and Veijico took another that was of mountains, while Lucasi and Jegari took hunting scenes and another mountain needlework.

And there was, in this place, a marvelous hanging that was all plants, and all of a sudden Cajeiri saw what he wanted for the whole room, the whole suite of rooms. “I want that one, nadi,” he said. “But I want growing plants, too. I want pots for plants, nadi.” He and his associates on the ship had used to go to hydroponics, and nand’ Bren’s cabin had had a whole hanging curtain of green and white striped plants, and just thinking about it had always made him happy. He suddenly had a vision of plants in his rooms. His rooms. And plants were not antiquities, and they could not possibly be outside the rules.

“One will make a note of that, young lord,” the supervisor said, and was busy writing, while Cajeiri peered under an oddly shaped lump of canvas. “One will notify the florists’ office.”

One was sure it would happen. He paid no more attention to that problem. He saw filigreed brass. And there proved to be more and more of it as he pulled on the old canvas, canvas that tore as he pulled it, it was so old.

The brass object was filigree work with doors as tall as he was, a little corroded and green in spots, and it took up as much room as two armchairs. It was figured with brass flowers that made a network of their stems instead of bars. And it had a brass door, and brass hinges, and a latch, and a floor with trays.

He worked to get all the canvas off.

“That is a cage,” the supervisor said. “From the north country. It is, one fears, young gentleman, an antique, seven hundred years old.”

“But it is brass, nadi!” He wanted it. He so wanted it. It was big, it was old, and it was weirder than anything in the whole warehouse. It was the sort of thing anybody seeing it had to admire, it was so huge and ornate. And he wanted it to stand in the corner of his sitting room, whatever it was, with light to show it up, with plants all over. “I am not to have fragile antiques,” he said. “Brass is different. My mother said I might have brass.”

The supervisor consulted his papers. “That exception is indeed made, young lord.”

“Parid’ja, nandi,” Lucasi said quietly. “In such cages, people used to keep them for hunting. They would go up in the trees and get fruit and nuts. And they would dig eggs. That is what this cage was for. To keep a parid’ja.”

“It is wonderful,” he said. “One wants it, nadi, one truly, truly wants it!”

“It is quite large,” the supervisor said. “It really does not fit easily within the size requirements.”

“I still want it, nadi,” he said, and put on his best manners. “One is willing to give up two chairs or the table, but I want it. It can even go in my bedroom if it has to.”

“In your bedroom, young gentleman.”

“It can stand in a corner, can it not? I shall give up the hanging if I must. I want this above all things, nadi!”

The supervisor took a deep breath and gave a little bow, then put a tag on the cage and noted it on the list. “One will run the numbers, young gentleman, and assign it a space, if only doors and windows allow.”

“We have no windows, nadi!” For the first time ever, that seemed an advantage. “And not many doors!”

“Then perhaps it will fit, with your chairs and hanging and the table. Allow me to work with the problem. One promises to solve it. Meanwhile, search! You may find small items which may delight you.”

“One is pleased, nadi! Thank you very much!” He used his best manners. He hurried around the circular aisle, taking in everything. Brass meant he could have old things. He picked out a brass enamelware vase as tall as Lucasi. “For the sitting room,” he said.

That was the last thing he dared add. It was big, but it was big upward, and it went with the cage. He was satisfied. “May one come back again, nadi,” he asked, “if one needs other things?”

“Dependent on your parents’ wishes, yes, young lord, at any time you wish to move a piece out or in, we are always at your service. We store every item a house wishes to discard from its possession. We restore and repair items. We employ artists and craftsmen. Should any of these things ever suffer the least damage, young lord, immediately call us, and we will bring it down to the workshop and make whatever repair is necessary.”

He bowed, as one should when offered instruction from an elder. “One hears, nadi, and one will certainly remember. But we are very careful! We are almost felicitous nine, we are taught by the aiji-dowager and by our parents, and we are very careful!”

A bow in return. “One has every confidence in your caution, young lord. Rest assured, I shall have staff move these things to the staging area, give them a little dusting and polish, and you shall have them waiting for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, nadi!” he said with a second bow, and they all walked back to the entry and took their leave in the brighter light of the hallway.

He was all but bouncing all the way to the lift, imagining how marvelous his suite was going to be and where he would put things. He would put things. He would have a choice.

He had seen vids about animals. Horses. And elephants. And dogs and cats and monkeys. He had wanted a horse. And a monkey and a dog and a cat and a bird and a dinosaur. He had wanted…oh, so many things he had seen in the vids on the ship. But humans had not brought any of them with them. He had been very disappointed that there were no elephanti or dinosauri on Mospheira.

He thought of things one could keep in a cage like that. He had instantly thought of several varieties of calidi, that laid eggs for the table—but calidi were scaly and had long claws and were not very smart. Parid’ji were spidery and furry, and moved fast and ate eggs. Like monkeys. He had seen vids. They were a lot like monkeys, but they belonged to the forests, and he had never thought of bringing one to the Bujavid.

Oh, his whole mind had lit up when they had said the cage was for that.

And when they were waiting for the lift, where nobody could hear, he stopped and said, “Can you find a parid’ja, nadiin-ji?”

His aishid looked worried. All of them.

“One can find almost anything in the city market, nandi,” Antaro said. “Or at least—one can ask a merchant to find what is not there. But one is not sure one should, without permission.”

“They are difficult to deal with,” Lucasi said. “Your father would not approve.”

“I want one. And you are not to say anything! Any of you! I can prove I can take care of it. I have never asked you to do anything secret but this. Find me one, and leave it to me that I shall get my father’s permission for it. I am his son. He will approve things for me that he would not if you asked him.”

There was a second or two of deep quiet. And very worried looks.

“One will try,” Antaro said. “One has an idea where one might find a tame one. It may take me a while.”

“Then you shall do it,” he said as the lift arrived. And ignored the frown Veijico turned on Antaro.

He could hardly contain his satisfaction. He had the cage. He was going to have a monkey. Well, close to a monkey. He had something that was going to be fun. And he would have something alive that was going to be his and not boring, because it thought of things for itself and it was not under anybody’s orders.

He had been sad ever since he had had to leave Najida, and sadder since he knew he was going to have to live in a room with no windows and just white paint.

His room would not be all white. His room would be interesting. He could not go back into space. But he had his beautiful furniture, he had his own aishid, and he had that beautiful ancient brass cage and he would have a room full of plants like nand’ Bren’s cabin on the ship. And he would have something to do unexpected things.

He had dreaded the move. Now he could hardly wait.

3

The rain never let up. The view of Tanaja and its busy port was gray and watery as the bus reached the improved gravel road, where there was at last no worry about bogging down. It was largely thanks to the skill of the driver that they had gotten out of their one difficulty in the highlands, and nobody had had get out in the downpour and push. It was, Bren thought, a very excellent bus, if extravagant. Power to all wheels was a very good idea.

It was gravel roadway now, and generally solid all the way down the hill to the first city pavement.

Tanaja was laid out as a bowl set in a hillside, and bottommost was the harbor. On a hillock overlooking the harbor—a height that the histories said had once commanded the waterside with cannon—sat the Residence, partly composed of the old fortress which had stood here but mostly, Bren understood, of the scattered stones of that fortress. Gunpowder had exploded, that being the business of gunpowder, when a Dojisigi ship with a monstrous unwieldy cannon had scored a chance hit on the Taisigi powder magazine.

The fortress had fallen, and Dojisigi clan had taken over the Taisigi lands until the Dojisigi lord had injudiciously eaten a dish of berries a Taisigi serving girl had provided.

A cannon shot from a heaving deck and a dish of berries: both had caused the city to change hands.

A Taisigi lord of that day had then built the Residence out of the rubble and thrown a great chain across the harbor, from the breakwater to the treacherous midharbor rock, that bane of careless captains, and then to the promontory that ended the harbor deep. That had saved them from the second Dojisigi attempt.

The Residence had stood safe on the hill from that time. Taisigi clan had prospered, in Dojisigi’s decline. They had had Sungeni and Dausigi and Senji for allies and were bidding fair to take Dojisigi clan as well.

Then humans landed from the heavens, and the north had accepted human technology, which left the Marid in the dust.

Worse, a war had started that had ultimately caused the evacuation of atevi from the island of Mospheira and the ceding of the whole island to humans.

And the settlement of those displaced island clans on the west coast had changed everything. The aishidi’tat, with its capital up at Shejidan, had fought the war and now controlled the west coast. The Marid had no strength to oppose the united strength of the North. And the Dojisigi and Senji snuggled closer to the aishidi’tat, playing politics for all they were worth.

The attempt to unify the Marid fell apart. The Taisigi, pent up in the bottle of a smaller sea that was the Marid, joined the aishidi’tat, in name at least.

Every generation replayed that struggle, in one form or another—Dojisigi and Taisigi, with Senji clan rising to partner, generally, Dojisigi, and the impoverished southern clans of the mainland faithfully allying with Taisigi, knowing that Dojisigi and Senji would swallow them up in an instant, if it were remotely convenient to do so.

That was the last two hundred years of history in a nutshell.

It was an ambitious undertaking, to try to shoulder history out of a deep, deep rut.

Bren folded up the notes which proposed to do exactly that and tucked them into his briefcase as the view in the front windshield became buildings and city streets.

The streets were sparse with rain-soaked foot traffic, a few trucks were out and about. One truck stopped in midturn at an intersection, doubtless to get a look at the huge red and black foreign vehicle rumbling through the ancient streets of the harbor district, causing a little delay and causing Jago and Banichi both to come forward in the bus, with Tano and Algini behind. But the truck went on, and the bus no more than slowed.

Bren drew an easier breath, and his bodyguard went back to give orders.

The Assassins’ Guild had come into Taisigi district in force a handful of days ago, with none of its usual finesse…protecting Machigi, who hadn’t been in town to be protected, but never mind that. The Guild had taken over Taisigi territory. It removed several high-ranking officials in the first hours.

It had landed far, far harder up in Senji and Dojisigi territory, taking out the lords and several others and now controlling the capitals of those districts while operatives went down into Dausigi and Sungeni clans with far more finesse.

The Guild here in the Taisigi capital were nominally under young Lord Machigi’s authority now—they had declared themselves in support of him, at least. But they had very little to restrain them should another objective occur to them.

Lord Machigi could not be easy with the situation. Neither could the citizenry of the capital and the countryside. The whole damned situation was a house of cards of the dowager’s construction.

And what was supposed to stabilize it rested in that briefcase Bren folded up and set beside him.

He breathed shallowly—hadn’t realized he had been doing it until the bus began the slight climb to the Residence hill. He watched as the bus pulled into the circular drive where it had sat the last time. Rain positively sheeted down, hammering the potted plants along the driveway, veiling the front doors. Nature was not cooperating.

Banichi and Jago came forward, and Banichi settled into the opposing aisle seat—a golden-eyed darkness against the pale grays of the rain.

“We are in contact, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We have spoken reasonably with Lord Machigi’s aishid, as well as the Guild. They indicate you will be asked to stay the night here. Shall we offload baggage?”

At least they had the surface elements of courtesy. “Yes,” he said. He didn’t ask whether the ten juniors with them had their orders: that was Guild business, and Guild would arrange whatever they would do out here while he and his bodyguard were inside. But they were going to go into that doorway, at the mercy of whatever situation was inside, and they were going to settle business and drive back tomorrow, given good luck.

So, yes, he said, about the baggage, and he did. Banichi stood up, Tano and Algini came forward from the back. Bren put on his brocade coat, court garb, taking care to arrange the lace at the cuffs. Jago had taken a rain cloak from the overhead and helped him put it on, protecting his clothes. His bodyguard was due to get soaked—but cloaks on Guild made other Guild nervous, so Guild habitually endured such situations, that was all. The uniforms shed water—up to a point.

Bren took his briefcase under the cloak and got a firm grip on the cloak edges as his bodyguard talked to someone not present. It was, of course, blowing a gale out there, just for their arrival.

Black-uniformed Guild came out to meet them, themselves getting wet, and with no great desire to linger long, it was sure. The bus doors opened. Banichi and Jago descended first, rifles in hand, and Bren followed, with Tano and Algini at his back. Guild-signs flew one side to the other, indecipherable, generally, as they headed directly for the doors. His aishid was fully armed. Not so the Guild who met them, as he noted. But he was the traveler, so that was allowed.

Like the rain cloak, with its hood. The lord was not supposed to be armed. And he wasn’t—this time.

He kept himself as dry as possible on the way into the building, as contained as possible within the living wall of his bodyguard. Servants were waiting, one to take the dripping cloak, others hastening to mop the water off the marble entry. A lightning flash illumined the foyer from the open door as servants hastened to shut those heavy doors.

Then they stood safe from the wind and the tail end of the thunderclap—just a little clatter of rifles being shifted and the busy noise of mops.

“Welcome, nandi,” the receiving Guild-senior said, dripping water. “Lord Machigi is expecting you.”

It was a few steps up from the entry, through other doors and onto the dry, polished main floor. His bodyguard still shed rain as he walked among them, dry now, and clad in court finery, brocade and lace.

And he was very glad to see the historic hall had not suffered in the recent upheaval. The two great pillars of porcelain sea-creatures towered serene as if nothing had ever happened here.

More uniformed Guild opened the doors between the pillars and let them into the gilt-furnished audience hall. Guildsmen across the room immediately opened the polished burlwood doors on the far side, those to the map room.

That was a good omen. Machigi had chosen the more intimate setting for the meeting.

Bren walked on through. Tano and Algini stayed outside, within the audience hall. Banichi and Jago went with him.

The far walls of the map room were massive gilt-arched windows with a view of the storm, the dark clouds, the rain-battered harbor below the heights. The opposing walls supported huge framed maps, and shelves and pigeonholes were full of map cylinders, many of evident antiquity.

Machigi rose from a chair before the massive windows. Near those windows, Machigi’s personal bodyguard stood in attendance on him, men they knew. That was a great relief to see.

Bren bowed on arriving in that area. Machigi bowed slightly. He was a handsome young man. The scar of an old injury crossed his chin and ran under it. He wore a subdued elegance—dark green brocade and a sufficiency, but not an excess, of lace. By such things, one measured a man and his circumstances. Machigi was a lord. A ruler in an occupied house.

And he did not look delighted.

“So,” Machigi said, doubtless taking Bren’s measure, too, the attitude he struck, the degree of humility—or lack of it—in the bow. “Whose are you this time, paidhi?”

“In this venture,” Bren said quietly, “I now represent the aiji-dowager.”

Not the aiji. The aiji-dowager. That was perhaps the answer Machigi had hoped to hear. The nod of his head revised suspicion into acceptance, and he waved a hand at the opposite chair, offering Bren a seat, and sat down himself. Bren set his briefcase on the floor and took the chair, a practiced effort that placed him somewhat gracefully in furniture crafted to atevi stature.

“Tea,” Machigi said to the servants, and beyond that, there could only be polite talk, a ritual settling of minds, before serious conversation.

“Your old rooms are prepared, nand’ paidhi,” Machigi said. “One trusts you came with luggage.”

“One did not presume to bring it in from the bus without direction, nandi, but it is ready.”

“Have it brought to the rooms,” Machigi said, and Bren said, quietly, “Nadiin-ji.”

Banichi, in the edge of his vision, nodded, and it was a certainty it would be done.

“You will share dinner tonight, of course,” Machigi added. “One rejoices to see you fully recovered, nandi.”

“Indeed,” Bren said. “And the same, nandi, one rejoices to see you safely recovered, as well.”

“As fully recovered as we may be, with a foreign occupation in our streets.” That verged uncomfortably on business, before tea was done. “And how does Najida fare?”

“In less happy state than this house,” he said, “but repairs are in progress.”

“And Kajiminda?”

“Has its porch now restored and is busy inventorying its collections.” A sip of tea, a slight shift of topics. “One is certain Lord Geigi’s nephew sold certain things.”

A shift Lord Machigi declined, with: “And Lord Geigi himself? How does he fare?”

That was no easy interface: Geigi and the Taisigin Marid were old allies turned enemies, now turned allies again.

“Well. Quite well, nandi.”

“And does he approve your venture here?”

“He needs not, but in fact he views it quite favorably, nandi. He has, one assures you, no wish to continue hostilities which were largely fomented by others.”

The fact that Machigi had actually been in charge of the agents who had fatally poisoned Geigi’s sister—it was questionable, since those agents had betrayed Machigi, as to which authority had ordered it. It was one of those sorts of questions which, for the peace, had to be set aside, no matter Lord Geigi’s personal feelings. Or Machigi’s innocence, or lack of it.

Thank God tea was about to be served.

The servants had brought a tray, offering a beautiful tea service of the historic, irreplaceable blue porcelain. Courtesy dictated silence while tea was poured and served, and Bren received the atevi-sized cup in both hands, finding the warmth comforting after the rainchill and a conversation that had veered toward a dangerous, dangerous edge.

“One is extremely honored,” he said. “One is honored even to see this beautiful service.”

Machigi saluted him with his cup and took a sip, as Bren did, from a porcelain that could no longer be made. “One was glad to find it intact,” Machigi said, in the former vein, and then, in wry irony, as lightning from the windows cast everything in white, “Lovely weather for a visit, is it not? Do we take it for an omen?”

“Spring in the west,” Bren said with calculated lightness. “But one enjoys the storms.”

“And did you seriously propose to take the bus back to Najida tonight in such weather? One would hope not.”

“Worse,” Bren said, “my destination is the airport, and one would be glad to have better weather.”

“You will go to Shejidan? Or Malguri?”

“Indeed, Shejidan. For the legislative session. One hopes the weather will have blown past by tomorrow and that we will not be delayed by weather.”

“You mean to leave from Separti?”

“No, no, once we are on the road, we will call for the plane, and it should be there long before we are. We shall be in Shejidan faster by small plane than going from Separti. It is enough.”

Sip of tea. “Then one wonders the more at your determination to visit today, in a deluge.”

“The legislative session, nandi. Not to mention our own business. And the necessity to move residence. I shall have my old apartment back this session. They inform me it is ready.”

“Just so.” A little grim amusement. “You are avenged, nand’ paidhi. The Farai lord is dead.”

“One regrets—” It was disingenuous to say that one regretted the Farai lord, who had usurped his apartment, among other offences, was gone. “One regrets the loss to his relatives, at least. But not that he is removed from my premises. Had he not been there, nandi, I would never have come to the coast and we would not be sitting here. So things worked to our mutual advantage.”

“You are leaving, however,” Machigi said, then set the teacup down. “And the aiji-dowager?”

Business. Short and sharp. Bren set down his own cup.

“One hopes you have at no point doubted the dowager’s will to stand by agreements, nandi. The dowager has stated that she will deal with you once you are lord of all the Marid. To her observation, you have become that, or are on the verge of becoming. She will be extremely pleased to deal with you.”

“And where is she? We have information the dowager has left Najida and not landed in Shejidan. That she is at this hour flying on to the East. And we still have no agreement on paper.”

“It is no impediment to the agreement, nandi. She will be back in Shejidan for the session.”

“In Shejidan and as good as on the moon.”

“Realistically, nandi, it would be very awkward to host the signing of so important an agreement at my estate, which is in disarray at the moment—we are in no position to manage security. So—”

“You mean your neighbors and allies are still inclined to shoot Taisigi on sight.”

“The Edi, indeed, nandi. One by no means denies the old enmity poses a problem. Yet once the agreement is signed, once you are an ally of the Edi’s ally, everything will change.”

“So you assure us.”

“When the agreement is made and signed, nandi, and I am working toward that.”

“You are heading off to Shejidan. She is heading for the opposite end of the continent—”

“One would expect she has arrangements to make in the East, particularly involving the agreement. As the highest lord of the East, she will not wish to proceed without at least consulting with her brother lords. She will be quite busy. As will I in Shejidan. And before the legislative session opens, one hopes that there will be a signing.”

“And will she come here? Will she come to Tanaja to sign this agreement?”

“If it is signed here, there will be side issues. Signing in Shejidan will have the full attention of all the provinces; it will have the smell of something the aiji at least countenances, and that will be valuable in negotiating our way further.”

“So you are asking me to leave my people in a crisis, occupied by foreigners, and go off to Shejidan for a holiday, in hope the aiji-dowager will see fit to arrive and honor her promises?”

“You will not have to wait that long, nandi. And a face-to-face agreement, with access to the news media in Shejidan, will be seen in every village throughout the aishidi’tat, with the status of fact, not rumor. Television is very powerful in Ragi lands, where most people have access. It is, for situations like this, extremely useful. People will see you. People will see you and the dowager at one place, acting with one accord, and they will watch your expressions and hear your voices, and then they will believe it is a real agreement.”

“I repeat: I have foreign Guild walking the streets of Tanaja. I have country folk afraid to go out into their own fields, believing they may be shot. I have inbound ships querying us about the safety of the ports. Not to mention I have lost two ministers to assassination and have their departments in completely disarray. I cannot leave my capitol to be seen attending the Ragi aiji in festivities in Shejidan.”

“This agreement does not involve the aiji in Shejidan, and absent your request to speak to him, there will be no meeting. But before you arrive, send a proxy to set up an office, manage Marid affairs and arrange things to your satisfaction; come to Shejidan only when he indicates he is satisfied about the situation. You can then return to the Marid as soon as the ink is dry—or stay as long as pleases you. The aiji-dowager is staking her reputation and her political influence on the success of this agreement, far from putting it at a low priority; and in the coming session she means to put this alliance directly in the minds of legislators who will vote to reshape policy in various directions. It will affect perceptions. It will change the Ragi perception of the Marid. You are young, you are well-favored, and you will televise very, very well. It is important you go…and it will be useful, should someone ask, that you personally support the dowager’s plan for the West Coast.”

“Oh, now we get to it! My appearance assists her cause, confirms the Edi claim and what does it do for the Marid? I shall be seen as ceding the West Coast, to no profit to my people at all!”

“If you, of all people, back this state for the Edi, then it will pass the legislature despite the central clans’ objection—and there will be some objection, one is sure of it, persons who want to keep the status quo. Your appearance and agreement will shock them into rethinking what they believe of the west and south. Once the west coast plan passes, that will strengthen the dowager’s credit when she puts forward the rest of her program—which directly involves her trade agreement with you, nandi.”

“So far, the advantage and the gain are all hers, since our ships are in this port, a long way from hers, and if I agree, she has the entire West Coast in her pocket!”

“Hear me out, nandi. Let me say that Lord Dur has guaranteed support on both parts of her proposal, that for the West Coast, and that regarding the Marid. And so has Lord Geigi.”

“Geigi, do you say?”

“I have his very solemn word on it. For the dowager’s sake, and for mine, he will support you and deal with you. He is her firm ally, and mine, and he will not pursue any possible bloodfeud. Let all that business at Kajiminda recede into the past. As he will. The West Coast will have two new lords in the tribal states, and they will also support you if you support them: I have the word of the Grandmother of the Edi, and Her of the Gan, that if you do support the West Coast plan, and if they get their seats in the legislature, they will vote for the dowager’s agenda despite their past relationships with the Marid.”

“And the moon will turn green. This is a house of glass, paidhi! Every piece of it is poised on spit and promises.”

“It has been difficult to build, nandi, but it stands because the benefit to all parties is clear. Foremost of these promises are yours and the dowager’s. She has staked a great deal on this. And on their firmness and fairness, all other things rest.”

“I have staked my life, paidhi, and the lives of my officials—as you well understand. I cannot do more.”

“As do I,” Bren said, “in coming here, considering the feelings in this region. But I judge the risk of your life is not what troubles you, nandi. I do not think you can be frightened by threats. What is at stake is one’s power and reputation. I lay mine on it. The dowager has laid hers on it, no less difficult of recovery, at her age, than is yours, given your region’s situation. We are all at risk. But you are not the man to retreat from a challenge, nandi: I saw that from the first. And I would have advised both sides of this agreement far differently if I in the least doubted your courage or your good sense. By allying with the renegades from the Guild, your neighbors to the north fell into a trap that you were smart enough to avoid. And you have the vision they lacked. Spend a handful of days in Shejidan and sign this agreement, nandi, and you can do more good for the people of the Marid than any leader has done for them in two hundred years. They will protest at first—”

“I shall be lucky if I am not assassinated forthwith!”

“You have now allied with the Guild proper and have their advice and protection. They will defend you with all their resources, nandi, and that includes the law itself. More, I have brought more with me than distant promises. I have brought proposals of a very specific nature, which may help your people understand the safety in this agreement and the prosperity right behind it; I have brought a letter of committment which the aiji-dowager has signed. I have brought a signed statement from Lord Geigi, and a detailed proposal of my own, which the dowager has heard with favor but not yet signed. I have them with me, and I will give them into your possession, for legal record of what we say and do here.”

Machigi regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then suddenly nodded. “We shall hear them.” He snapped his fingers, and Tema, the head of Machigi’s bodyguard, took a step forward. “The ministers should hear this, Tema-ji.”

“Aiji-ma,” Tema said, and Machigi said to the waiting servants, “More tea.”

Talk was ceremonially ended for a space. Any organization of thoughts had to be suspended in favor of reflection and calm for the space of a pot or two of tea.

Bren drew a slow breath and revised his own notions of how to proceed—calmly, securely, within a hospitality proven reasonable and reasonably generous. Machigi was, he thought, as worried as a man should be with his region fallen into the hands of its longtime adversary, the northern Guild, and someone proposing, as a condition for solving his difficulty, that he come to a city he did not trust, commit himself to the hospitality of the man who had lately Filed Intent on him, and trust that it was not an elaborate plot the aiji-dowager had contrived to embarrass him and his clan in the view of millions.

Hardly surprising that Machigi was perturbed. But Machigi was also in a serious bind, and might have been dead by now, by decree of the same Guild Council, if not for the aiji-dowager’s offer. Instead—the dowager offered him power over the whole district and Guild backing in holding it. Damned right Machigi was perturbed. But he was also keenly interested in the proposition.

Words passed through Guild channels, and, not too surprisingly, the ministers in question had not been far from Machigi’s summons. The doors to the audience hall opened again, and five officials entered, at which Bren rose politely, and bowed. Servants brought up chairs from the sides of the room, more bodyguards took their places at the edges of the room, and more servants hastened to remove the priceless blue tea service and bring in a new service, this one of figured porcelain in high relief, with seven cups.

The five officials took their places, and of the lot, Bren recognized only one, Gediri, Machigi’s personal advisor.

“Nand’ Gediri you know,” Machigi said, after the first sip of tea. “The minister of war, nand’ Kaordi; the minister of trade and commerce, nand’ Disidri. The minister of agriculture, nand’ Maisuno. The minister of public works, nand’ Laudri. These are the full council as it stands. Nandiin, the paidhi represents the aiji-dowager of the aishidit’tat.”

“Nandiin,” Bren said with a polite nod all around. And not a word of business would pass before the round of tea was done.

“We have brought out the sun,” Machigi said, indicating the window to their side, and indeed, a hole in the storm clouds let in a ray of sun that shafted down toward the rainy harborside. Light sparkled off the iron-gray water and picked out an old freighter’s bow.

“A felicitous sign,” Laudri said, “let us hope, nandiin.”

“Let us indeed,” Trade said.

Bren put on a pleasant expression for the positive sentiments, feeling somewhat better about the audience. It was not going badly—at least far as the ceremonial tea was concerned.

Now he had to engage these various interests as well as Machigi’s. And still talk Machigi into coming north.

Machigi coming north to sign the agreement was, for one thing, important protocol. Unspoken was the fact there was no way in hell the aiji-dowager of the aishidit’tat was going to come south to pay court to young Machigi, as the surviving warlord of the Marid.

No, Machigi had to come to her, and this proud young hothead now realized he had been pushed into a move he had never intended to make—he knew Ilisidi wouldn’t come here; and Najida was under repair, and Kajiminda was the seat of his longtime enemy, Lord Geigi, so both were out of the question. That left Shejidan. In full view of the media.

There was gracious discussion of the weather, the paidhi’s health…

“One is fully recovered, nandi, thank you,” Bren said.

And of the dowager’s departure from the region.

“The dowager is currently pursuing business in Malguri, to which she had been en route before affairs on the coast diverted her,” Bren said. “She will return very quickly.”

“To Shejidan,” Machigi muttered. “She is requesting a signing in Shejidan.”

“A brief affair,” Bren said quickly, before any of the ministers could respond, “but very public. Televised. If one is going to change the world, nandiin, best not have it done by rumor, but publicly, so that there is only one version of what happened, and as great a number of witnesses as possible. But I shall wait to explain that matter.”

“He wants us to support the Edi grant of a lordship,” Machigi muttered, drank all his tea at once, and set the cup down.

That drew frowns. And other cups, drunk to the last, clicked down onto side tables.

Bren set his own down carefully. There was no way he could drink it all at a gulp. They were at serious business, now. Mortally serious business.

“It is the dowager’s most dearly held plan,” he said quietly, “to see conditions in the south and the west considerably altered, for reasons of peace. That it benefits citizens of those regions is a necessary part of the plan: It is her view that prosperous people have far less reason to risk it all in conflict. It also offers you advantages. Note that once the Edi hold a seat in the legislature, they will have one vote in the hasdrawad and one in the tashrid, and they must obey the law. The Marid, as a district, will have five lords, and more than five seats, becoming an important bloc, even weighed against the power of the Padi Valley clans up north. You will become a bloc other interests will court, to your advantage.”

“We shall have all five votes,” Machigi said. “Is that agreed within these documents?”

“Not within the documents,” Bren said carefully. “But there having been five Marid clans, from antiquity. By my knowledge of the law of the aishidi’tat, when she says that you should be lord of all the Marid—you would hold all five votes. That is another factor in my urging that you go to Shejidan at once and use those votes, by signing into this session of the legislature, to make that point. In all the other furor, that will likely go marginally noticed, with no argument prepared against it, and you will have laid down the precedent.”

“Machigi-aiji would be at risk of his life by going to Shejidan,” Gediri said. “He has hereditary enemies on the west coast and in the central regions. They will be lined up at the gates to find an opportunity.”

“He will be under massive Guild protection, nandi, at all hours, daylight and dark, coming and going. Likewise, every minister of your cabinet will be under heightened Guild protection. I am assured the Guild is backing this move of the dowager’s, and anyone who attempts to destabilize the situation will meet intense Guild opposition. I also have Tabini-aiji’s undertaking that he will silently back these efforts, remaining diplomatically quiet during this visit so as not to confuse the issue; this agreement is specifically between you and the aiji-dowager. Once you are her ally, then relations with the aiji in Shejidan will be on that basis, and you will have her support, as you will support her—not in an over-hasty rush to alter everything, but step by step, as trade develops. Meanwhile, you will have those five votes, nandi, and you will find yourself courted for them. One has every confidence that you will use that leverage for the betterment of your people. You will not need to go to war to secure more advantage for your region. You are being offered it. And supported in it.”

The ministers looked marginally happier, perhaps at their inclusion in high security.

But Machigi frowned. “Still, you ask me to leave matters at a crisis and go off to Shejidan to sign away the West Coast. You are all promises, thus far. You say you bring offers. Let us see them.”

“Indeed, nandi.” He brought his briefcase onto his lap, opened it, and extracted a thick stack of papers, with tabs between. “If one could, with the assistance of your staff, distribute these…”

Machigi snapped his fingers. Servants hurried to assist, and Bren quietly distributed the packets, first to Machigi and then to Machigi’s ministers.

“The copies are identical, for reading at your leisure,” he said. “The original documents Lord Machigi holds in his hands are personally signed by the aiji-dowager, an assurance of intent to complete the agreement, and by Lord Geigi, supporting her negotiations: duplicates exist in the hands of other parties. There are likewise documents from the new lord of Maschi clan and signed letters from the heads of the Edi and the Gan peoples, stating their intent to support the aiji-dowager’s negotiations on their behalf and to support the outcome of the alliance between the aiji-dowager and the leader of the Marid.”

A massive riffling of papers among the ministers. Machigi sat, not examining what he held.

“Such documents are indeed here in facsimile, nandi,” Gediri said.

“The last of the documents, nandiin,” Bren said, “is economic in nature, and it is mine. One proposes that there be a representative of Lord Machigi in Shejidan as quickly as possible to secure a residence, to set up an office, to prepare a safe place, with Guild assistance, for Lord Machigi to do business. One further proposes that as soon as Lord Machigi signs an agreement with the aiji-dowager, the representative of Lord Machigi sign an immediate trade agreement with the Merchants’ Guild in Shejidan—the papers are routine and can be ready within hours—and set up, on the same premises, a trade office in Shejidan. Your porcelains, for instance, have not appeared in the northern collectors’ market in a century.” There had been a boycott, initiated from the south, which, typically, had actually hurt the south more than the north—he did not mention that matter.

“Is this the dowager’s proposal?” Machigi asked

“This is my own idea, nandi. The beauty and the quality of the work I have seen here—not alone the pillars, which of course one can never forget—are bound to attract interest. Northern museums hold fragments of Marid work. A tea service is highly valued. And I believe an exhibit of state gifts would immediately catch the attention of very influential collectors. The public can be encouraged to view the artistic heritage of the Marid, particularly the southern Marid, which has been very much in the background in recent decades…and this will utterly change the perception many hold of the Marid as more rural. I myself had no idea of the existence of such things until I came here.”

“State gifts, you say.”

“I do not demand, nandi. Far from it. But if one could request a sample of such wares, which can be displayed in the public area of the Bujavid—something representing what can be traded—in the character of a good will gift from the Marid to the people. It will touch popular sentiment. And generate excitement among the wealthy—among the influential and the fashion-setters, the very people who will be voting on further measures—and supporting the first steps in trade.”

“And generating resentments among competitors,” Gediri said. “Is this considered?”

“Porcelains of the north are distinctive, as these are. And desired. And traded. But they are not similar. Within a decent time, when you widen the trade to more common work, those goods, too, will have a name for quality and fashion, so yes, there will be competition, but it is more likely to stimulate interest in collecting. Through this trade, you will form a relationship with the Merchants’ Guild, who will guide you and assure you do not come up against such problems—besides providing, in their offices, a place for contact with other districts. They have no enforcement arm, as you may know, and are only advisory.”

“Porcelains,” Machigi said, not enthusiastically. “They are not an immediate economic benefit.”

“Bluntly, they are a good that threatens no one,” Bren said. “A first step, designed to create a demand for Marid goods. Your porcelains, your craftwork, will open the door and change opinions favorably. Your trade in other things—textiles and foodstuffs—will follow and expand.”

“Where in this is our access to the East Coast?” Machigi asked.

“That begins in the hour of the signing of that agreement,” Bren said. “Immediately after that signing, a representative of Taisigi clan whom you will also appoint will fly to the East Coast with the cachet of the aiji-dowager and yourself to meet with representatives of the aiji-dowager in Malguri district, and guides from there will enable a safe journey to the coast. Included, one would suggest, should be Merchants’ Guild officials, in an advisory capacity. They can serve as fair brokers between yourselves and the inhabitants of the East Coast. You will be proposing the building of a new port, and you will be establishing a trade office. There will be no rail link. How long will it take a ship to appear in those waters?”

“A ship has to be outfitted, paidhi. It has to have a port when it gets there.”

“What would be the one-way trip, however? One has no idea.”

Machigi thought about it in silence. “Say—thirty-three days, with felicity. Given the cooperation of the weather. Given some sort of port facility.”

“The first ship should carry construction supervisors and skilled workmen. The dowager will provide the financing. She will negotiate with you on what items are to be supplied locally and what must be imported; the general notion is to hire locals, which will put money into their economy, buy food from them, more money, and buy local materials. These are not rich villages. The appearance of textiles and goods that they will be able to afford with their new found money will bring favorable opinions. Fair work. Fair wages. Fair trade. They in turn will offer trade in leather, in furs, in wood, and in fuel for your ships—it will have to be sent in. The details are yet to work out. But that is the generality of it.”

There was a lengthy silence. “Of what nature are these people, nandi?” War asked. “Are they civilized?”

“They are much like the smaller villages of the Marid, nandi—hardworking, generally honest, a little suspicious of outsiders. Hence the representatives from Malguri district. The dowager is well-reputed on the coast.”

A further silence.

“Dreams,” Machigi said. “Hinging on this meeting in Shejidan.”

“Even so, nandi. And one urges this go forward with all speed. Your representative first, then yourself.”

“One just walks in,” Machigi said. “And there is security at the train station.”

“Let me outline what is proposed, nandi: you may come by train or by air—let me suggest Najida Airport, with your own security. At whatever facility you arrive, the dowager will provide a bus and additional Guild security to take you and your company to the residence your representative has established. You will be under the Guild’s close protection in that house and in every venture to the Bujavid, and every other venture you may choose, until you are safely back in Tanaja.”

“And the aiji’s opinion of this?”

“One does not speak for him, at present, nandi, only for the aiji-dowager, who has his assurance he will not intervene. One senses he will prefer to watch from a certain distance, and my sense is that he hopes for a good outcome for his grandmother. He regards certain of the reputations at stake as his personal assets, and he would by no means wish to see this go badly for her. He has extended himself that far.”

“Indeed.” Machigi rested his chin on fist. “We shall read these papers you provide. We shall talk together. We shall see you at dinner, nand’ paidhi.”

“Nandi.” That was a dismissal, and a reasonable one. He had time to go upstairs, settle in, try to get his nerves together, and dress for a formal dinner.

It wasn’t going badly. There was no guarantee it wouldn’t. There was no way to know what the ministers were going to argue in private, but they had to have that chance. He stood up, the ministers all rose and bowed, he bowed, collected his bodyguard, and left, on a familiar route, with two of Machigi’s servants leading the way.

It was surreal to be back in the suite he had occupied before the Guild action. The white, ornate furniture was entirely familiar, and the phone they had asked for was still on the table. The bed in which he had spent very uncomfortable hours had the same ornate coverlet. He might never have left.

And of all things—his lost shaving kit was sitting on the bureau. His clothes, recovered from luggage left behind in a desperate escape, were all in the closet.

He was particularly delighted about the shaving kit, which he could not replace this side of Mospheira, and about the personal items: his mother’s locket, a pocketknife his brother Toby had given him, an informal and very comfortable coat, and a well-broken-in pair of dress boots. It was a very welcome surprise.

Similarly, his aishid found items, all cleaned and proper. They met in the hallway to compare notes, and indeed, everything they had left behind in the van on the road was here.

“A kind gesture,” Bren said, and his bodyguard avowed themselves uncommonly pleased and, for once, surprised.

Machigi’s servants arrived to help them dress for dinner, and this time Bren did not decline the help. He had professional assistance with the dress coat and with the braid, which had wilted a bit from the weather, and he changed to the comfortable boots.

It felt a little chancy, having Machigi’s servants about, but there was not a single item with them this visit that they had to hold in secret—all of the sensitive items were already sent on to Shejidan.

And with the staff’s help, they were very quickly in order for a formal dinner. Banichi and Jago to go stand dinner duty, while Tano and Algini nominally to guard the room—but one doubted they would only be sitting and watching the furniture. They would very likely, Bren thought, have Guild visitors in his absence, people with things to report and to ask—conversations in which no civilian was welcome and which had very much to do with the future of the Marid, from quite another viewpoint and involving quite another power.

So downstairs he went with Banichi and Jago, this time into the dining hall, where he met, immediately, Gediri, the one minister he knew, the four other ministers he had just met, and relevant spouses, to whom he was introduced. There were, besides them, several notables, with spouses, to whom he was also introduced, all this quite properly accomplished before Machigi arrived. They were a table of twelve as they took their seats.

Twelve became felicitous thirteen as Machigi came in alone, filling the last chair. The mood was light over an excellent pastry, as Machigi chatted easily with the ministers and the other guests.

“The paidhi,” Machigi said, somewhat violating the no-business rule, “has brought us interesting proposals and, more, a signed intention of the aiji-dowager and several others of interest. We are well on track this evening to see this bargain completed.”

That definitely produced a happy mood at the table—not least in the paidhi-aiji. The advisors were not frowning. A decided plus.

It was small talk, then, chatter about impending weather, shipping to the Isles, the seasonal ban on hunting and the consequent rising price of the better fish…which happened to be the menu of the evening.

Then there was a quiet invitation to after-dinner discussion, which included only Gediri and the minister of trade without his spouse. That meant serious business about the agreement. They repaired to an adjacent sitting room and settled to talk over brandy.

“So. We are down to the actual agreements,” Machigi said. “We are definitely to assume, nandi, that the dowager will return within the month?”

“Easily within the month, nandi,” Bren said.

“And you assure us that we shall be welcomed in the legislature.”

That was irony.

“You will meet some opposition, and I know who will lead it. But, nandi, I know this man quite well, an elderly gentleman, very, very traditional—a staunch ally if you can gain his approval. A respectful approach, a personal approach—that would be a good beginning with him.”

“One closely associated with the aiji-dowager?”

“Indeed, nandi.”

“Tatiseigi.”

“Indeed. Lord Tatiseigi.”

“There is no dealing with him!”

“Yet you have things in common, nandi.”

“Do we? Enlighten us!”

“You are both patrons of the arts—you, from a region which produces extraordinary works in porcelain. He is a collector, a great admirer. And an expert. If anyone will be looking at the exhibition with a knowledgeable eye, it will be nand’ Tatiseigi. And his sense of kabiu is quite respected.”

A moment of silence. Machigi rested his chin on a crooked finger, running it over the old scar, and his eyes sparked with thought. “You are suggesting—”

“It is an avenue of approach. I have a specific plan, nandi. I am in a situation of personal debt to Lord Tatiseigi—who sheltered me during the Farai occupation of my apartment. Granted it was a favor to the aiji-dowager. But one is still indebted. He is head of a group that is most likely to oppose this agreement. And if one, with great delicacy, chose just the right gift—”

“Porcelain.”

“—then opening a conversation on Marid imports and the agreement with the aiji-dowager would be so much easier. Enlist him regarding trade with the Marid, in precisely this commodity…and we might sway his opinion on other matters, even in a face-to-face meeting.”

Machigi heard this, gave an almost silent snort, and took a sip of brandy. “Gods unfortunate, paidhi, you can put a fine gloss on the most amazing situations. You want my agents to scour up a second exhibition piece. A gift for this man.”

“At my expense, nandi. Though I have no shortage of funds, it should not be embarrassingly extravagant. I am not of his rank. And one wishes to keep these pieces attainable in trade.”

“Understated,” Machigi suggested with a circular wave of his hand.

“Of that nature, yes. Tasteful. And understated.”

“You are a scoundrel, paidhi-aiji. One would like to hear your description of a proposed assassination. We hope to bribe the head of the opposition.”

“We hope to adjust his view of the south, nandi. As I think will happen if he begins to concentrate on the cultural opportunities in the agreement.”

“Diri-ji, can you arrange it? Price will be no object. Quality is paramount. Deliver it with the other to the paidhi’s bus.”

“Yes,” Gediri said, making a note in a small book. “Would the paidhi wish to examine the items before they are crated?”

“One would by no means doubt the quality of your selection, nandi,” Bren said. “I shall utterly trust your choice, since the lord of the Marid entrusts the matter to you.”

“So we please the lord of the Atageini,” Machigi said with an airy gesture. “We cast our collective lives on the willingness of the aiji-dowager to turn up from her holiday in due season. We cast our reputations, nand’ paidhi, on your promise for an exchange of votes between us and the Edi. One had as soon expect the sun to rise in the west, but you have a gift for turning things on their head, so I should not wager on that event, either, if you had a finger in it. Now on what date, nand’ paidhi, may I expect the Guild to begin to obey my orders?”

Change of line. A very dangerous one. Fast thinking and, very carefully, no change in expression. “Again, nandi—”

“Upon signature on the line, do I take it? Or at some future date?”

“One cannot speak for the Guild, nandi. What my aishid would tell me, I know: make a request through your own aishid, and you should find that the Guild responds now, through them. Each of you who have Guild protecting them should feel no hesitation in making requests. And this will be the case with all the Guilds. Your local Guild members should represent you. Always.”

That drew at least a thoughtful stare from Lord Machigi, and attention from the others.

“One urges, once the master document is signed,” Bren said, venturing further, “that the Tasaigin Marid become signatory with all Guilds of the aishidi’tat. The same with the other Marid clans. If Dojisigi and Senji had accepted the Guilds before Murini’s coup, they would have gotten much better advice. If they had taken a proper cue from the Guild in Shejidan, nandiin, and understood that they were not gaining recruits, but harboring an outlaw splinter of the Guild, they would have asked for help and gotten it. But they were otherwise inclined. Which is why Lord Machigi—” He paid a little nod of respect toward Machigi, who sat stone-faced. “—is now in authority over the whole of the Marid. And why he will remain so.”

“The East does not bow to the Guild,” Trade said grimly.

“The Dowager does not bow to the Guild. But she has them at her right hand. Now so do two of her neighbors, to their benefit. Others are considering it. The Marid is ahead of the East, in that regard. And will profit from it. She envisions the Marid as having the same status as the East: signatory, but a separate district.”

Machigi had his chin on his fist. Extended two fingers, intent to speak. “This is new.”

“It is in line with the dowager’s proposal, nandi. I have no hesitation to say it. Her district has not entirely trusted the aishidi’tat as it was first constituted. But the independence of the East has kept the aishidi’tat honest. She sees in your regional strength reinforcement for the independence of the East. She has kept it from becoming an entirely Ragi institution. You are not Ragi. And if you both employ the Guilds and put your own young people into the Guilds, you gain a voice in the Guilds, forming policy and enforcing the law in the aishidi’tat.”

“Interesting,” Machigi said, and dropped the hand and leaned back.

Bren said, quietly, “I represent the dowager’s proposals, nandi. And I have never known her to go back on what she said she would do.”

“More than can be said of her husband when he ruled,” Machigi said in a low voice. “But then, there are rumors, are there not, regarding his demise?”

“One could not comment, nandi.”

“We shall sign her agreement,” Machigi said with a glance at the others. “We shall sign it in Shejidan. And you may now partake of the brandy you have been pretending to drink, paidhi. You have won our agreement. We shall see how it goes. Lighter topics, if you will. What about these porcelains?”

Bren risked an actual sip. Two and three. The rest of the session was brief, more about trade, and porcelains, and the Isles.

It was a vast relief when Machigi signaled the end of the session, and Trade and Gediri took their leave.

A guest of the house routinely left last; Machigi stepped between Bren and the doorway, not threateningly, but definitively.

“You will be at breakfast,” Machigi said.

“One would be honored, nandi,” Bren said.

And still Machigi did not clear his path.

“You are not pressed for time tomorrow, are you?”

A test? A challenge? Reminding him that he left the premises when Machigi was willing to let him leave?

“I shall be in no haste, nandi. I shall not call for a plane until I am on the road, and it will still make it to the airport before I do. I shall leave at your convenience.”

Machigi nodded. “Well enough,” Machigi said, and let him pass.

It was curious, Machigi’s last action…the insistence on making a personal impression, part threat, part—whatever it was. Banichi and Jago had not seemed alarmed. Tema and his partner had not been.

Bren thought about it on the way up to the suite, in company only with Banichi and Jago. He liked the man, that deadliest and most mistaken of human reactions toward atevi, who had their own attaching emotion, man’chi, quite as strong—strong as life and death—but not quite what humans called love or even liking, and it was a basic mistake ever to start using that word with atevi, in any degree. Machigi was potentially a scoundrel himself, aiming at whatever he could get in excess of the agreement, but who, in Machigi’s place, would not have to be, if only for the sake of those with man’chi to him? Machigi was as alone as an ateva ever tended to be, for one thing. Machigi’s relatives were mostly dead, his attachments all fallen to assassination, his immediate circle disrupted. His clan was around him, but members of his immediate family had been casualties of the feud with Dojisigi clan—a fact Machigi had been pragmatically ignoring in order to work with Dojisigi clan, to survive and keep Dojisigi from moving in and taking over Taisigi.

That indicated that Machigi knew how to make critical compromises. He felt man’chi to no one. That was characteristic of an aiji, a leader, and there was a reciprocal emotion, which, oddly enough, atevi rarely discussed or attempted to define. He received man’chi from two clans besides his own, and it stayed with him through gunfire and threat. That indicated he had character and attractiveness. And he reciprocated adequately, making the best of the best of his people stand by him, for the sake of their connections.

But things had changed. Machigi potentially had power over the Dojisigi, who had made his life hell, and over everything and everybody in the Marid. The Guild wasn’t going to give up its position of advantage and let things swing back to normal for the Marid. No, they were going to be at the shoulder of every minister and Machigi himself. And that was going to be interesting: Machigi’s face had shown just a little emotion when he’d made that remark about Machigi’s own bodyguard being his best link to the Guild proper.

Maybe he’d surprised Machigi a little, informing him that the four bodyguards he had trusted would get authority—an authority that was only going to increase, as the Guild found Tema and his men had the brains and the guts to be the bodyguard of a lord of the aishidi’tat. And the Guild would find exactly that. These four knew their district as outsiders did not. They, working practically solo, had kept their lord and their district out of the hands of Guild that they had, on their own, decided were up to no good—they’d been entirely right—and they’d organized a resistance to that movement that had kept their lord alive and free, while the Guild in Shejidan delayed taking action.

Brains. And guts. They’d become a major target of the shadow Guild, right along with their lord, and they’d stayed alive.

What he hadn’t said was that that very smart foursome had decided, long before Machigi had, that if push came to shove, they would have to link with the Guild in Shejidan, and hope.

That probably had happened one particular evening when he had arrived in Tanaja the first time. The Guild in Shejidan had likely told Machigi’s bodyguard to talk to Algini—and they’d done it, possibly without a real clue what Algini actually was.

He’d love to have that story out of Algini. But the Guild buried such details; and just knowing what the channels had been at any given time was more information than one normally ever got out of the Guild.

He’d been entirely accurate in what he’d just told the ministers, however. He was sure of it—as he was sure Tano and Algini had been talking to half of Machigi’s bodyguard while he’d been having brandy with Machigi.

He was very glad to see the rest of his bodyguard in good spirits as they reached the suite. Hand-signs flashed. That sigh and relaxation as Banichi sank into a comfortable chair and leaned back said everything.

They were in. They were safe. Machigi was going to survive this and have the Guild behind him if Machigi used half the sense that had gotten him this far. He was protected by four very remarkable men—and the aishidi’tat owed those four a debt it probably never would repay.

Algini sat down, too, in a state of relaxation. Tano generally looked pleasant and cheerful. When Algini let a sparkle get to his eyes, it was outright celebration.

Jago—Jago just took his coat, and said, in prim formality, “The household servants wish to attend you, nandi. Shall they start the bath?”

Mmm, yes. They were bugged. Anybody in this room was bugged. Maybe now it was Shejidan Guild doing the listening. Or maybe it wasn’t. Any great house was complex.

“One understands,” he said. “Yes. That will be good, Jago-ji.”

The servants came in, bringing a rolling cart with a small buffet for his bodyguard. They had had neither food nor drink yet under this roof. And they would still enjoy it two at a time.

A servant went into the back hall to start a hot bath running. And he could take off the damned protective vest and relax. All indications were that their follow-up mission was going well, so far.

Oh, that was good. That was very good.

“Work it out,” was all Tabini had given him in the way of instruction, aside from what Ilisidi had told him. “If you can make this mad scheme of my grandmother’s work, do so.”

His job was only to bring an eighth of the continent under a central authority it had resisted for centuries.

His job was, besides that, to nudge the very traditional, generally backward Marid into the current century, and get all the Guilds and their regulations accepted in the south, which had no habit of education outside the parents’ trade at all, and no institutions of higher learning except the esoteric college of kabiu.

One step at a time, he told himself. It was miracle enough that they were here and that Machigi had just figured out that he did actually command the Guild, if he only used it creatively within Guild regulations.

First somebody had to educate Machigi in what those regulations were—and that would have to be Tema and his men, once they figured out the figurative rule book as it now existed in Shejidan.

All of that was somebody else’s job. Tano and Algini, not to mention the Guild assigned here by the Guild in Shejidan, might have already made a start on it.

Meanwhile, the paidhi-aiji was going to take a long, soaking bath. And go to bed.

Morning came none too soon, in a discreetly solitary bed and with far too much to think about to lie there for long. The servants had arrived—it was an even earlier start to their day—and one was very glad to get moving on what was, however it turned out, going to be a long day’s agenda. One hoped it was going to be a day ending in Shejidan. But that might depend on how breakfast went.

It was at least not the formal dining room for breakfast, with ministers and spouses and all. It was an intimate breakfast room decorated in white porcelain tile and a table set, thank God, only for two.

Machigi came in, which signaled the kitchen, and for a time thereafter it was a conversation confined to the dishes, which were numerous and delicate, though small, and every dish considerate of a human’s dietary restrictions.

One had to do the meal proper courtesy.

“Your remarks about the Guild,” Machigi said at last, over tea.

“Nandi.”

“My aishid reports an encouraging expression from the Guild this morning.”

“Excellent news, nandi. One hopes to see a good outcome. The center of local Guild authority will be here, in this building— in the architecture one hopes to see established. But that will be yours to establish. The Guild, quite naturally, prefers not to see its members set at each other when there is a more reasonable answer.”

“We want to see the final draft of this promised document, nandi. And mind, we shall not tolerate last-moment surprises, especially in public.”

“It will be exactly as you have seen it, nandi. And once that all-important association exists—and this is the best news from Shejidan, which I have particularly wanted to tell you in some privacy, nandi—”

“Say it.”

“Tabini-aiji will recognize the new Marid association as an official region of the aishidi’tat. That will require a realignment of Guild structure and a formal agreement with the new regional structure—that is to say, you, nandi. The various Guilds will each present more papers, which you may or may not sign, but which the dowager will strongly suggest you sign…”

“A region.”

“Just so.”

“What do you advise, paidhi?”

“One advises you sign them as they are crafted. These will be organizational and routine, recognizing you as the aiji of the Marid Association: it is all the same language as the ordinary agreements, nandi, but words in this case that have power to revise reality. As the executive of the Marid, you will be the channel for all Guild applications, down to every scrap of paper. One recommends the establishment of clerical offices to deal with it. One recommends, in fact, computers.”

“Computers. We do not have phones in the villages, paidhi.”

“You will have both in fairly short order, in fact, as you admit the Messengers’ Guild. They will bring them in.”

Machigi frowned and rested his chin on his hand. “Computers. And who will run these machines?”

“Foreigners, until you educate Taisigi youngsters in their use. Which you can do if you allow the Academicians’ Guild to establish a school.”

“Computers. Schools. Guilds. Are we to become Shejidan? We are not Shejidan, paidhi! Nor are our fishermen going to send their sons to a school! You have no idea!”

“They may, however, send their daughters.”

“You are speaking of the utter overthrow of custom.”

“You will never become Shejidan, nandi, but you will be the Marid, a modern Association within the aishidi’tat, and your people will have hospitals, schools, phones, and, one hesitates to say, television.”

“We have not bargained for the utter overthrow of tradition.”

“You will sign what seems logical to you to sign, and the Guilds must present their case to you for each of these changes. Things will change at whatever pace you decide, and your leadership, nandi, one is quite confident is equal to the task. When your people prosper, you will have their man’chi, one has no question. And your sons and daughters will, one predicts, be working in space, beside Ragi and Maschi, Edi, Easterners—and humans. One would be dishonest to claim things will stay the same. But you will not have people dying of sickness a local hospital could cure with a single dose of medicine or of injuries a surgeon could heal. You will not have villages festering in situations one single phone call to your offices could relieve. That is power, nandi. That is power no lord in the Marid has ever wielded. Computers. Phones. Satellites to warn your ships of weather. Within the Marid, you will have the same authority the aiji-dowager has over the East and Tabini has over the Ragi and Lord Geigi has on the space station; and when you visit Shejidan, you will do so with the ceremony and respect of a regional lord. But, nandi, one first needs the guilds to make these things happen. And one needs at least a few schools…not for everyone. But schools there must be. Your urging can populate them.”

“You will get me assassinated.”

“You will need Guild protection, I have no doubt, but you have it. I have been threatened by persons claiming the shuttles pierce the sky and may let the planet’s atmosphere leak away into the ether. I have been personally attacked by an individual claiming his telephones are spying on him at night…these things will happen. You will not find it advisable to walk on quayside without your bodyguard, I regret to say. You will not find it advisable at any time to ignore your bodyguard’s warnings. That I can promise you, from personal experience. There are dangers. Not everyone will be pleased at every step of the way. But there are compensations.”

Machigi gave a long sigh. “You need not tell me about threats. But to have them coming from my own people—”

“The perception that I am harming the atmosphere is now confined to a very few of limited education or unstable mind, and the Guild will not accept a Filing on such grounds. I understand your hesitation, nandi. I understand it very well. At times I have caused great distress, and I have suffered from it. In my worst fears, I am responsible for the disturbance that led to Murini’s rise. But I feel—I feel very strongly—that I have done what had to be done for people to live good lives—and long lives, safe from hazards that come from above the earth as well as on it. Baji-naji, it is terrifying to be the flex in the universe. A very few can do it. The aiji-dowager has wagered heavily on your having the intelligence and the courage to be one of the few. You are far too intelligent to keep your people at a technological disadvantage. And I think your nerve will not fail you.”

“If I were that intelligent,” Machigi said glumly, “I could think of another answer.”

“You will shape the Marid, nandi. You will influence the Guild in dealings with other clans. You will influence the succession in those clans. The Guild will accept advice. Make your choices well disposed to you. And agreeable.”

“Of the good will of Dausigi and Sungeni, one has no doubt, at present,” Machigi said. “The doubtful thing is to keep that good will, with the things you propose.”

“Use the Guild, nandi. Wrap it around you. In this one thing, you must be northern. Everything else is adjustable. You have to stay alive, or everything falls back to chaos.”

A short, sharp laugh. “Paidhi, it is decent advice.”

“Tell me: with your knowledge, nandi—what would you advise the north now, about the succession in the northern Marid? Is the Guild moving in the right direction?”

“One is less concerned for the new lord in Senji: Bridai is old, and quiet. He will cause no trouble to me, and if the Guild is truly capable of being persuaded, I can steer his choice of a successor. Then there is Dojisigi. And Mujita.”

One hardly liked to hear that assessment, but one already knew it. His intercession had saved the man, perhaps his daughter. A child. A child as humans reckoned it. But not necessarily so.

“Mujita is a fool—but his daughter, Tiajo, is dangerous. One has come to know that child all too well, and her father will be lucky if he dies of old age. Nand’ Gediri thinks I should marry the girl and set an heir in place over Dojisigi. But I’ll not have her serving my tea. Or teaching any of my successors.”

“Again, —” he began.

“—advise the Guild.” Machigi concluded, and leaned back. “So. They guard her. They guard me. Who prevails.”

“She will have to deserve the man’chi offered her. To the death. That is not so easily done, by a person of bad character.”

“She is an attractive little baggage. She would use that gift to the utmost.”

“The Guild does not train fools,” Bren said. “If she is what you say, she must convince the Guild she is the better ruler, or take her aishid down with her to ruin. And one suspects in her instance, the Guild may frustrate her inclinations and withdraw support entirely—which would not be a comfortable situation for her or her father.”

“What was the Guild’s position when they replaced Tabini-aiji? One is curious. One is quite curious.

Blunt question. Very blunt question. And maybe a test of honesty.

“What is not widely stated, but what I do know—and in confidence, nandi—there was a coup, with bloodletting, inside the Guild, shortly before there was one inside the aishidi’tat. There was a countercoup, when the will of the people put Tabini-aiji back in power, and those we now call the renegades fled south, a number at first and then a slow trickle of those less exposed. A handful of those of ill intent came into Shejidan from outside, to use force; and force ultimately resettled the matter at Tabini-aiji’s return. It is unfortunate that Dojisigi sheltered these people. It cost them and everyone else. But you may now have confidence that the trouble has solved itself and that the Guild in Shejidan has declared man’chi to Tabini-aiji.”

“You say so.”

“One has great confidence in the persons who assured me so.”

“And who are they?”

“One is constrained from saying, nandi, but one does believe them.”

“Nand’ paidhi,” Machigi said. “You are one of the most curiously honest individuals I have met, yet you represent two of the most devious alive! I am very reluctant to let you go. You will become corrupted by them.”

Bren gave a little bow of the head. “I shall be the same. I shall never forget our recent association, nandi, and I shall try to find a mutually agreeable course, fair to you and fair to the aiji-dowager. Standing between is my value in a situation.”

“Dispense with subtlety and give me your best advice. What would you advise in the next number of days?”

“Dispatch the representative to Shejidan as soon as possible—there will be curiosity from all Guilds, once they know the Assassins’ Guild has achieved agreement. Sign with the Merchants’ Guild first; they are reasonable people with a reasonable objective. Transport will have a standard agreement. Be cautious with the Messengers’ Guild, and read their agreement carefully. Bargain hard with them, and ask the Merchants’ Guild if you distrust a clause—they will give you an honest answer. Sign the agreement with the aiji-dowager, and move on all convenient programs. Immediately loose rumors of a great trading venture contingent on that agreement.”

“And then?”

“Simutaneously be ready to send representatives to the East to set up a trade office on the coast; and outfit an expedition by sea. Within the Marid, establish clinics in key places: that will immediately see benefits to the people. Sign with the Academicians and establish a small school in Tanaja with high prestige and technical assistance from the Engineers’, the Messengers’, and the Physicians’ Guilds; concentrating first on those three disciplines and having a relationship with those Guilds. Erect windmills for power in the villages, not neglecting Senji and Dojisigi. The Engineers’ Guild will assist at your request, and Shejidan will assist you in that effort with materials and technology. The Messengers will provide broadcast radio for every village, each village to have at least one receiver, and let that network inform the villages for you. Speak to the people on a fixed schedule and inform them on progress and new programs and how to access them. Rumors in the Marid will then become scarcer than fact. Once people see benefits from change, their opinions will become more favorable—not universally, but with medical care and more prosperity, they will be more favorable. And that will secure your future.”

Machigi laughed softly. “Paidhi, you have it all laid out in your head, do you not?”

“One has thought about it, nandi. One has thought about it incessantly, in a desire to have the most benefit the fastest. That is what will make this work.”

“I shall miss you, paidhi, indeed. My ministers have no sense of humor.”

“I shall, I hope, see you again, nandi. I am more than willing to bridge gaps for you and to convey messages in, one hopes, a delicate way.”

“I have gifts for you,” Machigi said, “on which I have labored personally.” Machigi drew two small cylinders from his pocket, and offered it to him. “Use these as you see fit.”

“Shall I open them?”

“One is a polite letter for the aiji-dowager, which you only need deliver, and the other is reading for your journey.” Machigi stood up. The guest was obliged to do the same. The meeting was over. “I shall bid you farewell now, paidhi. The requested items will be aboard your bus by now. Staff will have carried your belongings down, and your small army of Guild will, I am told, be going back to Najida, to keep it safe from—whomever. I shall see you soon in Shejidan, nand’ paidhi.”

Bren slipped the two cylinders into his own pocket and bowed. “One will look forward to that meeting, nandi, not alone officially.”

“Flattery.”

“Yet true.” A second bow. “Baji-naji, nandi, we shall do this.”

He was done—sooner than he had expected, as well. The meeting could have gone far longer, or taken days, had the discussion gone wrong.

But it had not. They were both satisfied.

And it was time to get the hell out of the district and let the Marid take care of the Marid for a while without his interference rousing controversy.

He gathered his aishid, Tano and Algini conveniently arriving on the main floor with their own luggage and three servants carrying the rest. No expressions changed. No expressions betrayed any satisfaction or dissatisfaction with the proceedings. His bodyguard was on strictly formal behavior, communicating with short-range, and if there was any authority on the premises besides Lord Machigi—such as a local Guild officer—none appeared to wish them good travel.

Outside, under gray skies and a light sprinkle of rain, the bus stood waiting. The last baggage went aboard as they lingered at the bus steps.

Then the cargo doors shut. Bren caught the hand grip and climbed the first tall step, with Jago right behind him.

But someone had now appeared, in an official capacity: Tema, Machigi’s senior bodyguard, with his partner. Banichi delayed and joined Tano and Algini in that conversation outside the bus.

Jago put the briefcase on the seat and awaited his coat. Bren extracted the cylinders from his pocket before he slipped it off and offered it to Jago to hang for him—ostensibly servant duties, but at no point did his bodyguard leave him to fend for himself under still-questionable circumstances.

He settled in. The air in the bus was a little chill yet, but a welcome chill, considering the heavy vest his bodyguard would not let him omit. He set his briefcase on the floor by his feet, the driver started the engine, and the meeting at the bus steps ended with a fast exchange of signs, apparently cordial.

The rest of his bodyguard got aboard in uncommonly good spirits for the situation, the door definitively shut, and the bus rolled, meeting a light spatter of rain on the windshield as it left the wind-shadow of the building.

Communications would be going out from the bus about now on long-range equipment, a summons for the plane to meet them at Najida airport, a communication with the local Guild that they were on the move and that they would be passing through the streets.

Bren let go a long sigh, sheer relief to have gotten things this far, with Machigi’s general agreement. On the other hand, one hesitated to rejoice too soon.

The ink had not yet landed on the bottom line. There was a lot, lot more to attend to before that happened.

Banichi and Jago sat down in the seats facing his. Tano and Algini hung on in the aisle as the bus negotiated the downslope of the driveway.

“So, nadiin-ji?” he asked them.

“We found good agreement,” Banichi answered him. “His aishid is troubled at so much responsibility falling in their laps. But the Guild is carefully loading them with what they can bear, instructing them in procedures, assisting them with modern equipment. He was fortunate in them. He was very fortunate. You advised him well, Bren-ji.”

“One hoped one would receive a sign, if not.”

“Well-spoken, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “At all points.”

Bren let go a slow breath and melted back into the seat. “One is gratified by your confidence, nadiin-ji. Terrified at the scope of it all, but gratified. —Tano-ji, how are you holding up?”

“Quite well,” Tano said. Tano had taken it in the arm not so very many days ago. He was doing rehabilitation in between standing duty. Banichi and Jago and Algini had lasting scars— from keeping the paidhi-aiji in one piece despite his very best efforts to get himself killed.

“Rest,” he said. “Let the juniors manage the details for the rest of the trip. I have absolutely no needs. But,” he said, “one imagines you would care to read what Machigi has said.”

“One would be a little curious,” Banichi admitted.

“So am I,” he said, and uncapped the cylinder addressed to him, while they were still making their way through Tanaja’s streets. “Unbearably so.”

4

Machigi lord of the Marid to Bren-paidhi, salutations.

The Dojisigi and the Senji agreed together to back Murini of the Kadigidi in a coup against the Ragi Association to overthrow Tabini-aiji.

The plan was presented to me. Their scheme seemed to me no more likely to succeed than what their predecessors had done in every generation, but if it failed, and if we did not actively participate, I judged that Tabini would likely content himself with removing only the most active aggressors. In our perception of the situation, saying yes would delay a problem with Tori of the Dojisigi. So we said yes—but delayed lending any forces to their effort, expecting any day to hear that the plan had come down on their heads and that they were dead by Guild action.

When Murini’s coup actually succeeded and Tabini-aiji was thought dead, we were at once appalled and alarmed, expecting retaliation now to come down on us from space. But since the speed of Murini’s takeover had stranded two of the shuttles on the ground, it had thus, we thought, prevented intervention from orbit. We faced a very different situation from that we had anticipated. We knew that the third shuttle was still capable of return, and we estimated that retaliation might take a different form—that Lord Geigi himself might attempt to overthrow Murini-aiji. This, however, seemed distant—until the reports began, later, that strange machines were landing in various parts of the continent.

But from the very outset, when Murini immediately began to take apart the political alliances of the north, we began to worry that we had a far more dangerous situation than under Tabini-aiji. He was creating chaos in the north and tightening his hold in a merciless assault on those who spoke against him. The Dojisigi and Senji, since they had been more actively involved in his accession, were higher in his favor, and we were sure neither Dojisigi nor Senji would hesitate to move against us and all the southern Marid.

But Senji and Dojisigi themselves grew uneasy in their ally. Murini’s measures were bloody. We understood that he was purging the Guild itself of any support for Tabini…but there were rumors, relayed through my own aishid, that certain Guild elements had gotten away to the wilderness and would begin to move against Murini-aiji, that a counterrevolution would begin with assassinations in remote areas—and that, my aishid thought, might mean a strike at me.

Murini-aiji meanwhile gave no appearance of stability or coherence in his governance or his personal behavior. Excess ruled. Temper and whim governed. And no one was safe. If Murini-aiji noted a slight to himself, someone died.

Dojisigi and Senji began to think, one supposes, that the harsh measures taken in the north might in due time come south and that they had allied with a fool and a bully. They wanted to know Murini’s plans in that regard. That was the impetus for Farai of the Senji, invoking an old inheritance, to lay claim to your vacant apartment in the Bujavid. Murini-aiji had occupied Tabini’s apartment; your apartment shared a wall and they risked a great deal in this move— which was successful. Their spying gave Senji and Dojisigi some oversight of doings in Murini’s apartment, but my aishid thought information was possibly being fed to them, since while Murini was sunk in drink and abandon, the Guild that had put him in power was not.

Then Senji began to say that the Farai had deserted the man’chi of Senji and begun to follow Dojisigi, and that they were in fact attempting to curry favor with Murini—utterly betraying their own subclan and attaching their actions, whether or not detected, to Dojisigi.

At the same time Senji moved into Maschi territory to our north. The Maschi lord, with Lord Geigi stranded on the space station and Murini-aiji seeming to favor the Senji lord personally, far above Torii of the Dojisigi, accepted a secret alliance with Senji and would not receive our representative. Lord Pairuti was more terrified of Senji than of us—and we dared not press too hard for fear our approach to Pairuti would get to Murini’s ears. And Pairuti’s alliance with Senji meant a lord under Senji influence sat directly against our border.

We know now what we suspected then, that Senji was moving agents into Targai, completely taking over the Maschi authority in the north.

At this point, we dared not confront Senji directly. Instead we approached the southern Maschi—Lord Geigi’s sister at Kajiminda, who now had great reason to worry about her future. We offered her alliance if she would marry at our direction.

Immediately the Senji sent a representative toward Kajiminda, which we forcefully prevented. And as we hoped, Murini was too busy at that moment with the situation on the northeast coast to divert attention to a mere Marid squabble over an estate bordering Taisigi territory. He would let us quarrel among ourselves and then devour the survivor: that was his pattern with situations in the north.

I sent to Lord Torii of the Dojisigi, who were not pleased to find Senji abed with Murini. I offered him a close alliance in our enterprise at Kajiminda, reasoning as follows: Lord Geigi posed a great threat to Murini’s regime. Geigi held the vantage of the space station, he was allied with the humans in space, he was alleged to be closely allied to the human enclave on Mospheira—who did not need a space shuttle to pose a threat to Murini—and we were entirely prepared to pull the trigger on that threat if Murini made a move toward us. It was my private notion to marry the lady of Kajiminda. This would have given us a position with Lord Geigi to wipe out old feuds, and we were convinced that Lord Geigi’s intervention was no empty threat…that, in fact, it would ultimately happen.

But the lady died. So did several of my agents. I cannot prove what happened. The Edi were high on our list of suspects. It was poison. They had opportunity. Hatred of us was certainly a credible motive. But most embarrassing, the agents I now most suspect of the murders were old in my service. I relied on these men. It is personally embarrassing to say, and one hesitates to claim blindness as an excuse, but one suspects they had been reporting directly to the Senji for years. They revealed themselves only in their recent attack on you and their subsequent cooperation with the renegades.

At the time, we were caught at a loss. I have no marriageable relatives at my disposal. But Torii of the Dojisigi suggested we immediately approach young Baiji with an offer to marry young Tiajo, my cousin, on my mother’s side, a close relative of Torii. It would create an avenue to negotiation with Lord Geigi, it would give Murini-aiji pause in coming at me or at Lord Torii, who thus would be reassured, and it had one other benefit: the offer of Tiajo quietly worsened the rift between Senji and Dojisigi—so much so that the Dojisigi thereafter had to pay the Farai with bribes to be sure their information from inside Murini’s regime was accurate and frequent.

Senji then found out about the bribe—I personally confess to that indiscretion—and the Farai began to snuggle even closer to the Dojisigi for protection. That gave us an inroad into Senji and Murini-aiji when we might care to use it.

Meanwhile, it was not expected that you would return, since your absence stretched on beyond all expectation. The skirmishes against Murini-aiji continued in the north.

Then Lord Geigi began taking actions that troubled the regime—landing mysterious machines of war in certain districts. We feared it might be a precursor to landings of a different sort, and we would have to negotiate with Lord Geigi.

But Baiji had contrived every excuse to delay the marriage. Worse, he had proved an utter fool, squandering the estate, indulging himself; the Edi had deserted the place. And Baiji had, in an exchange of messages we did not commit to paper, wanted money, a great deal of money. We feared he could at any moment swing toward Murini or the Senji—he knew it, and redoubled his demands. We found ourselves dealing with a thorough, shallow-minded scoundrel who was as apt to go one direction as the other, and who had no sense about what should be committed to paper. Should Geigi descend from the heavens with force, Baiji would swing to any prevailing wind: we saw that. Worse still, he had squandered estate money, and his servants had left. We attempted to carry the marriage forward in greater haste, to put Tiajo’s father’s servants in charge of the estate before it was entirely ruined. Simultaneously we knew the Dojisigi were already scheming to move us out of the way once that marriage to Baiji took place—but so long as it was not Senji or Murini, at the moment we were satisfied. We simply planned to take Baiji into our keeping.

This was the situation at the time of Murini’s greatest power. We assumed that should the dowager ever return from her voyage, the dowager would either ally with Geigi, or oppose him in a battle for the aijinate on the station, and we might not know it until the winning side made a move on earth. I was still betting strongly on Geigi coming down from the heavens, perhaps landing on Mospheira and gathering human allies for an invasion of the mainland. And if that happened, I was prepared to hand Kajiminda and his nephew over to him, as intact as I could manage.

Your return was a shocking surprise. Your survival after you landed seemed impossible. You did none of the expected things, and once the aiji-dowager burst the bubble of Murini’s claims of man’chi from the Padi Valley, and once Tabini’s return brought the former Guild out of hiding, it was all over in the north. Murini’s power melted away like ice in the sun. They made their best try at assassination, and lost. Murini’s advisors counseled immediate retreat.

And that fool Lord Torii, still believing reports from the wrong people that Tabini could never take the capital, accepted Murini and his staff in his territory, which allied him with Senji and left me with the unresolved mess at Kajiminda.

We know now that Torii’s staff and advisors had been well infiltrated with Murini’s Guild…as Senji’s long since had been. Thanks to the common sense of my own bodyguard, they had at no time allowed Murini’s people close to me…which was why I was on the outside of all this connivance, and I was not receiving bad intelligence—I in fact was receiving very little intelligence. Things settled. Murini left. And died. It seemed the situation was stable, with Tabini-aiji back in power.

But things in the Marid were not stable. And here is where we had made our mistake: I believed Lord Torii was still giving orders, and now I know that the renegade Guild had not followed Murini to destruction.

I was quietly advised, after Murini’s death, that Dojisigi would negotiate with me directly regarding an alliance against Senji, but my aishid advised me against accepting such talks with them—they flatly warned me to temporize with that offer by whatever excuse I could muster and not to go to any conference with Dojisigi—who refused to come to Tanaja.

We strongly suspected that the problems in the Baiji operation were due to the Dojisigi. My aishid, at the same time they advised me to avoid going to Dojisigi territory, also advised me that the Baiji operation had to continue, that it was exceedingly dangerous at this point to betray our knowledge that it was infiltrated, and that we should deal with it as if we knew absolutely nothing…as if, under Tabini-aiji’s rule now, we would allow that marriage to go forward, and then let Tabini-aiji sort it out. My aishid warned me that I must give Dojisigi no chance to break officially from our agreement, that the polite fiction of our alliance served to keep things quiet for the while. I personally resisted my bodyguard’s strong suggestion to retreat to the Isles. I would not detach myself from my people: if my bodyguard and I were going down, we would go down fighting for Taisigi land. So we simply closed our borders so far as we could and stalled any appointment for negotiation with the Dojisigi—still thinking that it was Lord Torii giving the orders in that district.

My bodyguard was now isolated. They could not rely on any allies except Sungeni and Dausigi, who rely on us for protection, not the other way around.

My bodyguard had not contacted the new Guild leadership in Shejidan, they say that they had discussed doing so. But they did not want to stir that pot and find attention coming on us—from either the Guild in Shejidan or from Dojisigi, since we felt Shejidan’s interest was purely in seeing war between Dojisigi and Taisigi.

We decided that if we stayed very quiet, Dojisigi might yet make a move that drew action from Shejidan, which was our best hope: that Tabini-aiji would send agents there and not to us.

My enemies in Dojisigi were not, however, idle. They began a campaign of rumors. They blamed me as the power that had backed Murini from the start. It was not at all difficult to persuade Tabini that I was a problem and the son and grandson of a problem. Indeed, it was not a coat that fit that badly. I had no man’chi for Tabini-aiji and if I at that point had had an approach from the Dojisigi Guild that would not threaten to kill my bodyguard in the process, yes, I would have taken it, not even understanding their existence at that time. If I could have taken out Lord Torii, I would have, because I could never trust him, not given our relationship.

That was where things stood when you arrived on the west coast and walked into ambush at Kajiminda.

Possibly the people the Dojisigi had put there were convinced that you were there to reconnoiter, with inside information that I might have provided you. Possibly their own suspicion of plots under every hedge sprang their trap prematurely.

Baiji, being the fool he is, immediately panicked; ran for shelter with you, likely because you are an ally of his uncle, and things blew up. The aiji-dowager became involved. Tabini arrived, invaded a Dojisigi operation in Separti, and the survivors there delivered intelligence, blaming, of course—me. And promptly the Guild in Shejidan was debating having me assassinated. Tabini had already Filed Intent.

We were at a crisis. If I could avoid being assassinated, and if Dojisigi agents could take Najida, which was a very soft target, they would gain hostages, in you, the aiji’s own son, and the aiji’s grandmother—and that would be the stupidest thing they could do, but I thought it was Lord Torii in charge. I was sure the aiji-dowager and the aiji’s son would be out of there by sunrise, that somehow the aiji’s forces would get at least one live prisoner, or that you would get something incriminating out of Baiji.

But the aiji-dowager and the aiji’s son stayed, and Tabini let them—refusing to seem to retreat. You fortified Najida. And that gave the renegade Guild a grand opportunity. They escalated the conflict, and so doing, laid the bloody dagger at my door.

The Guild in Shejidan met to declare me the target…not, one strongly suspects, that they did not know the truth about the operation—but if I were out of the way, Taisigi territory became the most logical base, adjacent to Sarini province and Senji. They would take the Marid by force and install a Ragi authority. Which you must admit, they came close to doing.

The dowager somehow got intelligence of what was going on within the Guild—I strongly believe it—and contacted me directly, in direct opposition to the intentions of her grandson and of the Guild in Shejidan. She made an offer.

I do not hesitate to accept it. The benefit to me is direct. The benefit to the Marid is direct. I am under constraint, but I have no motive to resist this plan, which offers me the Marid, accommodates the aiji-dowager, and, one now believes, may ultimately bring her grandson into agreement with the situation.

You may assume that I am lying in some of this. But it will be a useful truth that may mend situations for you. None of us like to be used by third parties. We deeply resent such things.

I will never tell you which parts are lies. But I promise to base my future actions faithfully on this document as if all these things were true.

And that, paidhi, is the most significant truth that has ever passed between us.

“Damn!” Bren said when he had finished it. He passed it across to Banichi and Jago, who could share the document, and settled back with arms folded.

“Is something other than what was represented, Bren-ji?” Tano asked.

“Lord Machigi is what he is,” Bren said. “You shall see, nadiin-

ji, when you read it. This man is full of turns. But so is Tabini. And so is the dowager. One is not sure what one has loosed into the aishidi’tat. He is a man of qualities. One is simply not certain in what direction they tend.”

In due time Banichi finished reading—clearly so. He let expression show—a little perplexity in a lift of the brows. And Jago, half a beat later: “The Dojisigi and the renegades together did not find a way to attack this man directly. One should remember that.”

The paper went to Tano and Algini, who read it together.

“He did say,” Banichi said, “that you should use this paper as you see fit.”

Banichi and Jago had been there in the breakfast room when the statement was made.

“One believes both the dowager and Tabini-aiji should see it, nadiin-ji. With all it entails. One does not want to inflame the situation. But they do need to see it, do they not?”

“The question is, at all odds,” Jago said, “whether he will keep his pledge to stand by this version of the truth.”

“Is it not?” Bren said, and thought—in Ragi, which was the only safe way to think on the topic, There is no one in the world more unhappy than a solitary ateva. Machigi said it: he has no relatives in his own district. His aishid is all he has. His clan is virtually wiped out, except a contract marriage to a Dojisigi, and he himself has not yet married. He has taken no risk of that sort…and begetting a child is a risk for him. He says he was about to marry a woman fifteen years his senior. But that is all politics.

And it may, like every other statement in that letter, be a lie.

Machigi is young to have landed in such a position. He does not admit to fear. Possibly he feels none, since he has never known a time when he was not a target.

For a young man, he is scarily short of good advisors. But the four closest to him are extraordinary, at least in combination.

He vividly remembered having a gun leveled at him—in Machigi’s hands. And with equal vividness, he recalled Machigi’s immediate and easy change of tactics when he had not spooked. Machigi had become sarcastic, sullen, then increasingly outgoing and cheerful. Shift of masks. One after the other. And which was real?

Yet—I shall miss you, Machigi had said.

Right before handing him this outrageous document, a flat-out warning that no one should investigate the truth who did not want to find out things that would be very inconvenient for their future relationship.

I promise to base my future actions faithfully on this document as if all these things were true.

The scoundrel, Bren thought. The outright scoundrel. Jago was right. Two dangerous neighbors, Murini and the shadow Guild alike, had hesitated to take on this young man.

And once the Shejidan branch of the Guild had moved into his land, Machigi had advanced straight toward Najida, dodging fire, slipping right through the zone of conflict and helping deliver a death blow to the shadow Guild.

With what intent? To protect the dowager?

Or to attack her, if the Shejidan Guild didn’t stand by its word?

If Machigi had intended simply to run for safety, any ship in his harbor would have carried him to far safer territory in the Isles with far less effort. No. Machigi had come straight for Najida. He had gone for Ilisidi, pursuing, presumably, not her life, but the alliance that she offered him against the Guild renegades—perhaps because he saw that the scales were rapidly tipping toward the dowager as a powerbroker, and he had her offer dangling in front of him.

Machigi had, damn him, likely done at least half the things he was accused of.

So did they waste time in investigating what he had done, or proceed as the letter said, from a fresh start based on what its creator clearly said was a fabrication?

And might not be a fabrication at all, only a truth cast in the most defiant way possible. Deal with me, but do not debate me. I shall not answer your questions.

At times being human was a real difficulty in dealing with atevi politics.

Algini said, having read the letter, “He is taking the advice of his bodyguard. Good.”

He didn’t read the second letter, the one addressed to Ilisidi, which was sealed with the wax seal of the Taisigin Marid. He did worry about it.

He had a drink of fruit juice from the well-appointed galley on the bus, then settled down in the quiet his aishid afforded him and began to work on his notes for the upcoming report to Tabini-aiji.

His brother Toby and Barb had sailed for Port Jackson, worrisome in the weather, but they were good, experienced sailors. They’d enjoy the storm that had swept across. That was Toby’s attitude.

Najida was about to undergo a major renovation in addition to the repairs. He’d asked an architect to design a new wing, from his sketches. Getting the main hall in order was a priority. He’d promised a wedding venue to a village girl, in payment for a dress, and that promise, among others, had to be kept.

Cajeiri was presumably safely back in his parents’ care and not apt to leave it until they let their guard down, which would not be soon.

And the Edi were busy staking out the ground where they would build a new center, on land donated by Lord Geigi out of his estate lands. A new Grandmother Stone would go up there, marking something very, very important to the Edi people.

Jago came up the aisle to say they had just heard from Lord Geigi, in fact: Lord Geigi had wanted to be notified when they were headed for the airport—which meant, diplomatically speaking, when they had gotten safely away from Tanaja with everything in order, and knew that they were getting out in one piece. Geigi had been just a little worried about the visit.

“Lord Geigi wishes you a safe flight, Bren-ji, and will see you in Shejidan.”

“Thank you, Jago-ji.”

Guild was talking to Guild, routine exchange of information. The bus had long-range communications that let them do that. He couldn’t use it…not being Guild. For a brief while during the last mess, he’d thought fondly of having modern communications installed on the bus. He’d come out to the west coast to do a little work on a bill to allow cell phones, which were all the rage over on Mospheira—to allow them at least in limited general application on the continent. It was his job, among others, to oversee the surrender of human tech to the aishidi’tat, by terms of the treaty that had settled the War of the Landing—

But just occasionally, when such a release of technology was proposed, it was his job to say a firm no.

He had bled over the lack of personal communications on that last mission. And much as he had wanted a phone—he had to admit it would have made matters worse.

The traditionalists among atevi were all up in arms over the impending bill…which had been scheduled to be a main feature of the upcoming legislature. It was a given in all the reports that the paidhi-aiji was going to support it. Numerous people wanted it, not remotely concerning what it meant but sure it was going to be important and modern. The Messengers’ Guild was interested but dubious. But more to the point, Tabini wanted it.

Where it regarded introduction of human tech to the mainland, the paidhi-aiji had an absolute, though rarely used, veto, and the aiji would have to dismiss him from office to get past it.

He had learned, in that recent conflict, the reason for the ban on lords talking to lords in a combat area. He had thought naively that it might serve to straighten things out and stop a fight.

But God! it could so easily go the other way. Whatever took fine control of a messy situation out of the hands of the Assassins’ Guild, who had their own system of keeping a firefight out of civilian areas, could not benefit reason and order. Not on the mainland.

And two lords in the field talking back and forth under fire were not likely to improve anything…either understanding or attitude. He only needed think of personalities. Pigheadedness. Party affiliations. Clan loyalties.

Outright fools giving away their position and getting their own people killed. He only needed think of Lord Tatiseigi’s communications system, which had leaked like a sieve. It had nearly cost them their lives and the country its leadership.

No, the Assassins’ Guild hadn’t publicly stated their position on the cell phone issue. But he knew now of a certainty what they thought of it. And why.

So God help him, the paidhi-aiji, whom the conservatives believed was in favor of unbridled excess and the systematic overthrow of all tradition and culture, was about to come down on the same side of an issue as the archest conservatives in the aishidi’tat, the number-counters, people who believed the numbers of a situation dictated the outcome and affected the cosmic harmony. Including people who thought the space station upset the universe.

The same people were going to have an apoplexy when they considered the Edi and Gan gaining seats in the legislature and a lordship apiece.

They’d think he’d changed his vote on the cell phone issue to placate them about the other matter. That it was a sign of weakness.

Hell. Maybe he could offer to vote against the cell phone bill if they’d drop their opposition to the Edi and Gan issue. And then actually do it. That would be underhanded.

It was reasonably certain that Tabini was going to be upset about his vote. He had to warn Tabini before he did it. And before his veto, if the thing passed.

Ilisidi had picked a nice time to leave town.

He already wanted her back. God, he wanted her back.

The plane was another world after the long drive to reach it. It was no jet, but it was appointed like one.

And finally, having packed off their far too eager junior Guild escort back to Najida and Separti Township, they all could relax, in an arrangement of five seats and a small table, and be served by the plane’s steward.

There were no other passengers, no freight or mail on the outbound leg of the flight, and there were no delays in prospect. The plane climbed, westward at first, and made its ascent over Najida peninsula in a red sunset. A steep bank showed them Najida below, and yes, Jago reported, there were trucks outside the house. Workmen.

The sun speared across the cabin as the plane finished its turn, nosed off to the east, and headed for Shejidan, its altitude giving them a second lease on daylight.

“When we see Najida again,” Bren said, “it will be about twice as large as it was before. And we shall no longer have to play politics for the bath.”

That brought a little amusement. And the steward arrived with drinks, a little alcohol for him, plain fruit juice for his bodyguard, who would count themselves on duty until they got where they were going and the door shut behind them.

A good supper, however—that was perfectly within the rules.

Homeward bound, this time, really home—or what should be home: he had, after all, spent a significant portion of his life in the Bujavid. But his heart, he discovered, was still within the little villa they were leaving behind.

And it would, indeed, not be the same quiet little place when he got back. It would be better, more able to accommodate several high-ranking guests with numerous servants. Not to mention there would be no line-up for the bath or, worse, the accommodation.

And he was going to have windows overlooking the harbor, no longer wasting that beautiful view with a blank wall and a garage. It was a tactical risk…but he was betting on the world he was trying to build—one in which those big windows would be safe, and farmers and hunters would not find dead men in their fields.

A world where—in his dreams—people would understand that their neighbors were inevitably going to share the planet, and that the planet as a whole was going to have to get along with other people and places it had never bothered itself to imagine.

Was the world, was the universe, big enough to accommodate everybody in decency and prosperity?

Maybe it was a crazy dream that people would finally see that it was. But he bet on it. He damned sure meant to try to make it happen.

He was going to have those windows.

And—inevitably—Guild protection went with the windows. His own bodyguard was going to have to be have help when they were there, until the world was quieter. And there would be electronic surveillance.

But he would go on working toward not needing it.

He would miss the Najida staff. He had gotten used to them in his short visit, and they to him. But they belonged to Najida. They needed to be there, to supervise the construction, to lead their lives close to the land and their clan—in peace.

A few of Najida village, however, had gone to Shejidan to work for him. They were already in the Bujavid, waiting for him, and more—also of Najida—were coming down from the space station, where they had been stranded for three years apart from family and all the luxuries of planetside living. They were also coming back to serve in the Bujavid, his apartment on the space station going on lowest maintenance until he got back to that residence—and all the problems hanging fire in the heavens.

Well, but they were his places. Home, each of them, in a different way.

A handful of weeks ago he’d been living in Lord Tatiseigi’s apartment on Lord Tatiseigi’s charity. Ilisidi had gotten him that favor that and well, nand’ Tatiseigi’s curiosity had probably given a little push, too, since it was certain staff had reported to the old man on a regular basis, and the old man, who detested humans and every variance from tradition, was insatiably curious about what he deplored.

So his volunteers from Najida had taken the train to Shejidan three days ago, bringing with them furnishings that staff had rescued from the apartment in the coup. What the Farai had brought into the apartment when they had occupied it—security had taken that furniture out, and then gone over the place, stripping the walls down to bare stone—even rearranging the division of rooms in the process—so he understood. They’d found bugs—God knew which agency had planted them—the Farai, or the Maladesi, who had preceded him, or Tabini, or Murini. He somewhat doubted the Maladesi, since his own bodyguard would have found those, and probably they would have told him had Tabini been listening. So it was likely one or both of the other two. They’d even x-rayed the furniture, so tables and chairs and small carpets and vases that had been in the apartment when the Farai vacated might be turning up piecemeal. Bujavid Security, in fact, had passed him photos of the items and asked him to declare which were originally his and which the Farai had moved into the place.

Senji clan treasures—maybe there were a few of those. It was only fair and civilized to return those to the Farai or put them in storage, even though nobody cared particularly what the Farai thought at the moment. They’d betrayed the Senji, their own ruling clan; they’d certainly been ready to betray the Dojisigi. Next they’d be trying to snuggle up to Machigi as long lost relatives—which they were. But that wouldn’t get them far.

Could things ever go back to what they had been, before the coup?

His job at the moment, his whole trip to Tanaja, had been to make damned sure they didn’t go back to status quo ante.

Among the hardest heads he had to deal with in that regard—count his former host, Lord Tatiseigi, who led a formidable collection of conservative interests.

Everybody in the Bujavid was a close neighbor. It was the snuggest possible collection of people in power on the planet, and most everybody in the Bujavid was going to be asking everybody else—What did the paidhi have to negotiate with that scoundrel Machigi? What is he up to? What is the aiji-dowager up to? Why is Machigi still alive?

And, most significant to most in the Bujavid:

Where does Tabini-aiji stand on all this?

5

Nand’ Bren was coming back to Shejidan. His plane was in the air. Cajeiri had it from the best source, from his father saying it to his mother, so it was definite.

They had been moving in all day, into their new apartment—or their remade old one. They had had their last supper in Great-grandmother’s apartment, where they had been staying, because, Mother said, they were still unpacking the kitchen in the new place, and the staff would be working through the night to assure they could cook breakfast in the morning.

So the official move was after supper, but Father had said emphatically they were going to be in the new apartment today, and today it must be—because now that they had sent the boxes over after lunch, there was nothing they owned left in Great-grandmother’s apartment, and all their clothes and things were being set up in the new apartment.

So at last they officially moved—simply walking to the new apartment, with their bodyguards and some of their staff, all together like a procession. It seemed to Cajeiri it ought to be sort of an occasion, and in fact when they reached the apartment and Father’s bodyguard opened the door, there stood a gathering of servants Cajeiri did not remember at all, all of them lined up to welcome them to what was now home for the first time since they had fought their way back to Shejidan and his father had taken the government back.

The door to the sitting room stood open, past the reception line of servants, and the servants brought them immediately inside, offering Mother and Father brandy and him his favorite fruit drink. There were very good little cakes for the occasion, so Cajeiri began to feel it really was a party. There were a lot of flowers, and everyone was smiling. Servants came and bowed to his parents, conversing for a moment, and then came and bowed to him, and introduced themselves, and said embarrassing things about having taken care of him when he was a baby.

Well, he was not a baby. He had left the Bujavid when he was a baby. He had lived with Uncle Tatiseigi mostly. He had gone to space with Great-grandmother, and when Great-grandmother had decided to go with nand’ Bren into the great void and go get the stranded humans, well, she had decided against sending him back to his father, and he had not wanted to go, either.

Which was a good thing. Because the rebels had shot up the apartment and killed a lot of the old staff, and then they had shot up the lodge at Taiben and his parents had had to run for it. If he had been a baby and slowing them down, probably none of them would be alive to get back here.

But they were. And the servant staff, some of them, were old servants, and knew how things needed to be, his mother said.

He did not remember any of them, try as he might. And he did try. The cakes were especially good, and there were plenty of refills of punch. The only immediate bad thing was that the whole place smelled of paint and new varnish under the flower smells, and that was going to be unpleasant to live with, but it was just the repairs.

He had gotten a look at the place while they were painting it, and it looked bigger with furniture and carpets. It was bright and new. But it was white. It had white walls and nearly white tile in the foyer, and a lot of white furniture in the sitting room made it worse, in his opinion. He would have preferred dark wood like mani’s apartment. But no one had asked him. He just hoped his furniture had not been painted white.

After the cakes came a tour through the heart of the apartment, Father’s office, which was very fine, a little darker walls, with polished wood, and beautiful old carpet and porcelains on pedestals…it was not as nice or as cozy as Great-grandmother’s office, in Cajeiri’s opinion. But it was fancy, and he liked it. There was the library, also comfortably dark and full of books.

His mother’s room was white with pastel greens. And the nursery, which came first, had windows, three of them, and the room was brilliant yellow—the only color in the whole apartment, and the only windows.

The dining room had been white. The bath was white tile. Even the towels were white.

It was just—not fair that the baby was going to have all the windows.

But he was on best behavior. And he had to stand still and bow and say the white bath was beautiful, and he had to listen respectfully while the staff pointed out the phone, which was in a cabinet on which one could raise the lid, and the light switch, as if one were too stupid to find a light switch in the bath, and a button to call staff, which was, of course, beside the light switch…

Then Father said, unexpectedly, “You may go see your rooms, son, if you wish. One is certain that more interests you.”

“Yes!” he said and half-turned to go, and then decided it was politic to be quiet and far more grateful. “Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother. Nadiin-ji.” He bowed, including the staff, then collected his bodyguard, who, like all the rest of Father’s and Mother’s staff, had tagged after them and crowded into every room they were in, and escaped with them.

He took off into the inner hall that led to the other rooms—that was a new security trick, because you had to go through separate halls to get to Father’s hall and Mother’s hall, and yet another direction to get to his door. It was a security arrangement: there was a foyer past the foyer, and the first pick would get you Father’s security station, which was also—white.

He and his bodyguard went back up the hall to the first door on the left, just past the servants’ access door, and he pressed ahead and opened the door to his suite himself, he was so excited and hopeful.

The door opened directly into his sitting room, and the place smelled of paint and it was, yes, white.

But redeeming that fault, there were plants everywhere: dark green ones, and light green ones and leaves with pale borders, and blue borders and yellow borders, each with bright lights to support them.

And there was his table, and the chairs with the animals, all polished up like new. With the red tapestries.

Best of all, nearly hidden behind potted plants, and behind a gnarly tree trunk that was also, cleverly, several shelves for more plants—there stood the big brass cage, dusted off, still with a lot of corroded green, but clean, and intricate, and old. He went immediately to see it and make sure it was what he remembered.

And its door worked, and everything.

There were no windows in his rooms at all: that was the biggest fault with the whole place, so far as he was concerned. But everywhere, on the walls, on stands, in pots on the floor, sat potted plants. Even the air smelled better in here than out there, a lot better.

And when he went back further into the suite, down a little hallway with two rooms for his bodyguard, there was his little office, with the desk, and everything, and still more plants. His office had shelves, and the books he had packed were on them, two that he had borrowed from nand’ Bren, and his own books, his atlases…and his map, his precious huge map, that he had had hanging in his bedroom in mani’s apartment: his world map, with all the towns and cities and harbors and rivers and mountains, that he had studied until he could draw whole pieces of it, and they had kept all his pins, which marked places he wanted to think about and places he had been.

There was the west coast, where he had just been. And Malguri, far across the mountains, where mani was. He had a black pin at Malguri, for Great-grandmother. He had a white one at Najida, for nand’ Bren. He put another white one halfway between the west coast and Shejidan. That was nand’ Bren’s plane, coming here to Shejidan, to get his apartment back, which would be just the other side of his father’s office wall.

The kabiu master had made his map the center of the wall, easily in reach, and there were tall plants on either side, but not in front of it, because it was not an ordinary hanging. The master had understood. His office was right. It felt right.

And across the little foyer from that, his bedroom was full of plants, each with its light, and there were the red and blue hangings he had picked out, and the wonderful carved bed with the snarling beast-head, and the bureau that matched it. The bed had figured red pillows and a red tapestry bedspread with green leaves winding over it, and a picture of mountains in the middle of it. There was the red and green carpet, all fresh and clean, and another red and gray hanging he did not remember ordering, but it was all of leaves, and the drapes all along the short wall, as if there were windows, even if he had none, with plants at either corner—those were red, wonderful red, so one could drink down the color and be happy.

It was the most splendid place. It was his. He had as many plants as he could possibly want, all different kinds, and the cage, and the dark animal furniture that was warm and old and just the sort of thing he liked. He threw himself on the bed and bounced, and sat up and looked at his aishid, who had come from admiring their rooms to admire his.

“Mani would like it,” he said, and his aishid agreed with him. “She would,” Antaro said.

And that the kabiu master who had arranged everything would have understood exactly what he wanted and made everything feel right, right down to the plants and the cage and all of it—that felt good, as if the man had understood how he saw things and respected him. That was what kabiu masters did. Mother’s and Father’s rooms would fit them, and the white sitting room had to impress important people and make them sit still and be solemn, but this was a place for him to be comfortable and at home, and for him to think about things, and for him to imagine things, with the mythical beasts and the real ones and the ones from the human archive all mixed up. In real life, he enjoyed open places, with animals running around. He had enjoyed the ship, too, which was all bare and plastics, with, here and there, plants growing wall to wall, to help the air—and the most marvelous tunnels to get into, dark, cold, secret places.

And this place had a little of all of it. And, as on the ship, the lights would keep the plants growing, and, well, the servants would water them…

The servants.

That was a problem.

He went sober all of a sudden, in that thought. He had plans. He had secrets about his map and his books. He had things in his baggage that mani would understand, but some people would not.

His mother would not, in particular. He could not imagine that she would.

He could ask her if he could have a servant. But then she would ask why.

“Is something the matter, nandi?” Veijico asked.

He had his little office. He had a sitting room all his own, the same as at Najida. He was so proud of it. But it was not his, while he had no staff to keep it. And he could not ask his bodyguard to do household things.

He only wished—

He thought, I will have to account for everything.

And he thought about the cage.

And all those plants that had to be taken care of, because the Bujavid had no such systems as the starship had, to keep them healthy.

“Nandi?” Antaro asked.

Best if there were young servants, at least as young as his bodyguard was.

But there were no young people on staff. There were never any young people. There had not been that many even in Najida. Though he had seen one or two on staff—they had never met. They would not presume to introduce themselves and he could never be so undignified as to run over and introduce himself—

Certainly not when he was with Great-grandmother, with all those people watching. He would have embarrassed the servants terribly.

It was just as hard to make bargains with anybody on staff. Except—

A plan began to come to him. He said, “Nadiin-ji, Eisi.”

“Eisi?” Jegari asked. Eisi and his cousin Lieidi were not the youngest servants. But he was one that had come from the eastern mountains, like Veijico and Lucasi. Most of the household staff was from Taiben, like Antaro and Jegari, and his father’s bodyguard, and the major domo, and their cook and kitchen staff; and the rest of the staff was from the north, his mother’s clan, Ajuri, and two young maids from Great-uncle’s clan, Atageini, which was his mother’s other clan. Eisi and Lieidi had come in from where Father and Mother had been hiding out during the coup, and they were very trusted, but they also were very minor on the new staff, where the Taibeni major domo ran everything.

Servants had politics, just the same as everybody. Pay attention to the servants, mani had told him. Pay attention. Servants are your first defense, before a matter gets to your bodyguards.

“Tell Eisi and Liedi I want to see them,” he said.

“Now, nandi?” Jegari asked.

“Now will do,” he said. “Or later. I want to arrange for the plants to be watered.”

That drew a curious look from his bodyguard, but not a word of question. They had gotten close, he and his bodyguard, after everything that had gone on in the west. They might have figured out exactly what he was thinking.

“Yes,” Lucasi said, and left his bedroom and was gone a while.

Cajeiri set to looking into all his drawers and finding out where things were. Antaro and Jegari and Veijico set to doing exactly the same thing in their own quarters. Cajeiri cleared the middle drawer of his bureau, moving underclothes to the next drawer down, and opened one of his boxes, and moved his collection of curious sticks and rocks and such, and a perfectly good but bent spoon, a plain teacup with a chip in, and various other things he had gotten here and there. A sparkly pin mani had given him. It could be emeralds. He was not sure. But he took special care of it, and kept it in a little box. He had a ring he had outgrown, from when he had been a baby, and he had a shirt button, which he had liked when he was much younger. It was only a shirt button, but it had a pretty design in the glass. He had half an agate, which looked like a view across a bay. He had a stone from Malguri’s front walk, which he had picked up to remember mani’s home in every detail. He had one from Taiben, and he had left Great-uncle’s Tirnamardi in too great haste to have one, but he had several from Najida, three of them for the slingshota he carried in his coat pocket—well, on less formal occasions.

He had arranged everything when he heard the outside door open, and he went back into the sitting room, with his bodyguard catching up to him at a fairly sedate pace. It was Lucasi, with Eisi, just Eisi.

“Nandi.” Eisi bowed. “One understands you wish to see us. Lieidi is with Cook at the moment, but Lucasi-nadi said I should just come.”

“One is gratified,” Cajeiri murmured with a little answering nod. “Eisi-nadi, I have a whole suite, and I have no staff. Would you be willing to take care of everything? One very much wishes you would be my staff, and nobody else, and I would arrange it with Siedi-nadi, so you would only have my rooms to take care of, as if you were my major domo, and Lieidi would be your assistant.”

Eisi was a smallish young man, not a particularly handsome one, and he had no particular household skills, neither he nor his cousin.

“One hardly knows what to say,” Eisi answered. “One would be—one would be very pleased if Sieidi-nadi allowed it. If your father the aiji approved.”

“One hardly thinks there would be any trouble,” he said, “and I shall ask Siedi-nadi myself, if you will just do it. There are a lot of plants to take care of.”

“One understands a garden!” Eisi said. “One would be extremely attentive to it! So would my cousin!”

“Then you both shall be my staff,” he said—he was very well aware it was a responsibility and that if he took them, he would have to take care of them forever, and they might not be the best or know everything they should. But he felt comfortable with them, more than with any of the staff, precisely because they did not have the fine manners and the high expectations of everybody else. He really, truly meant to do the very best for them and to expect man’chi, once he won it from them. They were country folk. Like nand’ Bren’s staff. And he was determined, now.

Sieidi-nadi, Father’s major domo, was out conducting the tour and supervising staff. So he said, “Wait here, nadi,” and he took Lucasi with him and went out and located the majordomo; the tour being over, Sieidi-nadi was supervising staff assisting in the kitchen and was very busy.

He called Sieidi-nadi over to a relatively quiet corner, with Lucasi standing by, and said, with a little bow:

“Nadi, I have so many plants, I need a staff.” He saw Sieidi’s look, just a little distracted, a very busy man presented just one more complicated thing to do. “And I have found staff who know what to do,” Cajeiri said quickly, “and they have agreed. Eisi and Lieidi were gardeners. They want to do this. I have asked them to be my staff. I would like them to be official, and to be the only ones to take care of my rooms, always, so no one will make a mistake. But one has to ask you, nadi, and one hopes you will say yes.”

“Of course,” Sieidi said. “Of course. An excellent opportunity for them, young gentleman, but they are country folk, knowing nothing of protocols.”

“But I am only a child,” he said, “and we shall all learn together! I am very glad, nadi, if you will do this!”

“Nandi,” Sieidi-nadi said, and bowed. “I shall make that assignment.”

“Thank you,” he said, “thank you, Sieidi-nadi!”

He went back to his rooms. His rooms. And his staff.

“Eisi-nadi,” he said triumphantly, “I have the major domo’s approval! You and Lieidi-nadi both are assigned to me, and you are to be the only staff, and you will keep the plants and do just a little tidying-up—we are really very neat, my aishid and I! My Great-grandmother would hit me if I left clothes about. You will just deliver laundry to the staff and hang my clothes and help me and my aishid dress and that sort of thing—I will explain when I need things. But when I ring, you are the ones to come, and nobody else! Ever!”

“Yes, nandi!” Eisi’s eyes were wide. He looked very happy. Very, very happy.

Cajeiri found himself happy, too, and feeling safe in a way he had not been even in mani’s apartment, because mani’s servants were always snooping, and if not mani’s, his mother’s.

Now he had a place to be that was his, and whatever he wanted, two grown people would try to do, and he had his aishid, and he had his plants, and his furniture, and for only infelicitous eight going on felicitous nine, things were looking up.

And while Eisi was in the back rooms getting more particular instruction from his bodyguard and things about their belongings and about security in the place, he happily looked over the brass cage, and worked its doors, and slid the window of it up and down, just because they worked, and they were clever, how they were made. It made him happier still to imagine a parid’ja living in it—because that was one reason he had wanted just his own servants tending the room.

It was all just splendid. The huge brass vase, its surface cut with sparkling lines, was in the other corner.

And on the message table, the kabiu master had added a set of stones, three in number. Three was a felicitous number, and he was sure this particular type of stone, inky black, meant something special, and somebody would tell him that sooner or later.

He had no bath: he would share the household bath with his parents.

And there was no dining room, nor breakfast nook. But his own servants—that was excellent!

He thought now that he could be happy here. People had been killed in this apartment, in the coup, and died right in the front hallway. Murini the traitor had lived here after killing Father’s servants and guards. But all that unhappy history was washed away and repainted, and now there were growing plants. Living things. Space was wide and black and colder than anybody could imagine.

But plants made a room alive. And this one was.

If he could not live with Great-grandmother or have his own apartment all to himself, this was not too bad.

The baby, when he was born, would have windows.

Damn, he thought. He would have been perfectly, perfectly happy with what he had, until he knew the new baby had windows.

Had he? He tried to remember when he was a baby, and if that room was where he had used to live, but the first thing he could really remember in his whole life was the old sitting room, just in bits and pieces. And since the rebuilding, it was as if somebody had taken his memory and shaken it into pieces, where it regarded this place.

He could remember Great-uncle Tatiseigi’s place. And the porcelain lilies in the front hall, from long ago, before they been shot up and they had had to replace them.

He could remember a dark, deep place with a lot of real flowers. And spooky noise and echoes from far underground. He thought it was a funeral he remembered. But he could never remember where that was, except going down high, stone steps underground, and that he had been with his father, and ultimately closed in by the shadows over very many people.

But he never could remember where that place was.

Mostly, in his very earliest memories, more vivid than the lilies, he could remember Great-uncle’s place and being told to stay away from the mechieta pen.

Oh, they had been so tall and wonderful, the mecheiti.

He remembered being hauled off a mechieta, and it had been standing in bushes, which he now knew were Great-uncle’s driveway hedge, and the mechieta had gone right across the wet pavement and left tracks, so they had had to pull up all the concrete and start over. No one ever let him forget that one.

He was happy to remember the space station. And the starship, oh, he remembered that so clearly sometimes it hurt, and he waked up at night thinking he was there.

He remembered faces of his associates who lived there. Sounds. Voices. Those were fading. He had used to be able to remember them so clearly. Now they were hard to recall at all. And the thought struck him that the faces and the voices would be different now. They would be a little older. As he was.

He did not want to be mad at anyone or anything. Not today.

He had his cage.

And his plants.

And he had his aishid with him. He would always have them, so long as they all lived.

He had just taken a staff. He could manage who came and went with his things.

And he had allies. Was that not what nand’ Bren and Great-grandmother and Lord Geigi had been doing out at Najida, after all? They had been collecting allies, and associating them into organizations that were going to be powerful.

And they had been very careful to include him in the meetings, as Father never did, because they planned for him to matter a great deal, not just eventually, but right now. He was not just a baby. He was important.

He had nand’ Bren, and Great-grandmother, and Lord Geigi, for a start. The new baby might try to get to Great-grandmother and become her favorite, but he was there first.

The new baby would have to try hard for nand’ Bren and Lord Geigi: they were solidly his.

He had Great-uncle Tatiseigi, and he knew more how to keep Uncle happy than any baby would arrive knowing, and that was not easy to figure out.

And not to forget Dur. The baby would never have met Dur or seen that yellow plane when it arrived out of the skies in the midst of a very bad situation.

And there was Taiben and the deep forest, who were his—not just because his father was so closely related and associated there, but because two of his aishid were Taibeni and had important parents, close to the lord of Taiben, almost cousins.

And the other two of his aishid were from the mountains, which he had yet to visit, but he would, someday; so there was that, too. Lucasi and Veijico had to have relatives who would be in favor of him.

His associations reached north and south and east and west, to the height and width of the aishidi’tat, and that was not so small a thing, was it?

He drew a deep, deep breath and went back to the map in his office. He pulled out all the pushpins that represented where he had already been.

Now he put them in for where he had allies.

He put a black pin in Dur, up in the northern Isles, and a second one for the Gan people who lived next to them—he had met the Grandmother of the Gan at Najida, when she had been visiting the Edi, and she had been very interested in him.

He put a black pin in the mountains where Lucasi and Veijico came from; another in Port Jackson, clear across the strait on Mospheira, for nand’ Toby and Barb-daja.

He put a black pin in Najida estate, which was Lord Bren and all his staff. He put one in Najida village, where he had met the Grandmother of the Edi and all her people, and was sure they favored him.

He put a pin at Kajiminda for Lord Geigi, who was especially nice to him, and another near Kajiminda, where the Edi were building a new estate, which had to be counted in the future.

And another black pin at Taiben, to the north of Shejidan, for Antaro and Jegari’s relatives and his father’s relatives, too. Taiben was as sure as it was possible to be.

Then there were his other relatives: a reluctant black pin in Ajuri territory, northwest of Taiben, where his mother’s father was lord. One very certain pin way across the continental divide, in Malguri, which was Great-grandmother, and one just next to it, that was Lady Drien, who was Great-grandmother’s cousin and a close ally through Great-grandmother. She was old, and old-fashioned, but she was influential.

One important one went just north of Shejidan, in Atageini clan territory, and next to Taiben: that was Tirnamardi, for Great-uncle Tatiseigi of the Atageini clan.

There was no way to get a pin that represented the space station, but he set one in the margin, for five associates up in orbit—and for Lord Geigi.

That was thirteen pins, a felicitous number, but he decided to be honest and not to stop counting. He stuck another, number fourteen, in the margin. That was for Jase-aiji, up on the station; Jase-aiji was one of the ship-captains, and Jase-aiji would stand by him.

Fourteen, however, was infelicitous and full of omens of division. Fifteen was not much better, and sixteen was infelicity stacked on infelicity. Seventeen was the most stable felicity until nineteen, and he did not know how to reach it unless he counted some pairs separately, and that had infelicities in itself.

Doggedly then, and with confidence in Lord Bren, he stuck a second pin right in the left coast of the Marid for Lord Machigi. He had never met Lord Machigi, but he would meet him, he was certain; when he did, he would get Lord Machigi on his side somehow.

Well, that bettered the count, but he desperately needed two more pins. Two more to felicity and stability, and he did not know where to get them.

Two more, and the numbers might make him safe from the impending baby. And he could not think where to get them, in the heavens or on earth.

Right now the numbers were unstable: fourteen was fortunate sevens, multiplied and divisible by two: the omen was bad, especially counting the second offspring due in the house.

But his relationships covered all the continent and extended onto Mospheira and clear up to the space station, including humans and two tribes and six clans. The new baby was going to have Ajuri and Taiben and Atageini by birth, but the rest were not so easy to get.

He might get the Atageini even more to his side if he was particularly nice to Uncle Tatiseigi. A younger brother was bound to make mistakes that would make Uncle mad. He had begun badly with Uncle, but he was sure he looked better to Uncle Tatiseigi right now than any runny-nosed baby would look for years and years. Uncle was not that fond of babies.

And he could put adult manners on whenever he wanted to. He had had Great-grandmother for a teacher. He knew how to impress anybody he wanted to impress.

He put in white pins for the baby’s sure interests. Taiben, for Father; Ajuri for Mother; Tirnamardi for Uncle; and a white one in Malguri, too, he supposed, which made an infelicity of four…and then he thought: the baby will not have grown up being taught by Great-grandmother. So she will always prefer me. If she ever has to choose, she will prefer me.

There is his first infelicity. I am first, I was on the ship with mani, she thumped me on the ear—a lot—and Mother and Father will never let her teach him in anything like that way.

There were many, many more black pins than white. Both counts ended on infelicity—but the baby’s far more so.

Could the baby possibly get a five, for nand’ Bren? That was a worry. Nand’ Bren was softhearted toward everybody. But nand’ Bren would not prefer the baby: nand’ Bren did not turn away from his associates. That meant no fifth pin. He was first. The baby would be born with only four.

He was much, much happier with that thought.

And he had no fear anyone was going to come in here and read the calculations of his map. It was not that evident what it represented, that was one thing, and he had just secured his rooms, with the loyalty of two servants whose future—it was not stupid to think—lay most securely with him, even if he was only infelicitous eight.

He was so soon to be nine, probably before his sib was born; he absolutely refused to share his birthday.

The plane touched down and rolled to a stop in the dark, the blue field lights obscuring any view of Shejidan. They were almost home. For luggage, there were only the carry-bags for classified Guild equipment, a little extra luggage of Bren’s, and the two fair-sized crates Machigi had sent. Airport security staff and workers under their supervision moved up carts to manage the crates and get them into the waiting van. Jago carried Bren’s bag as well as her own, and they all descended from the plane and boarded the van with the efficiency and speed of a routine arrangement.

It was a fast trip across the field, over to the open-air airport train station, then into a small enclosed platform where a Special waited—only one passenger car was attached, this trip, and plus the baggage car, and Guild security held both ready for their boarding.

The crates had to be loaded to baggage; Algini stayed to supervise that, while the rest of them climbed aboard the passenger car—Tabini-aiji’s own car, with dark red velvet curtains making the inside much nicer than the all but windowless outside. It was the same bench seat at the rear that Bren always took, and it was like any return from Mospheira. Any visit to Malguri. Any visit to Taiben—going back for years and years of service to Tabini-aiji.

At the start of it, he’d flown where they could find room for him and hung about reading and doing work in a cubbyhole, waiting for some train from the Bujavid hill to pick up groceries and afford the paidhi-aiji a seat somewhere.

Bren let go a slow sigh, as, without even asking, Jago handed him a fruit drink from the well-stocked little fridge this luxury car afforded. It was innocent of alcohol—a good call. God, he was tired. Physically tired, but not so much as mentally tired.

And he was finally past the point of needing his wits about him. That was a relief. His wits had had all the exercise they could stand.

He felt he was already home as the train began to move. He knew every turn in the track from here on, and he saw relaxation slowly set into his bodyguard as well, everything became as predictable and as safe as it ever could be.

Not to depend on, however. The news was probably leaking out about the Marid contact. That would racket through the rumor mill. It would touch off crazy people. And animate sane ones who had opposing interests.

The bullet-shield curtains were drawn on the one window that actually was a window; they almost always were drawn. If they hadn’t been, at about this turn, one could have seen the Bujavid on its hilltop, rising up and taking with it some of the mazy tiled roofs of the city. At the bottom, one would see one little spark of outrageous neon at the limit of the classic Old City neighborhoods—and he’d just as soon not see it. He’d been wanting to get that neon display in the hotel district outlawed for years, but he’d never quite found it worth the fight with the very party that generally supported him—the innovators, those who favored human tech and humans, and happened to think neon light was a great tourist attraction.

Another familiar turn about the hill and the train diverted onto the track that only a few trains, and mostly this engine, ever took, the line which led into the tunnel of the Bujavid hill itself.

Still more turns—he was down to the bottom of the fruit juice now. One could tell by the sound and by the reduction in speed, exactly where they were, every detail of the system as they slowly climbed toward the Bujavid train station.

Algini and Banichi silently got up and went back to the hand baggage. Tano, one arm still somewhat impaired, made a move in that direction, pure habit; but Jago got up, put a hand on Tano’s good shoulder, and went back in his stead to help Algini and Banichi. Tano settled again, looking annoyed.

“How is it, Tano-ji,” Bren asked him, “after the flight? Was the pressure change a problem?”

The frown persisted. “Nothing of consequence, Bren-ji.”

“Hurts, then.”

“Not much,” Tano said, moving the shoulder. “It needs exercise.”

“Prescribed exercise,” Bren said staunchly. “And sleeping in your own bed tonight, Tano-ji.”

“Indeed,” Tano said more cheerfully. “And you in yours, Bren-ji. Well-deserved, in your instance.”

The train slowed and slowed further, coming to a halt at a platform Bren could see in his mind. They stopped. The door of the car opened.

Bren took his case in hand and got up. Tano did. They walked back to the door as Banichi opened it, and, behind Algini and Jago and Banichi handling the baggage, Bren stepped down to the platform—a fair hop for a tired human. Just as automatically, Tano reached out his good hand and steadied him in his landing beside the baggage.

“To the lift,” Banichi said, indicating he should not wait about. It was an area crowded with idle carts, offering only freight lifts, not the ordinary passenger siding. Freight had come in recently on another train; crates of seasonal vegetables, probably eggs, and sacks of flour sat on the other side of the platform, at the other freight dock. Their own engine would be in motion again once it had given up its last baggage, moving to stand ready, though reversed on the track, for Tabini’s own occasional use. There was no other inbound traffic at the moment, just a stack of personal crates on the passenger platform indicating that someone else had arrived in the residencies, bringing furniture with them, by the size of the crates—not an uncommon event with the legislature about to go into session.

They left Algini and Tano to arrange things with the crates. Banichi and Jago took their own hand baggage, a light load for them, and they headed toward the quieter area of the platforms, where the lift shafts made a vast pillar, the spine of the hill, going up and up from here. There were the lifts, a bank of them, along with the pipes and conduits, the veins and arteries that carried everything that came from or went into the Bujavid.

There were not many passenger lifts, and none these days went above the main floor or the offices. Banichi and Jago held the door of the one waiting—no lift was going to budge with Banichi in the doorway—and Bren walked in.

Banichi got in. The doors shut. The car went up and up, a considerable rise to the floor of offices above the legislative halls. There, observed and recognized by the guards on duty, they took themselves and their baggage across to another lift and rode up to the third residential level.

The doors opened quietly and let them out into an elegant hallway of antique carpet runners, porcelains on pedestals, crystal chandeliers, and a sparse choice of individual doors on either hand…among which, to the right, was, finally, his own apartment, a direction he hadn’t taken all year, not since he’d come back from space.

Home. No more Farai clan holding the place hostage. And no more making do as a resident with someone else’s staff—well, there would be a little making-do, for a few days yet, since they hadn’t a master cook, hadn’t all the furniture back, and hadn’t full staffing yet. But that was coming.

And Najida staff was waiting for him, some of whom, including his valets, Supani and Koharu, had a permanent appointment. For the rest, which he very much looked forward to, the very next shuttle flight would bring staff from the apartment on the station—people sorely missed, some who’d flown to deep space with him; and who hadn’t found it possible to get a flight down to meet their own kin on their return, nor for the whole year since.

Oh, one could so gratefully do with a little dull tranquility and normalcy…at least as much as one could find in an apartment right next door to Tabini’s, and not that far from Lord Tatiseigi and the aiji-dowager, not to mention just upstairs from the legislature, the aiji’s audience hall, the committee offices—

And not to mention, upstairs from his own clerical office, which had reconstituted itself in the last year and was again swamped with correspondence.

Plus he’d have the news services to deal with by tomorrow—but the news people couldn’t get access to the Bujavid train station or the upstairs of the Bujavid.

Maybe he could manage a few days’ respite. Sleep. Sleep would be good. Sleep under his own roof, so to speak, and with no pressing emergency.

They carried their baggage to their own front door, and they had not even to knock. The ornate doors swung inward from the center, both leaves, and let him and his travel-weary bodyguard all in at once.

Staff waited in the foyer, people from whom they had parted only a few days ago—but all in new jobs and a new place, with smiling faces and happy enthusiasm.

“Nandi.” Supani, his major d’ pro tem, immediately helped him off with the traveling coat. Koharu took that garment from Supani and handed it on to Husaro, who whisked it out of sight for cleaning, to be ready if needed in the morning. And immediately there was a simpler, lighter coat for indoors.

Thus clad, he went doggedly through the company, naming names down to the very young chambermaid, meeting each, thanking them for coming. To the lot, then and especially to the girl, who was only fourteen, he said, “Do advantage yourself of the post whenever you wish, nadi. Send as many cards as you need. One understands several of you are for the first time in the city. So you all must take hours off and go take tours. Go as several together.”

“Nandi,” was the general murmur, bows, diffidence, delight. “Nandi, thank you.”

His bodyguard were due a rest of their own; Tano and Algini had yet to arrive with the baggage, but they would be here soon.

He was obliged to take a tour of his own apartment, which the staff had labored to render habitable, freighting furniture in across country from the Najida basement, finding linens, stocking the kitchens, installing his wardrobe and his personal items, his library…

These brave people had saved so much that was his from the predations of the Farai, and it would take hours to go through the library alone and find out which of his books had arrived. He had to inspect every room, admire it, assure one and the other anxious staffer that it was perfect. He was tired, but they had shepherded his belongings back, in some cases having risked their lives stealing it away before the Farai had moved in two years back.

So, yes, he did admire it and all their ingenuity. First of all was what was new: a guest room the apartment had never had. It had appeared in the reorganization of Tabini’s apartment and the redefinition of the sitting room wall and foyer—due, they all understood, to the elimination of a servant passage which had been declared a security hazard to Tabini’s apartment. Tabini had gotten a storeroom out of the transaction, but the paidhi now had guest quarters—small but elegant, with furnishings his staff had picked out, tasteful and classic and very fine.

In the Bujavid, where space was at a premium, it was a miracle, an incredibly generous gift, especially considering the donor, and his staff was absolutely delighted and proud. They hoped the furnishings they had chosen did it justice.

He pronounced it very fine, very fit, and they were happy with that. He went on, finding some things back in their proper places. There might be a new couch in the sitting room, but they had gotten the tapestries away and a room-sized carpet, of all things—the ingenuity and courage involved was memorable. They had saved his modest china, but they had ordered in a new dining set. They had insisted on replacing the pots and pans and all the food, saying that they would trust no utensil or store that the Farai had used and left.

His office desk had a broken lock, but that had been repaired. His shelves were again full of his books and a few mementos he recognized from Najida.

There was the security station, part of the suite Banichi and Jago had already occupied—they were in communication with Tano and Algini, who had just returned to the Guild office some of the armament they had brought back, not quite appropriate for defense in the Bujavid.

And above all, there was that wonderful bath, just as he had left it. At the moment he wouldn’t care if there were Farai currently sitting in that great tub. He had to have his bath, to clear the way for his aishid to use it, and he said finally, with the tour now reduced only to Supani and Koharu, “Nadiin-ji. I am absolutely exhausted.”

“One anticipated so, nandi,” Supani said. “Cook has arranged a light supper for you and your aishid, when they wish.”

A light supper for a late arrival. It was his standing instruction at Najida, and it was perfect for tonight. This staff knew him. This staff understood him. Everything happened by magic. His world was in perfect order: he had a bath waiting, and they would, once Tano and Algini were in, shut the doors definitively and be one household, safe and secure, beyond reach of anyone.

The bulletproof vest fastened under the arm. He shed that overheated confinement with an immense relief. Supani and Koharu reverted to their true and proper jobs, being his valets; Koharu took the vest away to be cleaned, and within a little time he was neck-deep in steaming water and very, very content with the world.

“Shall we leave you, nandi?” Supani asked. “Or would you prefer we stay?”

“Stay, stay,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

So Supani and Koharu sat by informally on the bath benches and chattered on about the staff’s adjustment to the apartment, about the pot and pan situation, and the fact that Pai—a lad from Najida kitchens, not quite a sous-chef, but ambitious and willing—had gone bravely down to the city and bought the essentials along with the groceries, independent of reliance on the Bujavid storehouses, to which they did not have an authorization, an action which it was hoped would be approved.

“Excellent,” he murmured, eyes shut. “And furniture for the staff quarters, nadiin-ji—you are well provided for, one hopes.”

“We are all perfectly content, nandi,” Koharu said. “We are a little short of beds as yet.”

Eyes open. He sat up in the bath. “Oh, this will not do, Haru-ji!”

“Beds are coming, beds are coming, nandi. By the time the staff from the space station arrive, everything will be kabiu and orderly in our quarters. We have only two people as yet unprovided for.”

He sank back again, up to his chin. “One hopes, nadiin-ji. I cannot accept that my staff is sleeping on the floor.”

“We are quite comfortable, nandi, for the time being. Two have doubled up. We have most excellent facilities—those were renovated, too. We have never lived in such modern surroundings.”

“You are content with that.”

“We are very content. We have every convenience.”

They were from a fishing village. A place of great tradition. His apartment was scant of history, but it had some things in which they could take great pride.

And he would have to get a list of what was still needed. For two, going on almost three years now, he had been away, either on the station, the ship, or living a hall away, on Lord Tatiseigi’s charity.

Now he was back in a place utterly dedicated to keeping the paidhi-aiji functioning and doing his job. He had anything he wanted. More money than he could possibly spend, even considering he was renovating Najida, and bringing improvements to Najida village, and assisting with the Edi’s new manor house.

And it was an extraordinary staff, who had left their kinfolk in Najida to come to a city where they knew absolutely no one, only to keep the lord of Najida in comfort. He owed them. He owed them the best he could possibly provide. They, in a different way than his bodyguard, kept him safe and functioning.

“You should each have whatever you wish,” he said. “Just let me know what you need, and I shall sign for it with the Bujavid storage.” He slipped beneath the surface, where all was quiet except the circulating pump, and resurfaced for air, in good humor.

“We truly need very little, nandi.”

“Beds, Haru-ji!”

“It is by no means so grim as that, nandi,” Supani protested, laughing. “Bujavid staff has been very helpful to us. So, one should mention, has your office, which has written orders to have the water and electrics, the proper certificates for maintenance, all these things in order. We have moved very fast, thanks to them, from a complete shutdown of services.”

“Indeed.” His office staff downstairs. His wonderful clerical staff. Another set of heroes of the bad years, and of his time in Tatiseigi’s apartment, and on the coast. The clerks had saved records and handled what they knew how to handle, at times in secret, very dire messages, while in hiding and in fear for their lives—so far as they could, they kept the network connected that had helped bring Tabini back to power.

“All the same, I shall sign any order for staff comfort that crosses my desk, and I place you two in charge of the matter. I hold you responsible for tour groups to visit the city.”

They laughed gently. He ducked back under the perfect water and enjoyed the sensation of the currents.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect homecoming. What more could he possibly ask?

It was a quiet supper of toasted sandwiches he and Jago shared in bathrobes, not in the dining room but in the foresection that was the breakfast room. Tano and Algini and Banichi were in the bath at the moment. It was the men’s shift, Jago having had the tub after him.

And after that delightful supper, which put Jago into a laughing mood, they were bound for bed—until Supani came in to report that the two crates had arrived.

Jago insisted on checking those personally, to be sure they were indeed their crates and, as Jago cheerfully put it, to be certain the porcelains from the Marid were indeed porcelains and nothing but porcelains. They had scanned the crates and found no metal, but she wanted to be sure.

“Do not send the packing away, Jago-ji,” Bren told her. “Tell me when you have them unpacked. We shall be sending them on.”

And Supani reported, too, since they had come to the foyer, that a message from Tabini had arrived during supper, which did need looking at.

It was, perhaps, a mistake not to ask for that message only. One should never, ever check the general mail just before bed. It only led to things one did not wish to know and questions that would keep one from honest sleep.

But curiosity began to niggle away. “Bring all the messages,” he said with a sigh, while Jago and two of the servants were unpacking the porcelains, he sat at his desk in his office and continued to sip his tea until Supani came back with the message bowl.

The bowl was, not unexpectedly, full.

The note from Tabini, unrolled from a red and black message cylinder, began with a courtesy, felicitations on his recovery of the apartment, wishes that he might enjoy the added space, and an order to meet with him next door at the first business hour of the morning. That was not an unexpected summons, either.

The rest—he sorted. He laid aside the messages arriving in other familiar cylinders, some official, from committees, some not—various people who would, one expected, simply be offering courteous, routine felicitations on his safe return. There were a few cylinders from various ministries and committees; those would be all official business, and that lot went back into the basket. Transport and Trade were in that number. They would be requesting meetings at the earliest—he didn’t need to open them to know that. In fact, he had already provided information to those offices regarding the Marid situation, and he needed to meet with them, first on the list of committees. But not tomorrow.

One cylinder bore his own white band. That, he opened. It was from his own clerical office, beginning with, We rejoice, nand’ paidhi, at your safe return, and ending with, There are a few situations in which we may require instruction, and we look forward to receiving your personal direction.

One could bet they looked forward to being inside the information loop instead of putting out fires. They’d been putting out those small fires ever since his unscheduled vacation on the coast had started, he was sure, since that was what they did very effectively—but they were surely weary of delivering the same boilerplate promise to all comers as the crises began to mount: The paidhi will attend to this matter when he returns.

They were the office, ordinarily, that prevented him having a message-bowl completely spilling over with messages from ordinary citizens, as mundane and heart-warming as schoolchildren requesting factual answers for their homework, the occasional bewildered individual concerned about holes the shuttles were said to make in the atmosphere, or some citizen warning him of some dire prediction to flow from a committee meeting, a portent their grandmother had found in adding the birthdates of all members likely to attend.

But he could bet, too, that some of the messages that gallant crew had been fending off in the last week were a good deal hotter than the routine. Bullets did not fly and former enemies did not change sides without agitating certain people in positions of power.

And, an item Supani and Koharu would not yet think of arranging and that Narani would certainly not have forgotten, were Narani here yet: he had to talk to Daisibi, head of his clerical office, and be absolutely sure that every committee meeting he was scheduled to attend had an appropriately felicitous flower arrangement at all times. He also had to engage Bujavid security to be sure that no political agent adjusted a display of flowers in any infelicitous fashion. He was back in the land of innuendo, and he had not dealt with that aspect of things in a while, having had Tatiseigi’s very capable majordomo micromanaging his affairs—until now.

Now he needed all the help he could get. He could not expect Supani to understand the ins and outs of political trickery, and he just should not set up appointments on the fly, not until Narani, who was old and canny in these matters, got down from the station to take over.

God, but he surely didn’t want to go down that mental track of detail and detail right before bed.

Talk to his office manager. That was the necessity. Be sure every prospective appointment went through that worthy gentleman, Daisibi.

And quit trying to manage the details himself.

One plain little cylinder remained in the bottom of the bowl, a copper one, topped with a bit of amber and a little fatter than currently stylish…the sort of thing a businessman might use; it was odd that his office staff let such a thing through to reach him.

The letter inside it brought a smile. He knew that carefully rounded handwriting at first glance. And it was no business solicitation.

It was the aiji’s son.

Cajeiri of Ragi clan to the paidhi-aiji, the Lord of the Heavens, Lord Bren of Najida district.

Please may we share breakfast in the morning, nandi? It is a personal embarrassment that I have no kitchen or dining room to be able to offer, but one would be happy to see everyone at breakfast if you could please invite us. It is very boring already, and you will be too busy.

This letter had to be answered. He took paper and pen, lit the waxjack with a match. and wrote, briefly,

Lord Bren of Najida to Cajeiri-nandi.

It would be the greatest honor to see you at breakfast tomorrow at sunrise. Your bodyguard will also be welcomed to table.

Supani was, typically, not far from his summons. He rang a gentle little bell and delivered one of his silver cylinders, with his own wax seal, into Supani’s hand. “This invites young Cajeiri to breakfast at dawn,” he said. “Deliver it to the aiji’s staff. And do mention to that staff that I have indeed read the aiji’s note and shall be on time for a meeting, so I may be added to his appointments tomorrow.” It was more than likely that his bodyguard had already heard from Tabini’s bodyguard and had intended to tell him in the morning, maneuvering him toward that appointment by arranging his breakfast call at the appropriate time, but everybody was tired, and twice done was better than not done at all. “Tell Cook Cajeiri-nandi and I shall have breakfast in the dining room, with my entire bodyguard and Cajeiri’s, at table together.”

“Yes,” Supani said, and was off to help staff work the magic that always delivered a lord, even a very young one, appropriately dressed, at the appropriate hour, in the appropriate place, and got another very sleepy lord out of bed and dressed for the day, with a breakfast ready…

That was assuming that Tabini let the young rascal come, once the staffs got their information together and told Tabini. It was by no means certain that that initial message had traveled through Tabini’s staff at all on its way to his door and to his staff.

But he honestly hoped that the boy would be allowed to come. And it was a very good guess that the young gentleman would be as happy to see his bodyguard as to see him. If he seated all four of his own bodyguard at breakfast, then courtesy obliged him to extend the same invitation to Cajeiri’s young bodyguard—it would embarrass hell out of the youngsters, likely, whose rank in the Guild did not near approach that of his staff, but it was not as if they were strangers to each other.

Supani left. Jago came to the office doorway to report everything had arrived in good order, unbroken. And with that information, Bren took another of his own message cylinders and wrote a second letter, one he had intended to handle in the morning.

Bren paidi-aiji to nand’ Tatiseigi, Lord of the Atageini,

One rejoices to be back in the Bujavid again, this time in one’s own premises. One will never forget the kindness of your excellent staff and, most of all, the graciousness and generosity of the lord of the Atageini—in gratitude for which one extends a cordial invitation to an informal supper in my modest dining room tomorrow evening. One hopes you will accept such an offering, along with a gift in token of my profound esteem and gratitude for your hospitality.

The gratitude was real. So was the urgent need to talk to the old man before Tatiseigi wound himself up for a fight over the negotiations in the Marid.

He hadn’t personally seen the porcelains. He took the second message cylinder with him to the foyer and found the two massive porcelains set out carefully on the floor, in a scatter of straw and other packing.

My God, he thought at the sight of them. He’d thought the weight, which had made loading them on and off the plane a job for a lift, was mostly the wood and packing. But they were amazing, each of the two a complex weight a human would lift with caution—each a delicate and extraordinary spiral of sea-creatures that imitated the ones on the great pillars of Machigi’s hall, and executed with the hand painting and the glazes that had made Marid work important to collectors across the continent.

They were extravagantly expensive works of art, and there was little to choose between them.

If this gift didn’t mollify the old lord and set him a little off his balance, there was no dealing with the man. He was personally embarrassed that he was this beholden to Machigi.

But there it was.

He made his choice. “Set them both back into their crates,” he told the staff who had been cleaning them of dust. “And deliver the one nearest me tonight, in my name, to nand’ Tatiseigi’s apartment. Advise staff it is extremely fragile and irreplaceable. Then in the morning, after breakfast, deliver this letter.”

A crate, arriving late in the evening, when likely the old man was abed, would get staff attention, and at very least Lord Tatiseigi, a notorious early riser, would see the gift before the sun rose. Madam Saidin, Tatiseigi’s major d’, would see to its proper handling and safe situation, he was entirely confident.

And if he knew Tatiseigi, Tatiseigi the collector would have set his heart on permanently owning that porcelain several heartbeats before any other consideration of indebtedness for the gift occurred to him.

He ordered the recrated porcelain set at the door, dispatched staff to get a dolly, and laid the letter on the foyer table, trusting his orders would be very precisely carried out.

And he went back to his office and wrote a third letter, rubbing his eyes the while and trying to be extremely accurate in phrasing.

Bren paidhi-aiji, Lord of Najida, Lord of the Heavens, to Master Hadiro, Director of Exhibits and Curator of the Bujavid Museum, with respect and honor.

This object is offered for initial private exhibit in the lower hall. Please see that it is available for viewing and that the Merchants’ Guild is specifically invited to its first showing.

Then, tomorrow afternoon, please set it in the public exhibit hall as a gift from Machigi, Lord of the Taisigin Marid, to the people of the aishidi’tat.

One appreciates the extraordinary effort this will require on very short notice and hopes that the piece, on public appearance, will find easy felicity within your arrangements. The arrival of this piece from the Marid had no advance notice, but it has extreme political sensitivity and appears at the request of the paidhi-aiji, in the efforts of peace with the Marid, which should be the theme of this exhibit. One dares not use the seal of the aiji himself, but the paidhi-aiji believes that consultation with his office will assure your office of approval for this exhibit.

Note that the style imitates the famous set of pillars that grace the audience hall in the Residence of Tanaja. The original blues cannot be reproduced—the ancient process relied on a pigment lost when the Great Wave altered the north shore of the Southern Island, but a replica pigment has been used.

One will be greatly indebted for this service to the aiji, good master Hadiro, and one offers personal gratitude and felicitous wishes for your honored self.

Signed. Sealed. To be sent in the morning. With the second piece, to be brought to the specific attention of the kabiu master who saw to the exhibits, with the same caution of extreme fragility and value.

He was ready for bed…

God, no, he wasn’t.

His mind had jumped a track. It landed on the one major job he had to do, aside from all the committee meetings, all maneuvering for politics, and atop everything else.

He had started to get up from his desk. He settled and pulled out another sheet of paper, for an all-important note.

Bren-paidhi to Tabini-aiji, with all respects,

Aiji-ma, in prospect of your command to a meeting tomorrow at the earliest, I would be remiss not to send this tonight. This letter was given me by Lord Machigi in parting, with instructions to use it where I might see fit. I therefore send it to you first of all, as I propose to hand deliver another copy to the aiji-dowager on her return. It is sensitive. Its nature I respectfully and in some distress wish to discuss with you tomorrow at our meeting if you chance to have time to read it. There is another cylinder from the same source, directly addressed to the aiji-dowager, and that one I have not opened, as under private seal.

He opened his briefcase and extracted Machigi’s letter. He made a copy—his office was excellently provided with that capacity. He sealed the letter in his best message cylinder, attaching that cylinder with a wax-sealed cord across the seal of the envelope holding the copy. He rang the bell. Koharu came to the summons, and he gave Koharu his instructions.

And then and there the sheer nervous energy that had driven him through the last few weeks utterly ran out. He was done. His hand was shaking as he pinched out the live flame of the waxjack and got up, heading this time and definitively for his own bed.

His plans were launched. Petals and seeds were all cast to the wind, breakdown of the old relationships and his carefully gathered prospect for the new.

Whether there would come anything good of it…he had a moment of bleak doubt, even despair, thinking how radically things had already slipped out of place…the dowager gone off to Malguri and no chance to consult with her—which saved her reputation if anything should go wrong: no, unfair. It preserved her power to do something if something went wrong.

There had been a time when his first communication would have been with Shawn Tyers, on Mospheira; but Shawn wasn’t even in the game, now. Nor was Jase Graham, or any of the ship-captains who ran human affairs.

It was an atevi problem. And it went first of all to Tabini, who might or might not appreciate Machigi’s odd sense of humor.

But given Ilisidi’s departure and the responsibility laid on him, Tabini was where he had to start.

He went to his bedroom and worked his way to the middle of a bed in the heart of the most protected level of the most protected building on the continent, still wondering if he was going to survive the morrow, in the political sense.

He had at least found a warm and comfortable spot for his aching body when Jago showed up, undressed, and slid quietly into the space he had left for her in the dark—or what was total dark to human eyes.

They were longtime lovers, now, he and Jago. They had had far too little opportunity in recent weeks, and truth, given her own bed waiting, and all of them having stood long, long duty…

“One thought you might prefer your own quarters tonight,” he said to her. “You were so very tired, Jago-ji.”

She gave him a sidelong look he imagined, a familiar movement in the dark, a familiar and much-loved wry humor. “Here is my preference,” she said, and added, “unless you wish to have the bed all to yourself. One can arrange that.”

“By no means,” he said, reaching for her.

He didn’t last long. And in no time at all she fell asleep on his arm, which he could not manage to extract, but that was all right.

He slept, really, blissfully slept, for the first time in weeks, with Jago’s warm presence beside him, and for the first time in many days, not in a just-settled war zone.

6

There was breakfast. And, imminently, the matter of Cajeiri.

“One is not certain that the young gentleman will have advised his parents of his intentions, Haru-ji, or that he will be able to exit his parents’ apartment,” Bren said to Koharu, while dressing with the intent that Koharu should advise their very young and extremely earnest cook that their guest might not make it. “But it is likely he will. —Has any mail arrived this morning?”

“Not yet, nandi,” Koharu said, adjusting the fit of his coat. Koharu had hardly gotten that out when, some distance across the apartment, the front door opened, and Supani, on duty for visitors, was heard to say, “Welcome, young gentleman. May one show you to the dining room?”

Well, that answered the question whether Cajeiri had gotten out of Tabini’s apartment.

It didn’t answer whether he had done it entirely aboveboard.

So the breakfast appointment was at hand.

The meeting with Tabini was equally certain for midmorning.

And the response of Lord Tatiseigi to the gift and the supper invitation was still in question.

The old man was surely thinking about it by now—studying the porcelain from every angle, with, if one judged rightly, absolutely no doubt about its provenance—and with a great deal of curiosity about the circumstances that brought it to him.

Ilisidi wasn’t here to moderate the old gentleman’s temper. She might not be back in time for the legislature’s opening session. She had her own business in the East.

So the Tatiseigi business was all up to him, and he daren’t foul it up.

Diplomacy, diplomacy.

Jago slipped into the room, dressed for court, leathers smartly polished. “Bren-ji,” she said quietly, which meant his aishid was ready and waiting outside the bedroom. He went out with her, gathered up the rest of them and headed for the dining room, where Cajeiri and his bodyguard would already be seated.

Cajeiri and his aishid all stood up, of course, when he and his came in, and they all settled to a quick service of tea and an opening sweet roll—a very nice move on the part of their young cook, Bren thought: Cajeiri was fond of sweets at any meal.

“So how have you found the apartment, young gentleman?” Bren asked.

“I have a suite, nandi!” Cajeiri said brightly. “One was permitted to pick out furniture.”

“One is glad, young gentleman.”

“Has nand’ Toby reached Mospheira yet?”

“He sailed right on schedule, and one assumes so. We were a little worried about the weather, but he swore it would be no problem.”

“He and Barb-daja are very good sailors, nandi.”

“Far better than I am, young gentleman. I have every confidence in them.”

“Have you heard from mani yet?”

“Not yet, young gentleman. Your great-grandmother promised to be back as quickly as she can get the marriage contract signed and witnessed.”

“That poor woman who has to marry Baiji…”

“Exactly. Your great-grandmother can hardly rush things. The young lady is due a fine wedding, at very least, and relatives have to have time to get there.”

“How long does she have to put up with him? —Is that talking about business at table, nandi?”

Bren had to laugh, the question was so aside and so solemn; and he saw Banichi and the rest of his aishid smothering mild amusement, though Lucasi and Veijico looked a little embarrassed, and Antaro and Jegari looked worried.

“No,” he said gently and quickly, “no, young gentleman, we two are merely gossiping, since neither of us is involved directly in the politics of the wedding, nor proposes to be.”

“So how long will she have to live with him?”

“Until there is a child confirmed, young gentleman. Which verges on a topic you should doubtless address to your parents.”

“Oh, one knows all about that, nandi.”

Bren took a piece of sugared toast from the server. One did not ask the source of the young gentleman’s expertise, no. Some things were best not said at breakfast.

“Well, the contract will run only so long as need be,” Bren said. “The young lady in question is quite intelligent and very capable of seeing through all of Baiji’s lies and protestations. And the baby—assuming there will be a baby—will have man’chi to her and to Lord Geigi. But well before the baby has a name, Baiji will be living in retirement—a comfortable retirement, at least as the East understands comforts. He will have the society of his servants, whom your great-grandmother will install, and a bodyguard your great-grandmother will also install, and he will not visit the west again so long as he lives. So I do not believe we are likely to see Baiji again.”

“He is incredibly stupid,” Cajeiri said, taking three pickled eggs. “And if he is stupid again and offends Great-grandmother, he will be very sorry for it.”

“One dares say,” Bren said, and decided they had gone quite far as could be useful in discussing that scoundrel’s prospects. “But tell me about your new suite, young sir.”

“I have a bedroom and an office and a sitting room, and my bodyguard has their rooms,” Cajeiri said with a burst of enthusiasm, eggy knife suspended in fist. “And plants. I have a lot of plants!”

“Plants, young sir.” Potted plants were comparatively rare in atevi homes. Public places might have them. It was a particularly odd choice in a boy of eight.

“Like your cabin on the ship, nandi!”

“That bad?” he laughed. “For all I know the things are growing all over the station by now.”

“Your cabin had them everywhere,” Cajeiri recalled. “And I very much enjoyed them. They would move when the air blew. It was like being in a garden.” A deep breath. “I enjoy being outdoors. I detest being locked up all the time. When you do go back to Najida, nand’ Bren, please take me with you! I promise I shall be no trouble at all!”

“With your father’s permission, one would have no hesitation in having you as my guest again, young gentleman. But you must please him.”

A sigh and a frown. “Nobody can ever be that good, nandi!”

“Your father must be happy with you if he lets you pick out your own furniture.”

“Mother did. One hardly knows why.”

“One is certain your father had something to do with it.”

“My father gets me worse and worse tutors. Everything is boring. They mumble. Na, na, na. I detest it. You could teach me. You and Banichi, nandi!”

“I fear your father has us both quite busy for now, young sir.”

The next course arrived.

“But you promised to take me out on your boat, nandi. You promised, you promised, you promised! So you have to get me back to Najida, or you will have a promise you never kept!”

Cajeiri was sometimes eight. And at such times the paidhi was obliged not to be.

“Whenever your father approves such a visit, young gentleman, one will certainly keep that promise. But I fear,” Bren added, cold-bloodedly swerving the conversation off that reef, “that your father is already suspicious that my inexperience with young gentlemen does not offer adequate supervision. I fear I have only just escaped his extreme displeasure in the business at Najida, and one very much hopes you are indeed permitted to be here this morning.”

“We are here,” Cajeiri declared, heir to his father’s and his great-grandmother’s quickness of wit. “We are permitted to visit here! We do not detect any displeasure!”

That was only partly reassuring, though one was not so ungracious as to say so. “Yet I have felt responsible for the danger you were in,” Bren said, ladling up an egg, “and we assure you that, had I lost you, young gentleman, I could hardly have faced your father or your great-grandmother again. My life would have been over.”

“It would not!”

“Well, not by your father’s doing, but one doubts he would ever regard me kindly again.”

“But I am not reckless,” Cajeiri said. “I have improved!”

“That you have, young gentleman. You have improved greatly this year, in good sense, in maturity, and in perception of others’ motives. And now you are protected by your own aishid. So I should not be surprised if one day soon you do come to visit at Najida.”

Cajeiri had swallowed half an egg, clearing his mouth for a strong argument, and suddenly seemed a little perplexed to be agreed with.

“And I shall be extremely happy to welcome you when you do,” Bren added. Sad, sad, to feel a little triumph at getting the better of an eight-year-old in an argument, when he had yet to face the lords of the aishidi’tat on the floor of the legislature.

But he had, he hoped, made the point with the boy, that his credit with Tabini might well have suffered from recent events. He loved the kid, humanly speaking, that most reckless of emotions; but it was hard not to. And he constantly worried the lad’s precocity would someday land him in some misjudgment far exceeding the skill of his young bodyguard to protect him. One perceived a new danger: now that Cajeiri had at least half of a real Guild bodyguard, with the other half in training, that the boy might soon move beyond his usual pranks and bet far too heavily on their abilities.

It wasn’t fair to the scamp’s young bodyguard, either, who certainly had a great deal staked on his survival—their lives and reputations, for starters.

“I promise I shall talk to your father,” Bren said, “when the day comes that I can get back to Najida myself. They will build the new wing this year, once they are sure of the main roof. I had far rather be there at the moment, watching it.”

“I wish, I wish I could see the building! I could learn far more about building than any tutor could teach me!”

“Well, young gentleman, one is certain your tutor could think of problems of that nature, particularly in design, in architecture, in math, or in history. You could ask him your questions on the Najida repairs. And one would delight to provide you pictures of the work in progress. That might actually get an interesting answer.”

A flick of gold, perpetually curious eyes. “One might win favor of my tutor,” the imp said with a little grin. “And one wishes very much to see the pictures. Perhaps I shall ask him hard questions, nand’ Bren. Tell me a hard question to ask him!”

That was Cajeiri. He would be in the dictionary looking up the biggest words to use with such questions before the next tutoring session.

Which would do the rascal no harm at all.

“Ask him,” Bren said, “about the difficulties of extending a roof and a basement on an old building, and how one can be certain the foundation will hold the weight of a new story.”

“I shall, nandi!”

“Meanwhile,” Bren said, seeing the end of breakfast at hand, “you might enjoy touring the changes in this apartment. And perhaps you might see my library set up with books you have never seen.”

The rascal was delighted to have a tour of the apartment and particularly delighted to be able to borrow a book on, of all things, the history of Mount Adams. The lad had always had a penchant for geography, even of places as remote from him as the moon.

But Cajeiri had actually seen Mount Adams once. He was among a very few living atevi who could say that. One should never forget that point.

Clearly Cajeiri hadn’t.

And the book was in Mosphei’, which was very close to ship-speak. Cajeiri wasn’t letting that language go, either—for good or for ill. It was an uneasy matter with his parents, and particularly with his Ajuri grandfather. But worse, in Bren’s opinion, if one tried to cut him off from the language and pretend he had no such associations. This was a boy who met prohibitions with deviousness.

In that thought, one let him take the book. It wasn’t the same, at least, as the human television archive, which Tabini had outright, and probably wisely, forbidden him until he reached his majority.

So the boy left happy in his acquisition. Cajeiri was subversively teaching ship-speak to his aishid, one was relatively sure of it. The thought did occur to him that probably he should tell Tabini that what was likely going on.

But, then, if Ilisidi hadn’t mentioned it to Tabini, who was he to intervene?

It was a change of coats for the next meeting of the morning—and, thank God, so long as the meeting was on the upper floors of the Bujavid, his bodyguard let him out his front door without the bulletproof vest. Bren didn’t think Tabini would shoot him, granted that the young gentleman had actually had permission to come next door for breakfast.

But he hadn’t had a face-to-face meeting with Tabini, not since, on the dowager’s orders, he’d veered significantly off course from his loyalty to Tabini and gone to meet with a Marid lord on whom Tabini had already Filed Intent.

“Is there any whisper yet from Lord Tatiseigi’s staff?” he asked Koharu, as he was leaving his front door.

“No, nandi,” Koharu said, and Bren looked at his bodyguard with the same question on his mind.

“None, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “As yet there is still no message from that quarter.”

Worrisome. And puzzling. The old man couldn’t keep most secrets an hour. Neither, notoriously, and thanks to impossibly antiquated (but expensive!) systems at his estate, could his staff keep a secret.

And Bren’s own security, who were tapped into every electronic whisper in the Bujavid, wasn’t picking up anything from Tatiseigi?

He was sure now that the old man was more upset with him than he’d thought. And the ploy might crash, terribly. But he would have to patch that after he answered sharp questions from Tabini.

So with that niggling at his mind, he took his bodyguard and went into the hall and next door.

Tabini’s major domo let them in, and Cajeiri was not on the spot to meet him.

Significant? Possibly Cajeiri had retreated to his suite with his borrowed book and had no idea there were visitors at the front door.

Possibly he had gotten specific orders from his father to stay out of meetings. That would be a novelty.

Or—who knew?—perhaps Cajeiri sensed his father was annoyed with the Marid business and had decided on his own not to be in the target zone.

The major domo showed Bren straight into the sitting room, offered him a chair in a small formal grouping at the head of the room, farthest from the fire, and offered tea, which one was obliged to accept. Banichi and Jago took their stations by the door, inside; Tano and Algini would stand outside—that was the custom. In effect, Banichi and Jago would be privy to everything said between the lords in question, and Tano and Algini would be talking to the other half of Tabini’s bodyguard and getting up to speed on things lords didn’t routinely say to each other, getting any warnings they ought to know about…or delivering them. Algini was, in fact, actually senior to nine-tenths of Tabini’s staff and bodyguard, and had probably been in direct contact with the Assassins’ Guild’s central offices since they’d come in last night.

But the paidhi wasn’t supposed to know anything about that.

Tabini at least didn’t keep him waiting. The aiji came right into the sitting room from the private entry, dressed in far brighter colors than he had worn in recent meetings: a ruby-red coat and elaborate black lace sparked with rubies or garnets, elaborate court dress that made one glad to have at least changed coats for the occasion. Likely it reflected a meeting after his. There was no reason for Tabini-aiji to put on any show for him.

Bren stood up and bowed. Tabini bowed slightly, sat down and waved a dismissive hand at the whole situation.

“Sit, sit, paidhi. Nadiin-ji, tea, if you will.”

The servants hurried about it, pouring tea into very elegant cups, serving, and then removing themselves to the corners of the room to await an empty cup.

“And how did my son deport himself this morning?” Tabini asked, by way of the requisite small talk.

“Oh, excellently well, aiji-ma.”

“Does he bother you? A plain answer on that, if you please.”

“In no wise does he, aiji-ma. He is a delightful distraction and a welcome guest. One hopes, however, that he had permission.”

“He did.”

That was a relief. “One should have checked, aiji-ma. I was remiss last night, and realized that this morning, after he had arrived.”

“He has not made any outrageous requests of you.”

“None outrageous. He wishes to go to Najida and watch the construction, and he justly reminds me he has not yet had a fishing trip on my boat, which I long ago promised him.”

“My son,” Tabini said, and sighed. “You are the momentary center of his man’chi, one sees, and you surely sense this. He is obsessed with exploration. And one apologizes for the inconvenience.”

“By no means, aiji-ma. He is pleasant company, delightful company—and his perception of hazards is increasing.” A breath. “Let me say, however, now that everyone is safe, one does profoundly apologize for events on the peninsula.”

Tabini gave a wry frown. “He learns lessons in your care that his tutors could not teach him—that, in fact, we cannot teach him.” A leisurely sip of tea. “Court bores him, and boredom will turn him sour and warp him. I know this boy, paidhi-ji. I was such a boy.”

“If one can help him, aiji-ma, one is glad.”

“One would even add—and you should by no means report this to my grandmother—that I regard her teaching as invaluable. I would not have survived a year in office without the lessons she taught. I certainly would have not survived the latest attempt on my life.”

“One understands, aiji-ma.”

Second slow sip of tea. “You may well have wondered, in the course of recent years, why I sent my son to space, and why lately, having a chance to bring my son out of Najida, I left him in your care, at risk of his life and person.”

Bren took a sip of his own, thinking fast; whether it was a slow set-up, or Tabini in a reflective mood? “One is much too involved in this to have good perspective, aiji-ma. One hopes not to have been a bad influence on him.”

“He needs thoughts that challenge him. He is far too bright. And dangerous to the future of all we have built if misdirected. His tutors have never gained his respect. He defies them and plays cruel jokes on them, absolutely unconscionable disrespect, however amusing. He slips out unsupervised. Gods less fortunate, he has stolen away on a freight train. He has stolen a boat. One does not wish to encourage this sort of behavior, and mere lectures and punishment will not stop it. A dose of the real world seems a far better lesson, and none better to teach him behavior under fire than his great-grandmother. And none better to teach him the complexity of the world—and the contradictions within what looks right—than you, paidhi-aiji.”

That was a different way to look at his function. So he was the subversive influence. It was his assigned job in child management, in Tabini’s reckoning.

“His mother,” Tabini said, “was exceedingly put out with me for leaving him there. So were her relatives, you may understand. But what would he have done if I had brought him back to the Bujavid? He would be back at petty mischief, longing to make another escape right back to the middle of things. He would grow willful and bitter and less obedient. I think that leaving him where I did actually scared him, paidhi-ji, and very few things have done that.”

“He did learn, aiji-ma. And he gained the man’chi of the two guards you gave him.”

“Those two!” Tabini said.

“They acquitted themselves well, finally, aiji-ma.”

“That they did, after near disaster! But they have gotten his respect, more the wonder. He is listening to someone advising him to protect himself. That is an improvement.” Tabini gave a deep sigh and signaled for more tea, a period of quiet, while the servants poured.

Then Tabini said: “And our son has, given his powers of persuasion, made associations. The challenges my son will meet in his life will be fewer if his relationships are far-reaching and sound. Dur. The tribes. Lord Geigi of Maschi clan, director of atevi affairs on the space station all worth winning. His connections are enough to daunt his enemies.”

“One has observed that he has exerted himself to be well-regarded; and it is not childlike, his pursuit of such relationships. He is growing in adult intent, aiji-ma.”

“One credits you and his great-grandmother for this growth in good sense. And I especially count Cenedi and Banichi, whom he regards highly and whose advice he respects far more than mine. He quotes them daily.”

“Aiji-ma.”

“Oh, let us be frank, paidhi-ji. He believes Banichi knows everything, and Cenedi is close behind.” A sip, a little glance toward Banichi and Jago, who stood nonparticipant and statuelike against the wall. “One is less sure of the common sense of his newest bodyguards, but your bodyguard and my grandmother’s recommend them.”

“Their bravery in his service one never questioned. But their reading of a situation, aiji-ma, has markedly improved.”

“And their man’chi is, your bodyguard feels, to him. In the light of troubles within the Guild—of which you are far too aware, paidhi-ji—this is a matter of deep concern. You know about this. You know detail about this about which most of the lords of the aishidi’tat are ignorant.”

“I have been made aware of things,” he said. “Yes, aiji-ma.”

Tabini set his cup down, definitively. Small talk was done. “Certain lords, you are also aware, have never agreed with my selection of Taibeni clan for both domestic staff and my bodyguard. Some have protested most household assignments being given to one clan, my clan. But considering that even the bodyguard the Guild sent me on my return tried to kill me—I decided I prefer to know intimately the family connections of the men who stand at my back and serve my tea. Granted, the ones who betrayed this household were deep agents. But recent events have shown we still have problems.” Tabini frowned, hands steepled. “Paidi-ji, we—I—did not, believe me, have any warning of the situation you were going into on the Coast.”

“One would never have thought so, aiji-ma.”

“Hear me out, paidhi-ji, and understand me to the depth. I have read Machigi’s letter. And what I have to tell you may be worse than you think.”

“Aiji-ma.”

“We knew that there was Senji pressure on the Maschi lord at Targai. We also knew that young Baiji’s lordship in Kajiminda was irresponsible, and we suspected he might have mismanaged the estate and run up debt, which might ultimately necessitate our intervention. We frankly had chosen not to trouble Lord Geigi with that fact because we needed him where he has been—a fortunate situation, as happened. We now know, as you do, that the threads of misdeed ran to a far more serious situation than petty embezzlement; but at the time we were distracted by the malfeasance of the Maschi lord at Targai, whom we suspected of an agreement with the Marid—another situation we did not want to bring to light, because the last thing we wanted to do was to destabilize Maschi clan. We thought we would have to deal with him and that that might bring Lord Geigi’s nephew into line without us having to embarrass Lord Geigi and bring him down to the world. We certainly believed you were safe at Najida. In fact, in prospect of your visiting Baiji, and jar something useful out of the young man—that your close relationship with Lord Geigi might give him courage enough to start talking about Targai. We did know that he had lost the services of the Edi. We knew he was selling off items he had no right to sell. Our intelligence indicated that the Guild presence on his staff was new, and from Separti, since the bodyguard his mother had left him had died in the Troubles. We at no point in that sequence attributed those people to a Marid cell in Separti Township. This is all the information we had under this roof. We were being systematically fed bad information, in fact, and some things were not remotely suspected.”

“My domestic staff knew there was some degree of trouble at Kajiminda,” Bren said, “but did not pass those suspicions on to me, for fear of involving themselves in what they assumed I was there secretly to investigate. They indicated troubles, but I thought it involved overspending and Baiji’s failure to pay his debts, purely financial difficulties, which I could solve. It was a situation straight from the machimi.”

“And of course my wayward son turned up there amid it all,” Tabini said with a sigh. “But even so, there was no apprehension here of any danger from that quarter, and I was constantly assured the Guild had been keeping a close watch on the Marid for its own reasons, and that the Marid was bubbling with plots as usual, but all confined to the Northern Marid. My grandmother heard about my son’s little escapade and did not delay to argue with me or to be fully informed of the situation as we saw it—which was to the good, since we would have tried to assure her there was no reason for alarm. She simply turned her plane around and headed for Najida—and, a situation that I assure you, I do take for irony—I was most worried that she would agitate the Marid and disturb Guild investigations in the region. She, assuming that the briefing Cenedi had gotten from the Guild was complete, let you and my son go visiting in Kajiminda. The Guild, which had a great deal more critical information and which should have done something, said nothing to Cenedi.”

That sent a little chill through him, added to the rest of it. The Guild had kept an operation secret, not just from the paidi-aiji—but from its own strategically placed senior members and from the government…risking the heir to the aishidi’tat, as if he mattered nothing?

“Do you understand what I am saying, paidhi-ji?” Tabini asked quietly, grimly. “I think you do. The fact is, we were not informed. Nor were you. Nor was the aiji-dowager. Whether we lived or died did not matter to the persons who blundered their way through that decision, with this and that priority, and protecting this and that operation, and nobody with vision beyond their own chessboard, who would say—it will be inconvenient if we lose the paidhi-aiji. It will be inconvenient if we have the heir to the aishidi’tat kidnapped. Did these things occur to them? They were each worried about security in their own little part of the map, and Najida was not part of their individual responsibility—no one got clearance to phone Cenedi and tell him his information was incomplete, because Cenedi had asked one simple question: Is Kajiminda safe? And they lied to him.

It was shocking. It was more shocking to think the Guild had been that far in disarray.

“You would think,” Tabini said, “that it was simple incompetence. But that is not the Guild hallmark, is it, paidhi?”

That became ominous. “You think—there was ill intent in that decision, aiji-ma?”

“Having your bodyguard and the aiji-dowager’s in one place at one time, comparing notes freely with my bodyguard out in Najida district…turned up things we were none of us apt to learn otherwise. And having access to ranking Guild with contrary opinions that certain biases could not attribute to Taibeni politics within my staff, frankly, has been a revelation.”

He did not understand—except—

“Someone,” Tabini said quietly, “prevented both my aishid and yours and the dowager’s from getting critical information. Someone put the secrecy of a Guild operation and perhaps the exercise of a personal pique above the safety of my household—the excuse being that my guard is not senior in Guild rank, and that they are Taibeni, a clan that has never figured in internal Guild committee politics. My guard was not taken into confidence. Well, I knew that their clan was an issue when I appointed them past the recommendation of the Guild and jumped them two ranks doing it. I am still safer, and I sleep better at night. I was, let me assure you, paidhi-ji, right! —and recent events have proven it.”

“Aiji-ma,” Bren said in dismay.

“More than the aishidi’tat fractured when they attempted to assassinate me and my house, paidhi. And I tell you this in utmost confidence, and in the presence of Guild witnesses. There have been, paidhi-ji, four factions in the Guild, not a fortunate number of opinions. The first is what one may call the elder Guild, who have not involved themselves in political opinion and who have managed the Guild honorably for decades. The second is of course the renegades, who, far from following politics of the clans, rose up inside the Guild, overthrew the elder Guild, attempted to assassinate me, and, finding I do not die easily—were driven from power. They set up their rival Guild authority—the shadow Guild, as you have aptly called them—in the Marid. We found them. And now a new, younger leadership in the Guild has moved to strike down the Shadow Guild, but they do not take advice from the elder Guild. They are the ones who were running the investigation in the Marid; they are the ones who, meeting in Guild Council, could not come to a conclusion. They are divided by man’chi to various of the departed leadership—protégés of this and that elder Guild, advocates of this and that policy, when they have no business determining policy. They are, in some cases, regional in sympathy. Some of the elder Guild, for which we may be thankful, are now coming out of retirement to retake their old posts. Has Algini told you any of this?”

“No, aiji-ma. Not in such detail. Not with such connections.”

“Algini is himself, one believes, aligned with the elder Guild, which has its iron traditions, and that element of the Guild has a dilemma on its hands. First of all rules is that they do not involve themselves in politics. But in this case, the politics exist within the Guild itself—some honest younger Guild have gone against the elder Guild as too conservative and blind to what they conceive as a drift toward human influence.”

“One has perceived that undercurrent in the general politics, aiji-ma, and one bitterly regrets it.”

“These elements,” Tabini said, “are a problem. But they have their expression in legitimate politics, among them the Conservative Caucus. They do not worry me. There are those who have taken a position because of their man’chi to other Guild or to specific clans. These people, while decent enough persons morally, have seriously infracted Guild rules. Two of that sort are your old servants, who protest that their sole aim in attempting to rejoin your household was to protect you.”

“One is distressed at their situation.” Moni and Taigi attempted to return to his service, and his bodyguard had taken exception. “I refused them.” He corrected himself. “My bodyguard refused them.”

“Correctly so,” Tabini said. “Nor should you take them back.”

“May one ask—what their connections are?” At the time he had employed them, he had not had the cachet to ask. Now he did.

“Ajuri,” Tabini said bluntly.

Tabini’s wife’s clan. Damiri’s clan. Cajeiri’s grandfather’s clan.

That was a surprise.

“You do not ask,” Tabini observed. “Your aishid has asked. And well they might.”

Tabini had assigned Moni and Taigi to the paidhi’s house ages ago. Ajuri, trying to get a spy or two near their daughter, in Tabini’s house, had found its spies instead assigned to the…at the time…relatively innocuous paidhi-aiji.

That had to have annoyed the lord of the Ajuri.

Now he could see how it had become useful to Ajuri to have them back in the paidhi’s household, delivering information to Ajuri. Entirely understandable.

Equally understandable—his bodyguard had very quietly routed them straight to the aiji’s attention, which had not been favorable.

And the Guild did have clannish politics. The Guild had always had.

“No,” Tabini said, “they are not the depth of the problem. Or the height of it. The Guildmaster’s council. This is the sum of it: after the events on the west coast, we sent the strongest possible message to the Guild. My bodyguard was recently called to a meeting about which they correctly decline to report, except to say they were satisfied and that there has been a bitterly contested retirement.”

A retirement. At high levels within the Guild, one could surmise.

“Preceding the decision to table the Guild action on Machigi,” Tabini added.

That far back. He was, again, stunned. That afternoon, of his first bus trip into the Marid, when he had gotten the absolutely insane request from the dowager to turn from his original mission and go talk to Machigi, who had supposedly been trying to kill Tabini, and kill the dowager, and him, and Cajeiri.

A retirement. Then the vote had gone through.

Cenedi, head of the dowager’s bodyguard, had been in contact with the Guild in Shejidan, and someone had resigned. An office had changed hands inside the dark confines of the Assassins’ Guild, and the whole character of the Guild operation had shifted as if a switch had been thrown, from a determination to take Machigi out and use his territory as a base—to the dowager’s determination to preserve Machigi and create a new regional power in the Marid.

And some influence had been upset when Tabini chose not a bodyguard of the Guild’s choice but only Taibeni clan, his own clan, to run his household and defend him.

“And regarding Machigi,” Tabini said. “This letter.”

God. The letter. From the other side of this confused table. “Aiji-ma.”

“How do you read Lord Machigi, paidhi-ji?”

“In all that I have just heard—one is trying to reassess, aiji-ma.”

“Personally. How do you see him?”

“An intelligent man. Young. Too young, perhaps, to be wise, but possibly headed in that direction. He has good advisors, one thinks—smart men who have maneuvered themselves into a position and decided to deal with the Guild….but now—now one is not as certain what one has observed.”

“Do you have any suspicion that his advisors may have contacted Cenedi in advance of the dowager’s sending you to him?”

That was another thunderbolt.

“One had not remotely suspected such a thing, aiji-ma.”

“These four Guildsmen of his are clever people,” Tabini said. “Certainly capable…but that can go either way. And this young lord they support—is definitely a remarkable young man. One knows he is changing ships, one having begun to leak, so to speak. But what ship was he on in the first place?”

“One has reservations on that matter, aiji-ma. One acquired reservations while reading that letter. Do you think he may have been behind the coup against you? That all prior suspicions were correct that blamed the whole event on him?”

“That does leave out his northern neighbor, who turned out to host the shadow Guild. If Machigi was colluding with the lord of the Dojisigi—he has a talent for the stage. There truly seems deep animosity there.”

“But the Shadow Guild itself could easily have switched patrons.”

“Certainly it could,” Tabini said, with a tight, unpleasant smile. “Many things are possible once the Guild itself starts directing politics instead of responding to the interests of the lords and the people.”

Which brought it down to a very uncomfortable question. “Have I made a mistake, aiji-ma? I confess—I thought I was understanding his motives and his reactions until I read that letter. Since then—”

Tabini gave a short, silent laugh. “I most fear stupid people. Stupid people will do anything. Truly smart people will do only what is logical for them to do. That should more often put us on the same side as Machigi…if he composed the letter himself.”

“It is at least his turn of speech, aiji-ma. And one might add, it is his sense of humor.”

“How much of his opinion do you think represents his bodyguard, and how much is the man himself?”

“He has taken their advice, but if a human can read him at all, he is not at all their puppet. And he shifted from opposition to reasoning responses to my statements, which sounded genuine.”

“This bodyguard of his,” Tabini said, leaning back in his chair. “My bodyguard has had difficulty getting at Guild records until quite lately…in fact, until the resignation I mentioned. But between you and me and the ears of our bodyguards, it is possible the fathers of those four men, his bodyguards, were put there by my grandfather. Or by my grandmother.”

“The aiji-dowager, aiji-ma?”

“Ilisidi. You may have met her. —Gods less fortunate, paidhi, she is a persistent woman!”

“One is shocked, aiji-ma. Things in what you have told me have astonished me, but this one—I am quite absolutely shocked to think so, but—indeed, she might.”

“This business in the Marid is an agenda predating both of us, paidhi! The woman is following a persistent purpose my father refused and my grandfather before him died cursing. And here she is with me—proposing two new lordships, allying with the Marid, upsetting the entire aishidi’tat, and all this without the least advisement to us what she had in mind. What she has always had in mind, from the foundation of the world, for all we can tell!”

Bren drew in a long breath, and braced himself. “Yet—if it brings peace and stabilizes the aishidi’tat, aiji-ma, might it be right?”

“Only one man in the court would dare say that to me.”

“Forgive me, aiji-ma,…but—still—”

“You have backed the Edi question, paidhi! You have taken her side—you have spent far more time with her than I have, since she has not seen fit to consult me on such matters. You lived with her for two years…only scarcely in the Bujavid. You have not only represented her—you have represented this Taisigi warlord!”

Dangerous. Dangerous edge.

“Have I indeed erred in my judgment, aiji-ma? One thought—one thought that a peace with the Marid benefited the aishidi’tat and therefore benefited you. One thought—with potential trouble in the heavens—having your administration at peace with all elements was good. One thought, however, that you did not wish to be informed until this had either failed or gotten to a workable state…”

Expressions warred on Tabini’s face, somewhere between real exasperation and anger. Finally he said: “Deniability on my part does not mend things my grandmother may have upset to the north of here. Do you know any less obvious plan my grandmother has in mind?”

To the north of here…

Northward sat, of most note, the Ajuri. Damiri’s clan. The maternal relatives of Tabini’s heir. With whom Tatiseigi of the Atageini had an ongoing feud. “No, aiji-ma. I do not know of any plan.”

“You agree with the aiji-dowager?”

“I have agreed with her that what solves the long difficulty on the west coast makes the aishidi’tat that much stronger. That was my opinion. —But—”

“You have not yet had to deal with the northwest,” Tabini said glumly. “Ajuri and interests in their district will not be pleased with this: it challenges the arrangement of power within the aishidi’tat, and they view themselves as emergent influences. Nor will the Padi Valley, which has suffered directly from the Marid’s actions. That covers a considerable portion of the aishidi’tat, and we have not even gotten to the eastern mountains, where no two people hold the same political opinion.”

“Aiji-ma, if I have failed to comprehend, if I should have consulted—”

“You could not consult. The situation within the Guild unfolded as she sent you to Machigi in the first place. And she knows, gods unfortunate, she well knows what Ajuri is up to, and my grandmother is not a patient woman.” A long, deep breath. “Paidhi, I sent my son to the Atageini with her because his life was in danger in the Bujavid; I separated my household so they could not strike us all at once. I sent him to space because it was safer than his being on earth, and because, should I fall, I wanted him taught revenge by his grandmother. The Ajuri were irate at his being a guest in Atageini. They were not happy when I removed him to space, completely out of their reach. Now that he is back, they are bent on gaining influence to check the Atageini. There are also those trying to counter any rise in Ajuri influence—I number among them the Kadagidi, who also oppose the Atageini. My grandmother may unite the west coast, yes. But one has to fear that she will also unite the northwest with the north central, and not in a good way.”

“Lord Dur is loyal, of clans in the northwest. The Gan certainly will be. There is lord Geigi’s surrogate in Targai, in the southwest, not to mention the Edi. They are firm beyond any doubt. And there is the East…”

“Where my grandmother proposes to create another raging controversy. One has no doubt she is out there in Malguri at this moment doing far more than marrying off that fool Baiji to that ambitious relative of hers! One is quite certain she is also meeting with the Eastern lords and proposing to overturn order there! It is no guarantee the villages of the coast will be grateful to have Marid foreigners sailing into their fishing grounds, if such ships ever survive the southern seas to get there.”

“Yet—if she can cure Marid poverty—and eastern poverty—with one stroke, then the things prosperity can buy, the technology, all of that comes from the central clans and from the trade with the space station. Such things come from alliance with you, aiji-ma, and while Machigi seems worried that you may choose to embarrass him during his visit, one believes he sees exactly where this must go, which is toward full participation in the aishidi’tat, or toward his eventual demise as a minor lord in a divided Marid. One believes he hovers between fear this is all a plot to kill him and take over the Marid—and the hope that what the dowager has presented him might work, because it would certainly be hard for Shejidan to rule the Marid. This is a young man who, offered a ship to go to safety during the action down there, instead went overland to confront what was happening on Taisigi land, for the protection of his people. This was not the act of a coward. Or a selfish ruler.”

Tabini listened to him, thoughts flickering in those pale gold eyes. “You hold a good opinion of him.”

“I did, aiji-ma—at least until I read that letter.”

“The letter is interesting. And you say he agreed to my seeing it.”

“One believes he intended you see it, aiji-ma.”

“He is no fool,” Tabini said, nodding slowly. “So you have presented us with the Edi, the Gan, and the Marid. Perhaps we can hold the aishidi’tat together until my grandmother deigns to show up and tell us the rest of her plan. I hope for that hour!”

“I have written, aiji-ma, to Lord Tatiseigi, with some diffidence—but attempting to make a delicate approach to him, thinking perhaps to maintain this action of mine as a private approach. I acquired a porcelain in the South. Another, to display to the Merchants. But one for him, not in the character of a bribe. I do owe him. And I wish to let him see something I saw, that quite changed my view of the Marid as only fishing boats.”

“Before my grandmother returns,” Tabini said. “She has left you with this problem. Left you to court Tatiseigi and the committees and guilds.”

“One was attempting, aiji-ma, to better relations with nand’ Tatiseigi before he should take a public position against it—which one hoped would be moderated by his high regard for the dowager. But this still, at your order, aiji-ma, could be finessed.”

“He took a position eighty years ago and has not changed it since.”

“One still—was his guest, aiji-ma. One hoped, in that consideration—”

“You are going to vote against the cell phone bill.”

He drew in a breath. Total change of direction. But intimately connected to the topic of Tatiseigi, who opposed the bill. As Tabini supported it, in theory.

He nodded. “Aiji-ma, for reasons. For reasons. Which are neither here nor there in the current matter.”

“To him they are. He will believe he has had influence. That you have bent to that influence.”

“If you could postpone the bill, aiji-ma—”

Tabini muttered, then waved a deprecatory hand. “The Guild has approached me on this matter, and we are in discussions already. This may not be the year to consider the matter. But let me urge you to caution with Tatiseigi. There is the situation we have already discussed, that in the north. It is delicate.”

The Ajuri. God.

“It is delicate enough,” Tabini said, “and this I say in confidence—that my wife is being put in a difficult position. Her father wants influence through her. And if she chooses to become a vessel for Ajuri influence—she and I may not continue this marriage.”

“Aiji-ma.”

“Say nothing of it to my son.”

“Of course not, aiji-ma.”

“One expects the lord of Ajuri will object to anything that promotes Lord Tatiseigi’s interests. The jealousy involved there is extreme.”

“Regrettably, —aiji-ma, I have already sent the porcelain to Lord Tatiseigi and asked for a meeting with him. And he is a key ally of the aiji-dowager. I regret not having waited for her, however. Now I greatly regret it.”

“Finesse it. Finesse it. That is all I will say, if you must meet with him. Business of the aishidi’tat cannot stop because Ajuri threatens. One is not sanguine about your chances of converting Lord Tatisiegi to a regard for Lord Machigi, however.”

“One felt the need to try to approach him, aiji-ma, for fear he would take offense to be put off by her absence.”

“Nand’ paidhi, between Geigi’s feud with him and Ajuri’s feud with him, one fears you are stepping into deep water, but go to it, go to it. But do not attempt to convert him to a regard for Lord Ajuri. That is due, one fears, to get worse very quickly.”

“Aiji-ma, if one is accidentally stepping into a private situation, one can delay—”

“The one in the most delicate position in this matter is my son, paidhi-ji. My son is not to be informed of this situation with his mother’s clan. And one is certain you will respect that.”

“Absolutely, aiji-ma.”

“Baji-naji, fortune and chance, where it regards Lord Tatiseigi. Understand, the Ajuri may be a small clan, but they are very influential in the collection of small clans that constitutes the north, and they have long had a certain influence in the Guild. Their marriage to my house once made sense. Now it makes them a far greater problem than their size would indicate, and the impending birth of a second child has the old rivalry between Ajuri and Atageini quite—lively at the moment. Ajuri seeks every opportunity to find fault with the Atageini”

One could not ask where Damiri stood on the matter. She was the one in the worst position, with man’chi to her clan at issue. Pregnant to boot. And the whole thing having blown up into a Guild crisis, with little Ajuri clan wielding a hidden influence in that body—or having had influence; who knew what was going on within that body, or how much antihuman sentiment within that guild his own bodyguard was trying to shield him from either knowing—or meeting head-on, disastrously…

He had to talk to them. He had to find out.

“One can only apologize,” he said, “for having touched on matters I should not have touched upon, and for not sending your son back the moment it became clear—”

“Nothing was clear,” Tabini said shortly. “Even to me. And in point of fact, my son was, again, safe with you for a few days—or should have been. It should not have involved his great-grandmother. It should not have involved that fool Baiji. It should not have involved what we began finding out here once my grandmother stirred the pot. Lady Damiri, about whom you have been too delicate to ask, has lately decided to set her own father, newly ascended to the lordship of Ajuri, somewhat at distance, which he is taking in high offense. In greatest confidence, I believe that there has been a loan of money from my wife to the Ajuri to cover a business failure that would have brought disgrace on the clan—a scandal that brought the untimely death of her uncle and the ascension of her father. My wife is quite distressed with the situation. Not for dissemination—she suspects another clan in the death of her uncle. She is protective of her son and of her child yet to be born. She is quite distressed with the recent risk to her son, she is put out with me, she is put out with you, and with my grandmother on account of the affair on the West Coast, with her deceased uncle on account of his financial dealings, and now with her father’s demands for special favor. None of this has made her happy at all in recent days. I do not repent my decision to leave my son in your hands in the midst of all these goings-on. At least he did not have to participate in the efforts of keeping my wife’s dealings with Ajuri from my grandmother’s major d’, while we were living in her apartment—and one has no doubt that would have put the cap on the matter. My confidence in you is undimmed. If ever my son arrives unexpectedly at your door, receive him and immediately do as you did at Najida: inform me, but do not let him out of your sight for a moment.”

“Aiji-ma,” he said, dismayed. “My door will always receive him. And you will always know.”

“Your household is commendably peaceful and safe,” Tabini said. “One understands my son’s attraction to it. And we have equal confidence in the staff you are bringing down from the station.”

“One is gratified, aiji-ma.” There was one troublesome question. He greatly hesitated to say it. But the stakes were too high. “Among them is Lord Tatiseigi’s former cook, Bindanda. One hopes he will also pass scrutiny. He is a truly excellent cook. And he has been a pillar of my staff.”

Tabini gave a brief laugh. “We know Bindanda very well. He is an excellent cook. But, paidhi-ji, he is actually my spy.”

That was a thunderbolt. An absolute thunderbolt. “One is astonished, aiji-ma.”

“Oh, he reports now and again to Tatiseigi,” Tabini said. “But his reports come here first. And your bodyguard approves the transaction.”

He was utterly confounded. He said, somberly, “Then one is glad, aiji-ma, if he wishes to stay on my staff.”

“One believes he will do so. He is understandably an asset to your household. He improves your credit with Lord Tatiseigi. He keeps you safe from poisons. And we shall sort this matter of Ajuri out in good time. So go do the things you propose to do, paidhi-ji. We have every confidence in you—and so does my grandmother, or she would not have left you stranded without instructions. One is certain she wants you to deal with the situation and prepare the ground. One is certain she wishes you to find out my disposition, while she is not on the scene. So relay it carefully. We are officially not connected to this. But we are neighbors. Expect that my bodyguard will have talked to yours and that there will have been an interesting exchange of information, only half of which we shall ever know, from the Guild, one is quite certain, until the whole situation has become history. Go, go, now. I have a stack of committee reports awaiting me. Escape while you can.”

“Aiji-ma.” He rose and bowed, gathering up Banichi and Jago and making his retreat with a glance back as he passed the door. His last view of Tabini, past Jago’s shoulder, was of a grim and hard-working man, not as young and reckless as he had been on that decade-ago trip to Taiben, when both of them had broken the gun regulations.

But, then, neither of them was as young, or as naive about the politics of the aishidi’tat, as even Tabini had been on that day.

It was possibly the most intensely personal conversation he had ever had with Tabini, who was not a man patient of fools or obstacles—a man who, uncommon for atevi, had had one wife for most of a decade and who now found that relationship under intense pressure, through no fault of his or hers.

And whose heir had relatives who were developing very serious drawbacks.

But Tabini was intelligent. Very.

And Tabini had told him exactly as much of the truth as he needed to know to prevent another problem.

Handle Tatiseigi and don’t let him take a position. Don’t get Ajuri stirred up.

He’d gotten that clue, too.

Do everything he could possibly do to lay the table before Ilisidi got back. Nobody was going to pay half as much attention to what the paidhi-aiji did as they would to the aiji-dowager when she arrived, and things had to run smoothly at her beck and call. There were things he could do, people he could talk to, impressions he could leave with people—things he could say that the dowager could readily deny if they turned out to be a mistake.

The relationship with Machigi—he still, after all that, hadn’t gotten a clear idea how Tabini read the man, and he had wanted Tabini’s opinion more than any other. If there was a man alive who would have an instinctive grasp of that young man’s thinking, it would be Tabini, who was quite as ruthless, quite as capable of turning on the instant and astonishing his court.

What had Tabini said about Machigi? He is no fool, and that was about all Tabini had said, on the one thing he had most wanted to know from Tabini. And about Tatiseigi? It had amounted to Good luck with him. You’re going to need it.

They picked up Tano and Algini. He didn’t say a word to his bodyguard until they had gotten the short distance back to his apartment, they had shut the door, and he had surrendered his court coat to Koharu, checked the message bowl for anything from Tatiseigi—there was nothing—and put on his day coat.

“The security station would be a good place,” Banichi said, and without a word, he went with his bodyguard down the hall to the quiet back of the apartment, and the small instrument-crowded station where his bodyguard was the authority…and the only ones who would hear.

“We did not know about the Ajuri difficulty, Bren-ji,” was the first thing Tano said to him.

“We did not know,” Banichi echoed that statement, “but certain things were worrisome.”

Bren sat down as they did, at one of the counters. Jago perched against the counter edge. Algini sat down, looking as grim as ever Algini could look, and looking not at him but into something invisible and not pleasant.

“What we do know,” Banichi said, “is that there had been misgiving about the youth of the aiji’s own bodyguard as well as their Taibeni-clan origin, which was used to justify the restriction of information flowing to them—temporarily, as it was supposed to be. The central authority argued that it was hard to sequence them into the information flow because they had minor connections to several unqualified individuals and several indiscretions that needed to be cleared up. Taibeni have been married into several northern clans that have been outside certain security situations.”

“This was the ongoing argument,” Tano said. “But when it became known that Cenedi had been restricted from information on grounds of his principal’s connection to Tabini-aiji, that shone a light into the situation, and it no longer looked like administrative process. It looked like partisanship and possibly worse.”

“It took three hours, nandi,” Algini said darkly, “for the former Guildmaster to come out of retirement and reconstitute his own bodyguard, also from their retirement. There were immediate arrests. The head of the Guild Council who was in charge of the Machigi affair is not believed to have connections to the renegades—quite the opposite, by appearances, this person having personal reasons against the Taisigi; but it seems neither extreme of bias is reliable, when one allows personal opinion to sway a vote. Guild seniors who had sworn that they had permanently stepped aside are now returning, almost to a man. The urging of some members that the Guild needed new leadership to deal with technological changes in the world, and the willingness of some seniors to step down with the Guildmaster, more than put a very biased viewpoint into office: it set a very dangerous precedent to interdict more moderate members from the information flow. And that realization, and the return of former officers, Bren-ji, that was the start of the shift that abruptly stopped the action against Machigi and that moved in force against the renegades, this shadow Guild, as you call it. There had already been unprecedented bloodletting within Guild premises when the coup was reversed. It has now happened twice, this time when the elder officers moved back in. Retirements have been almost universally reversed. In the background of all this turmoil, some time back, Ajuri clan had gained strong influence. But due to financial improprieties, the former Lord Ajuri, who had relatives newly elevated in power and influence within the Guild as reconstituted after Tabini-aiji’s return to power—and much preceding this current incident—had suffered in reputation and lost credit, in every sense. He had died. Lady Damiri lent her personal fortune to her father to cover the debts of her uncle, who was said—said—to have committed suicide. The officers at the head of the Guild continued from Tabini-aiji’s return until the day Tabini-aiji and the aiji-dowager found themselves dangerously underinformed on Guild matters, and they appealed for key officers to retake their power immediately. The investigation that followed, it now makes it seem that certain of the former Lord Ajuri’s papers are missing…within Guild offices. There is a strong suspicion that the money paid by the current Lord Ajuri, Damiri-daja’s father, was to prevent an unnamed clan bringing certain communications public. Blackmail, in other words.”

“May one ask—is there any indication which clan?”

“Nandi, the suspicion is—the Kadagidi.”

The clan alleged to be behind the coup, the murders of Tabini’s staff. The enemies of Lord Tatiseigi.

“Incredible.”

“Unfortunately,” Algini said, “credible. The Ajuri, like many smaller clans, took shelter. Their great strength was within Guild clerical administration. When an upheaval came in the Guild—say that certain members of Ajuri clan were visiting the Kadagidi. One is not certain if Lady Damiri herself knows it. But she is due to find out, since the aiji is disposed to doubt her father’s leadership of Ajuri clan as he has always doubted her uncle’s. You will note, of resources the aiji used when in exile and being hunted by his enemies—the aiji did not appeal to Ajuri Clan. Nor did Damiri-daja ever breach security to do so, so far as we have learned.”

Tano said: “The returning officers of the Guild are dealing with some difficult judgments, nandi, whether certain persons who left and are now considered outlawed did so in good conscience, to resist illicit orders. Murini was essentially a figurehead, with a new Guild leadership guiding his hands. The culpable Guild that went south when the coup collapsed—the Ajuri that went south with them may have been guilty. Or they may only have feared partisanship. It is yet to be decided.”

“Certain ones went south,” Banichi said grimly, “but certain ones even more dangerous had covered their tracks with skill the Guild teaches—and the younger leadership of the Guild had already targeted the Marid lords for removal…without telling Tabini-aiji, without consulting senior Guild, without respect for the tradition that keeps the Guild from altering the political makeup or balance of the aishidi’tat. That adventurism is what we saw operating, Bren-ji—a great enthusiasm for far too much intervention without restraint. And very possibly with motives we are still unraveling.”

“If the Guild operation against Machigi had gone forward as the Guild leadership of that hour had intended,” Algini said, “the Guild would likely have created a separate administrative district—one Guild administration governing the Marid, where only the Guild would give orders. The information broke first, you may surmise, when Cenedi cracked the wall of secrecy—how he did that, best not to know. But that Guild operation is what the dowager moved instantly to prevent.”

“And she sent me to snatch Machigi back from the brink. The plan was to assassinate Machigi and then the others and rule the Marid from Tanaja, to take care of the Shadow Guild—do you think? To put the Guild itself at the top of the aishidi’tat?”

“We are still finding out,” Algini said. “Now you know far more of Guild affairs than you should, and we are all but Jago in violation of a general directive.”

“By all means, add me to it,” Jago said. “I refuse to be left out. At least, Bren-ji, we believe the Guild will now stabilize, if we do not have another upset or a revelation of more problem man’chiin. Very high officers are being eliminated. And Ajuri influence has gone from very high to ruin.”

“We are again operating clan by clan,” Banichi said, “a principle that ought not to have been abandoned by certain Shejidani units who made a critical decision to accept central leadership and directives above those of their clans, because certain clans persuaded them they were acting selflessly. Machigi’s bodyguard functioned excellently—they are regional, and they obeyed the old rules, defending their own lord, as they should, in every respect.”

“Unfortunately,” Algini said, “no place including the Bujavid will be as safe as we would wish, for perhaps several years to come, and those who have retaken power in the Guild are not young, nor was the retaking of power without bloodletting. We have a relatively limited time to mortar these arrangements back together before we start losing key elements.”

It was a grim report. One hardly knew what to say.

“Protecting you, Bren-ji,” Banichi said, “is of critical importance right now. You intend certain things that your enemies will wish to prevent. The renegade Guild—Shadow Guild is an apt name for them—is particularly anxious to see the cell phone bill pass. It would immensely aid their communications, since they are being worked out of the Guild network, and they still believe you are in favor of it, so they have not moved against you. Your opposition to that bill will upset them almost as much as your support of Lord Machigi, and it will surprise them far more.”

“You are one of five individuals,” Tano said, “that the Guild intends to protect at any cost.”

Tabini, Cajeiri, Ilisidi, Geigi. And him. He would have thought, until this morning, that Lady Damiri would certainly be on the list.

But perhaps no longer.

God, what a mess.

He would add two more to the Guild’s list: Machigi and Tatiseigi; but they might be in the second tier.

Granted that he was at all right about who was in the first five.

But he should not ask. If Tano had wanted to tell him, Tano would have. And if not Tano, Algini.

“One will not ask to know further,” Bren said, “and one will cease all levity regarding the detested vest, nadiin-ji. One will not wish to make your job harder.”

“One is gratified by that, Bren-ji,” Banichi said.

“One is, from this side, gratified to have this much information,” Bren said, “and one assures you of confidentiality, unless you signal me that you wish me to pass along certain things.”

“Leave that to the Guild itself, Bren-ji,” Algini said, “on Guild channels.”

“Will you need to leave us during this, Gini-ji?”

“No,” Algini said. “No, nandi. I shall not leave your service. I have made that clear in the Guild. But information to this household will never be deficient again, unless Tano and I go missing, and it will get to the aiji’s guard if we have to deliver it. We have established our own checks to make a silence detectible in certain quarters. We shall know. And should a signal come, that there is an assault on that system—we shall inform you, you will inform Tabini-aiji, we shall track it, and we will act. Enough—before we rouse more questions.” Algini gave one of his rare gentle smiles. “One is beyond glad to stay in this aishid, Bren-ji. Fortunately your position on the target list makes that possible for us.”

“Then one is glad to be a target,” Bren said with a definite nod, and rose and left his bodyguard to discuss things they might not say in his hearing.

Tatisiegi was likely one topic of interest. He was sure his bodyguard would tell him if there were the least whisper of a response from Tatiseigi. But there still was apparently no answer, no query, no action. Yet. And one could only worry.

The old man could do several things with the porcelain. He could refuse the gift. He could refuse the meeting. One would think, in that event, the crate would turn up back at his door fairly expeditiously, with or without an explanatory note. Tatiseigi had not done that—so he had, at least temporarily, accepted it.

Tatiseigi might be, at this moment, meeting with his own associates and deciding what to do about the item…and the paidihi-aiji.

His bodyguard might know that answer. But inquiring into that sort of knowledge was like lifting the lid on something cooking: the intervention might ruin what might have worked itself out, given time, given the passing of delicate, unofficial hints. There were things one should not know until it was time to know.

It might have been a thorough mistake, sending that gift. Now that the deed was done, he had no dearth of second thoughts, and more of them since he’d talked to Tabini. The old man simply detested humans, on a visceral level, never mind that they’d had to deal with one another, and there was no sign of that opinion shifting. That was a problem, not only dealing with Tatiseigi but in dealing with any of the conservatives. By the very nature of what they believed, they detested humans and never wanted to deal with one, or the effect humans had had on the world, and that was that.

But the world was the world, and there was no changing what had happened. They’d tried living side by side. They’d tried ignoring one another. Now—

Now they had to try living side by side again. Ultimately.

If Tatiseigi didn’t declare war on him. Possibly Ilisidi could get him out of it, if it went utterly bad. But Tabini had said it: he was in it, he had started something, and that was that.

He had a little lunch in his office. He answered a few letters between bites of sandwich and sips of tea.

He had had the meeting he had most dreaded. He did not yet have the one he wished for.

But he faced a much more pleasant one in the afternoon.

Far into the other wing, downstairs, was the paidhi’s office. It had started out as a quiet little office, answering schoolchildren’s questions about humans and the paidhi’s job, when the paidhi’s job had entailed explaining the aiji’s new technological programs.

Then it had fielded anguished queries from village lords wanting more industry and other district lords irate that they had a factory upwind of their gardens.

The space program had brought letters from the certifiably confused, who were convinced that the atmosphere could be punctured, letting all the air out, and it had also brought more thoughtful letters asking such things as, if here was what there was everywhere, what was out there?

A good part of the paidhi’s job—the part that wasn’t translating for Tabini or representing his programs, or considering the social and economic effects of human technology proposed to be given out to the continent—was serving as an information office and trying to scotch rumors before they acquired passengers. Rumor management had become nearly a full-time job for part of his staff before the coup, and it had resumed it after Tabini had come back to office. They were good at what they did—the letter they could not answer reasonably and fairly convincingly in his name was a rare one.

Since the restoration of Tabini-aiji, too—that was to say, for the last half year—he had gotten a gratifying number of letters of support and also queries about jobs—

It at least balanced a new flood of angry accusations and death threats, persons who charged his influence had brought about the coup and misled the aiji. Those he took quite seriously—and likewise a scatter of less rational letters blaming him for all manner of ills, including the spread of radio waves through buildings.

He could have had recourse to the Guild for the threatening letters, considering that credible threats of bodily harm outside Guild action were in fact illegal. He had not reported most of them, as general policy. A few more serious and likely threats, yes, had been investigated, but so far as he knew, no investigation had yet turned up anything serious or organized; at least that was the case before he had gone off to the Marid and dealt with Machigi.

The regular complainants (and he had a list of those) were going to have an apoplexy when they heard about peacemaking with the Marid and about the Edi and Gan acquiring seats in the legislature. Death threats were going to come out of the woodwork. He could only think about Algini’s warning.

Years, Algini had said, of not knowing if the noisy ones were the problem. He personally bet on the ones who said nothing at all.

“Nand’ paidhi!” he heard whispered as he entered the office, and the head secretary, elderly Daisibi, one of Tano’s remote kin, came down the aisle between desks in all haste, with a happy expression on his face.

“Nandi! One is so happy to see you safe!”

“One is very pleased with the work from this office,” he answered, bowing in turn. “One is very grateful for your handling the inquiries—and one hopes to make your work a little easier, nadi-ji. Is there anything extraordinarily urgent since my return?”

“Nothing extraordinary, nandi. Of course the children write. People from the remote districts do ask about the cell phone issue…”

God. He could not have his office out of step with him on that.

“…a few direct threats, which we have referred to the Bujavid offices…”

That was normal.

“…forecasts of doom from certain ‘counters…”

Normal. The paidhi attracted lightning. The number-counters who worked up fortunes and predictions and declarations of felicity or infelicity for various believers tended not to give any innovation good numbers. In this case, he was going to agree with them.

“…recommendations for policy…”

Some would be sane, and many would not.

“…queries about the aliens…”

People should be worried about that. But not panicked. The fact that there were aliens, and that there was more than one kind of them out there was known—but it didn’t sound as though it was generating any great fear. Yet.

“…and inquiries from Transport, Trade, and the Messengers, nandi, regarding the committee schedules with the next session.”

The latter were business. Entirely.

“I shall have to issue a new policy statement, nadi. For the phones, one has studied the cell phone issue. My opinion—and this is not yet for public issue—is increasingly negative on that matter.”

“Negative, nandi.” The old man absorbed that in some bemusement and nodded.

“Be warned, too: you will shortly be inundated by inquiries on west coast policy, as more and more of the recent action at Najida and Tanaja appears on the news, and I shall have a statement ready for you. Nadi-ji, this will be a difficult legislative session. First of all, there is a new Maschi lord. Lord Geigi will be your source on that matter—it is a quiet arrangement with Lord Geigi’s approval. Lord Machigi is about to be the aiji-dowager’s guest in the capital, and I shall be personally involved with that visit. You may be sure there will be prophecies of doom from more than the ’counters, I fear. Lord Machigi is expected here to sign an agreement with the aiji-dowager. And threats regarding that matter should be reported, to me, to the object of the threat, to the aiji, and to the Guild. Take them very seriously.”

The old man looked as if he had swallowed something unexpected. “Yes, nandi.”

“Peace with the Marid is a complex matter,” Bren said. “But in general, I shall be working toward that agreement. I shall be talking to various committees affected by it, among them those you have already named, so I shall immediately contact them today. We shall provide this office a detailed statement on the Marid matter and on the West Coast arrangements as soon as possible, but we cannot release anything ahead of my reports to the legislature, either on this peace proposal or on the cell phone issue.”

“One entirely understands that, nandi.”

“I have caused you great difficulties. Among them, I am facing the Merchants’ Guild, the Transport Guild, and the Messengers’ Guild, and I am arranging an exhibit of Marid art in the lower public hall, in advance of meetings with the corresponding Ministers and Committees. Trade will have early access to the exhibit.” He reached into his inside breast pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “These, Sibi-ji, are the essential answers to questions that will arise. I wish to provide these in printed reports, for each Guild, legislative committee and Minister. The reports may be essentially identical in some items, but not in specifics of the interests of the parties. I need not tell you the sort of thing. Appropriate room arrangement is also essential. Accurate reports one must have, with photographs and examples, specific numbers. You have done admirably with each of these three concerns in past. Now you must outdo yourselves, because certain persons will be looking for infelicity.”

“These are our honor to manage, nandi!”

“One offers the most profound respect, Sibi-ji, and one has absolute confidence in your discretion. And if you will accept my suggestion, Sibi-ji, answer or refer only the most important inquiries today, send the staff home early to rest, and tomorrow, and for subsequent days, arrange for meals to be brought in, because staff must work overtime. You are, rest assured, absolutely indispensable, and when this is done, if I survive this next session, I shall personally send you and your staff and immediate families on a half-month paid leave. You and your staff will deserve it by then. You will have earned my profound gratitude.”

“Such an inducement is not necessary, nandi! You pay us very well!”

“Yet please accept it on their behalf. Mail may stand in stacks, but these things must be done, and you must stand ready to sleep and eat in this office for days on end until we have gotten through the worst of this, and you may have to deal with unpleasantness. My thanks. My respects to all,” he said, raising his voice, and making a little bow, as work stopped in the room. “You will be working on extended projects, nadiin-ji, starting tomorrow. Order food in, as much and from whatever source you wish. Director Daisibi will inform you of the details, and know that matters critical to the future of the aishidi’tat rest on your work. One values you all extremely, and when this is done, Director Daisibi will inform you, one has a compensation in mind that one hopes will ease the burden of these next days. One thanks you, most earnestly. You merit my trust, my confidence, and my deep gratitude, nadiin-ji. There will be cards, with my ribbon; with others if this goes well. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

He bowed. Everyone stood up solemnly and bowed twice.

It would not be the first time this office had gotten memorial cards, those prized items, which a family kept in special reverence for hundreds of years. But on these, the ribbons would be of every house he could possibly organize, and he would deliver the holiday he had promised—and a bonus atop it. They would amply earn it.

He made his exit, having left the clerical office preparing for a paper storm. And the news services knew they weren’t going to get anything until the paidhi was damned good and ready to release that information, but they would try.

Details. Every detail down to the flower arrangements in the Bujavid committee rooms.

“Back to the stairs, nadiin-ji,” he said to his bodyguard. They had used a back way getting down here, past the third floor, and they used the same route on the way up—enough stairs for a workout, but one more route the news services could not access—

Back up to the privacy and security of the hall he shared with Tabini-aiji.

And news of a different kind.

“Bren-ji,” Banichi said as they were halfway down the hall to their own door, “a message from Lord Tatiseigi.”

“The nature of it, Nichi-ji?” Damn, so much rested on that.

“Sealed, Bren-ji. Haru reports it arrived just moments ago.”

He didn’t quicken his step. It wasn’t that far. “One hopes,” he said simply, and let Algini go ahead of him to open the door.

It was unbecoming to snatch up the message-bowl and immediately rifle through the messages; a lord’s life was centered around discipline. Patience. The forms. Koharu waited in the foyer to bow, to welcome him, and to take his coat. One smiled, one handed over one’s coat, officially heard that there was a message from Tatiseigi and another missive from Trade.

“One will read the message from Tatiseigi,” he said. One should go to one’s office and have Koharu bring the messages there, possibly with a pot of tea, but he was, admittedly, on pins and needles to hear it, and the forms could bend for once, considering he wanted his whole household staff to know what was going on. Koharu proffered a green enameled cylinder decorated with white lilies, and within, sealed with the lily seal of the Atageini, was a letter in a beautiful old-fashioned hand.

“Tatiseigi Lord of the Atageini to Bren Lord of Najida…”

Interesting choice of titles…not his highest rank, and verging on damned snobbish discourtesy.

“One appreciates the sentiment of the exquisite gift, and one would be delighted to receive you tomorrow at morning tea.”

Receive him.

Tomorrow.

And not at lunch, but at a casual tea.

Well, it was aristocratic snobbery from one of the oldest clans extant. It was a calculated slap. And it left it up to him whether to accept it in the interest of achieving his goals, or to reject it and gain the leverage of being offended. Give the old man credit, he did not make errors of protocol, and Madam Saidin must have winced—tastefully, silently, but winced at the rebuff.

But was he surprised?

His bodyguard and his major domo stood waiting while he scowled at the message.

“Lord Tatiseigi,” he said equably, “has sent an invitation to morning tea.”

“Will you decline it, nandi?” Koharu asked. Even a country lad from Najida could parse that situation.

Oh, he could easily decline it—lie, claim prior engagement, and pointedly invite Tatiseigi to supper tomorrow evening. Breakfasts were for intimates…which God knew they weren’t. The old man might have taken some offense at a luncheon invitation instead of a formal supper—and—God! the social dance got weirder. Tatiseigi above all people knew he had no head cook. He did have one, in orbit—and Bindanda was indeed coming.

But Bindanda having been Tatiseigi’s former cook, who had defected from Tatiseigi’s service, for various reasons—the old man would be interested in his arrival. When Bindanda finally got here, he would beyond any doubt elect to serve the paidhi-aiji and not go back to Tatiseigi, which was Bindanda’s choice to make…up to a point.

And this morning Tabini had told him Bindanda didn’t belong to either of them, but to him…

One needed aspirin. Several.

And best hold the first and conciliatory meeting before the Bindanda situation truly hit the fan. He hadn’t even thought of the fuss over Bindanda entering the picture. He’d just presumed on the status between him and Tatiseigi at their last interaction. He’d tried to save the old man a serving of Najida country fare that was far too spicy for the old man’s taste, and he could hardly operate like Cajeiri and invite himself to Tatiseigi’s dinner table.

But one didn’t decline a luncheon and then offer a tea. That was pure Tatiseigi pique, with nothing left to the imagination.

If he wanted to play the social game, then the exchange of elegantly written invitations, each triggering another, could go on for days, until Bindanda was on the planet and on duty. Then the social politics would assuredly get crazier, which was exactly what he didn’t want.

Well, he’d clearly taken a step too far too fast with the old man, and Tatiseigi had come back at him with a mild slap in the face, as if he were still some junior court official.

Which he probably was, somewhere in Tatiseigi’s thinking—the old man could drag up arguments from fifty years ago as passionately as if they were current.

Damn, damn, and damn.

Tatiseigi’s attachment to the aiji-dowager on this issue was a must. He played politics like a master, he wielded a unifying influence on the otherwise fragmented and eccentric conservative side, he was mad about the cell phone issue, he was probably mostly mad at Ilisidi, who had run off to Malguri on her own agenda, instead of conferring with him. And he was mad because he wanted the world rolled back several hundred years, before telephones, television, computers, and humans falling out of the heavens.

No. The paidhi-aiji had started this, naively assuming Tatiseigi’s curiosity would overwhelm his temper, and while things hadn’t gone as badly as they could, they were not going that well. He was going to have to see it through himself without calling in reinforcements. And he was going to have to fix it before Ilisidi had to deal with it.

He went to his office and wrote, humbly:

Bren-paidhi Lord of Najida to Tatiseigi Lord of the Ata geini,

One is delighted and honored to accept your invitation to morning tea.

And he so hoped Tatiseigi might spend an hour wondering if he had somehow erred and given the paidhi-aiji exactly what he wanted.

7

It was pleasant to see Madam Saidin again, and the apartment staff which now served Lord Tatiseigi. Only a few weeks ago the paidhi had lived here. He had known every curlicue of the baroque furnishings, enjoyed the fine cuisine, and adopted the old-fashioned manners of the household with a professional curiosity.

Now the paidhi-aiji was a midmorning guest in Lord Tatiseigi’s premises, very primly received but with a gratifying warmth on the part of the staff which had lately served him.

Lord Tatiseigi’s feelings were another matter.

“One is very pleased to receive you, nandi,” Saidin had said, including Banichi and Jago in the pronoun, and with a wave of her hand had indicated the path to the hall, and the sitting room, and Lord Tatiseigi’s hospitality.

The porcelain was prominently displayed in a place of honor, in the center of the small, stout table behind the couch. It echoed very well the muted greens of the room, grayed blue-greens with blue-green and gold accents, seaweed supporting a spiral explosion of colorful fishes and sea life.

Bren had the seat Saidin indicated for him, with his back to the door, and Banichi and Jago took their stations at the top of the room. The opposite chair was, of course, Tatiseigi’s, who predictibly showed up just a shade late—requiring a guest to rise, bow, and settle again, facing the old man and his two bodyguards on the far side of the room.

And of course there was the slow service of tea, in all its elaboration—tea in a very familiar middle-grade tea service.

But was there an initial comment on the porcelain? No. One heard Tatiseigi’s observations on the weather—the paidhi, having no windows in his suite, had only the remotest idea what the weather was outside, and the old man was surely not ignorant of that fact.

They came down to the second pot of tea still without a single mention of the porcelain, which strongly indicated it was not considered a nonbusiness topic.

Conversation finally reached, midway through that pot, and after the teacakes: “And how do you fare, nand’ paidhi?”

“Oh, well recovered, nandi, and very glad not to be traveling. One hopes to find you well.”

“Quite well,” Tatiseigi said with a gracious nod. “And your staff?”

“Well, nandi. And your staff, nandi? One hopes they are all in good health?”

It ran like that, over the various polite topics, ranging from, “And how are things at Najida?” and “One hopes, nandi, that Tirnamardi has finished its repairs…” to which the prickliest, chilly answer was:

“The hedges, unfortunately, will take decades.”

“Yet it was damage taken in a brave action…” For which, he was about to say, one is everlastingly grateful, intending a smooth segue on to the gift and the porcelains, and thence, perhaps, to the splendor of Tatisegi’s collection and his discrimination, to entice the old man into a better mood.

“A brave action that has in no wise eliminated the fools who challenge the aishidi’tat and from which we apparently have not yet learned!” Click went the teacup onto the side table. “Nand’ paidhi, one is greatly distressed—greatly distressed!—to arrive in Shejidan to find my grandnephew led into yet another untoward adventure out on the coast, and then led into an entirely unfortunate meeting with Edi savages!”

Damn.

“The risk to your grandnephew, nandi, was both unanticipated by highest-level security inquiry and extreme; but he acquitted himself well in every circumstance. As for the Edi—”

“Folly! A disgrace to be talking to those persons!”

“Your grandnephew quite charmed the Grandmother of the Edi and ably assisted the aiji-dowager, with impeccable manners. One would never argue with your concern for him, nandi. But he conducted himself extremely well. Your teaching, one is certain, is apparent in him.”

“You took him among traitors! Your Edi staff did not advise you of difficulty at Kajiminda and almost cost my boy his life, a fact it is no good to conceal from me, nand’ paidhi! I am well aware of their recalcitrance, their underhandedness, their sneaking cowardice!”

“Alas, my staff feared they had touched upon a cover for a Guild operation, nandi. They at no time breached their man’chi to me, and once they understood the situation, they comported themselves bravely in the dowager’s service and mine.”

“And are they due a lordship for finally doing their minimal duty? Having a lord of the Edi is a ridiculous concept! They are not civilized! They are criminals. Pirates!”

Well, that argument pushed him to a point at which he had to plant his feet and object, which was clearly the old man’s intent.

“They have lived under a Maschi lordship that betrayed them, nandi, and they have remained on the side of the aishidi’tat with yet no direct agreement with the aishidi’tat. Every dealing was going through Baiji, now disgraced and deposed from office—yet they rallied to support the aishidi’tat through the Troubles, supporting my staff at Najida—”

“By piracy, which is their natural bent!”

“By subterfuge and direct attacks that prevented Murini from having any access to the southwest coast, nandi! They in effect defended my estate and the whole district. When the aiji-dowager—” The old man was Ilisidi’s lifelong supporter. And lover. “—asked their support, despite their recent ill-treatment by a misbehaving upstart of a lord, they gave it to her. They have signed preliminary agreements. They are now staunch allies of the aiji-dowager, they will become signatory to the aishidi’tat, and they have already come no few steps down that path, renouncing piracy and agreeing to pursue any future quarrels only through the Guild. One places one’s word and one’s reputation on this being the truth.”

“Then you are in for a great deal of trouble, paidhi, because they are liars and brigands!”

“Yet the aiji-dowager devised this settlement.”

“Ha! She has been wrong before, and she is wrong this time!”

“Yet as participant in this agreement, I must argue her case, nandi, and urge that her far-sighted actions have a purpose: to put unprecedented power into the hands of your grandnephew in his day. The world has never seen the power that your grandnephew will one day wield.”

That drew the twitch of one isolated muscle above Tatiseigi’s left brow. “Relying on barbarians and the Marid? It will never work!”

“The Edi and the Gan peoples are ruled by the seniormost women; and the aiji-dowager by her gender and rank carries a special credit with them that no male representative of the aishidi’tat has ever carried into dealings. More, your grandnephew, nandi, has questioned, and listened, and spoken to them; the Edi regard him as a living promise of the traditional ways that he has learned at the dowager’s knee and yours. They are greatly impressed by what you, nandi, would recognize as your influence.”

That brought a moment of silence. Then “There are other elements in his upbringing,” Tatiseigi muttered, and one had no doubt Tatiseigi meant human elements, and did not in the least approve.

“From human associations he has gained a certain flexibil-ty of approach, nandi, perhaps; but can you doubt what traditional values he has gained from the dowager’s teaching and his early residency at Tirnamardi? The Edi themselves have the same worries about the old values, the old traditions—”

“Traditions? Traditions of banditry!”

“The Edi and the Taisigi and the traditionalists of the aishidi’tat all have this in common: that human ways have trodden too heavily on those values that they believe must be preserved—and I agree, nandi! They will see you as a very important and respectable force in the legislature, and in the future politics of the aishidi’tat, you may find them allies in your battle against the headlong modernists. Time has rushed too fast. Even I have become your ally in this, against the proposal to widen the gates further and admit too much technology before atevi themselves have found their own answers. This is the truth: outside the eastern Padi Valley, there are few more traditional places on earth than the Marid, the Edi lands, and the Gan.”

“Tell me no such things when you advocate ruinous measures that will utterly overthrow civilization!”

“If this remotely refers to the question of cell phones, nandi, I now openly and unreservedly admit you are right.”

The old man’s mouth stuck half-open. He blinked.

“One is quite in earnest, Lord of the Atageini, and since the paidhi-aiji is about to run counter to the desires of the aiji himself, and to those of the progressives on this matter, one hopes for your staunch support in this.”

“You claim you are now opposed to the bill!”

“You are right, nandi. You are absolutely right in your arguments. If the bill passes, my office still enables me to veto it. I shall. Lord Geigi concurs: This is the right thing to do.”

“Lord Geigi!”

“Likewise,” he said carefully and emphatically, “will the new lordships of the Gan and of the Edi, if they have gained seats before the vote, and so will the entire Marid bloc—which is already seated in the legislature—”

“That scoundrel Machigi—”

“—will be voting with you, with the Gan, and the Edi, and Lord Geigi. As shall I, as lord of Najida. If I must, should it somehow pass, I swear to you I shall wield my veto, which I have not done in many, many years; and I have already informed Tabini-aiji I am now opposed. In the recent violence in the southwest, I saw what might have resulted had cell phones been available, and I have come to agree with you utterly, nandi.”

“Tea, nadiin!”

That broke the discussion off in favor of yet another round of tea, and there was, for a time, no more conversation while Lord Tatiseigi contemplated the situation. Lord Tatiseigi sat with fingers steepled and didn’t even look at him until tea was served and the servants offered more teacakes.

Bren declined the latter. So did Tatiseigi. They drank in deep and meaningful silence. And at the end of just one cup, Tatiseigi set it down.

“Machigi,” Tatiseigi said, “will use any lull in hostilities to arm the Marid with any finance and any weapons he can get his hands on. After the recent wars, there are plenty of those lying about.”

“He might have that intention, one is fully aware. But the aiji-dowager plans to keep him busy—and constantly observed. This is one reason the aiji-dowager has offered him association. The Guild is bringing him under Guild protection, and the dowager plans to keep him and his resources so entirely concentrated on the project she will share with him that he will have no time nor energy for other adventures…until he can see clearly that the project will pay off; and war will not. She has it admirably mapped out, nandi. I am amazed at her brilliance.”

“This is her idea, is it?”

“None of mine, nandi, one assures you. Machigi will live to rule. He will offer Guild protection to his subordinate lords and they will live to rule the other districts under his direction. The legitimate Guild will gain the leverage in the Marid it has always lacked, and in the process, the Guild will root out every last vestige of the renegades who have established themselves there, while protecting Lord Machigi’s authority. More, the aiji-dowager is strongly urging any new lord of the Edi and the Gan to acquire their own Guild protection—which will have exactly the same effect on their districts. The institution of Guild centered around those three powers, Machigi, the Edi, and the Gan, will completely change the culture of feud and warfare that has characterized the two districts and their relationship to the rest of the aishidi’tat. There is, one believes, brilliant simplicity in this plan, nandi, and the guilds are the key. If the Assassins’ Guild is the channel through which feud and warfare have to move, and if they regain the traditional rules, which they have always maintained, there has to be recourse to the Guild and to Tabini-aiji should anybody wish to come to blows. By and large, they will be far too busy building, which will engage the politics of other guilds, who will have their own interests at risk in any conflict, so they will negotiate rather than fight. Once they have built a prosperous trade, once prosperity has come to the general population—they will find themselves in quite the same situation as the rest of us. They will have fragile goods, systems, and relationships to protect. They will have incomes to protect. They will have an entirely different set of considerations…”

“And rivalries, nandi. They will have rivalries and a tradition of armed conflict.”

“Rivalries that the aforesaid guilds will moderate. Forcibly if need be, but by denial of benefits which will push politics into motion, nandi, and stop wars, as against the interest of this and that entity.”

“This is a dream.”

“It is the aiji-dowager’s dream, nandi, and one suspects you may have heard pieces of it long before she ever brought it into operation. I know that she has been passionate about this from far back, and I believe it has, in this precise moment, found its best opportunity. She is doing more in the East than see to the marriage of Lord Geigi’s misbehaving nephew. She will be talking to numerous of her associates and allies; hence the unforecast delay in her return. One is quite certain that she would not have left so many unresolved questions in my hands if she had had a choice, and it is with the greatest trepidation, nandi, that I have approached you in her stead—hoping to bring you current with everything, because you are so very necessary to her hopes and plans. Therefore, before undertaking any such approach, one felt obliged to satisfy the debt to your hospitality, a debt in which I feel very strongly at disadvantage. It moved me to begin by showing you, even before I bring a similar piece before the Merchants’ Guild, an example of the best of the Marid and to make it yours, in small token of my indebtedness. The work is inspired by the great pillars that stand in the Residency of Tanaja, and I hope I have not offended you in such a gift. It comes from me, not at all from Lord Machigi. I was insistent on that point. And it comes only of my gratitude for your hospitality, no more, no less.”

Oh, that was laying it on. Tatiseigi shot him a straight-on look from under his brows and said, with an increasing level of interest: “Most thoughtful. Your level of taste is quite unexpectedly high, nand’ paidhi.”

And another layer of modesty. “It comes from the hand of an artist respected in Tanaja. I hoped it would suit.”

“It is extraordinary,” Tatiseigi said, for the first time allowing passion to creep into his voice. “It is quite extraordinary. If it is truly from you, and not from that scoundrel Machigi, one may accept it.”

“It is assuredly from me, nandi, as a personal gift that I was happy to make.”

“Ha. Well.” The old man gave a little bow in place and looked as happy as ever one could remember him. “Then one is pleased to accept such a sentiment. My collection at Tirnamardi boasts an item of blue glaze. Do you know what that means?”

“That such an item is a great treasure, nandi, and very, very old.”

“It is only a single cup, but priceless, from the Saie Period.”

Thank God for a little reading—it was before the Great Wave.

“One is astonished. My meager knowledge does tell me it is a true museum piece.”

“It was a time of better relations,” Tatiseigi said. “The artist was Diadin. A signed piece. We understand there are but three in existence.”

It was an hour before he could manage an escape. Lord Tatiseigi had found an audience. And the old man’s expertise was impressive.

“Nandi,” Bren said in parting, “one has so enjoyed this meeting—and the discussion with someone of your breadth of knowledge. I shall certainly look at the Bujavid collection with a more discerning eye, now, and since the very first items in trade that are proposed under the agreement are porcelains and artworks, there can be no better advisor to whom I may refer, if you will be so kind. There is another piece, which Machigi himself ordered from the same artist, for a gift to the aiji and the people of the aishidi’tat, which will be on exhibition in the lower hall. This one I chose for you shows no difference in quality that my untutored eye can discern. The other will be on limited exhibit at first, but one would be very interested to hear your expert assessment of it, and therefore of Machigi’s seriousness in paying a courtesy to Tabini-aiji. If you would possibly find time to view it, one would be glad to have your expert opinion. I confess I chose this one for its beautiful greens, which I intended to honor the Atageini colors.”

“The piece will have a place of honor,” Tatiseigi said. “And I shall perhaps find time to stroll downstairs.”

It had actually gone very well, in all points. Lord Tatiseigi had found an appreciative audience and (which Tatiseigi might regret once he recalled it) had for the first time conversed with him as if he were a social equal, even an intimate.

To top all, Tatiseigi let himself be drafted as the resident porcelain expert. Which he truly was, along with Lord Geigi.

And when the business got to the Merchants’ Guild, there was no better nor more impressive expert than Tatiseigi to bring before that committee.

He didn’t dare comment to his bodyguard beyond the fact that he was happy. It seemed apt to jinx a run of good luck.

Rumors dictated the rest of the day—rumors that came shooting up to the message-bowl via the downstairs office, rumors that had to be gotten ahead of and answered or, in some cases, accommodated with an appointment. The head of the Transport Guild had heard rumors of new rail lines, and the Merchants’ Guild was even more wrought up, having heard rumors of a Marid factor opening an office on the East Coast and—greater shock—about to open one in Shejidan.

He hadn’t said anything on that score. It was coming from elsewhere, possibly from the Marid, possibly from the Marid via the Guild.

But before he could even ask—“Lord Machigi has named his representative, Bren-ji,” Jago informed him, dropping by the door of his office. “And the Guild has in mind a safe and appropriate lodging for the mission.”

The Guild was handling it. Of course they were.

Which was a great relief, despite the surety that the Guild was shoving politics again. Finding any lodgings within easy distance of the Bujavid, considering the legislature going into session, was a miracle in itself. The hotel would be filling up. Every lodging to let was let far in advance. And the several hotels slightly farther away would be filling.

“The lady,” Jago said, “will be arriving by train, amply escorted and picking up new staff in Shejidan, besides her personal staff from Tanaja.”

A woman. He had not envisioned that.

“Do we know anything about this choice, Jago-ji?”

“Her name is Siodi, of the Jaimedi clan. Her rank is Lady. She is a remote cousin of Lord Machigi, a lady of some standing in Tanaja and in Dausigi. She has represented Lord Machigi frequently in matters with Dausigi and Sungeni clans, mostly involving commerce and shipping. She lost a younger brother to the renegades early on and has been living either in the Isles or in the Residence for the last two years, for safety. In the estimation of Machigi’s guard, the lady was at least marginally in danger, principally as a way to deal psychological damage to Machigi, and did not exit close guard until early this year, when she undertook a mission to the Sungeni.”

“Qualified, then,” he said with some relief. “We shall hope to put the Merchants’ Guild immediately in touch with her; I shall write a letter. Likewise to Transport.” A deep breath. “Echo it to the aiji’s bodyguard. And to Tatisiegi’s.”

“It will leak,” Jago said, “in Tatiseigi’s instance.”

“But it will leak in beneficial places, with the perfume of Lord Tatiseigi’s house about the rumor. Advise the aiji’s staff it is intentional.”

Jago laughed quietly. “Be it so,” she said, and went off to create a small security breach.

He went back to work, writing the policy statement he had promised his staff, and declined Supani’s offer of tea. After meetings going right through lunch, he was awash in tea and had eaten too many teacakes to be at all interested in the sandwich their earnest young cook provided.

Tano came in to report the shuttle had left the station.

“Indeed!” That was good news. And was worth a little caution. “Are there any surprises aboard?”

“None,” Jago said. “Are we expecting anything else?”

“No,” he said with some confidence. “But one should advise staff Narani is coming. They will not wish to be caught with anything in disarray. Not to mention our young cook. He will want to have that kitchen immaculate. Would you care for a sandwich, Tano-ji? That one is superfluous, but one hesitates to offend our young lad.”

Tano gave a gentle laugh and took it up.

“Another report,” Tano said, “says that the dowager has now returned to Malguri from the wedding in Drien-daja’s villa.”

“She cannot return here too soon,” Bren said. “Is there word how matters there have gone with the wedding?”

“None specific and no information forecasting her return.”

“We can expect Lord Geigi at least to come to the capital once he hears the shuttle is on its way down. But I am very concerned about security for him. His bodyguard is no longer as well linked in as they might be. I am concerned about Lord Tatiseigi’s view of it, but I would feel easier if he would make use of my guest room.”

“We have advised his staff,” Tano said, “and we are in discussion on that point.”

Through Guild channels, that was. It was being managed, one trusted, in some way that would not rouse Tatiseigi’s jealousy or damage the uneasy truce between those two.

The sandwich went away with Tano, discreetly, and the paidhi-aiji got down to writing letters, with a sure timetable now for having his full staff. His hard-working crew was due a little rest. And more staff meant a chance for that.

But he had no timetable yet for having Ilisidi at hand to manage Tatiseigi and Geigi.

It was the porcelain, the imagination of benefits, and all the other arguments, that so far stood a chance of keeping Tatiseigi on their side of the political balance.

8

Cajeiri was bored. Bored. Bored. And one so wished one could think of another reason to visit nand’ Bren, or visit anyone outside the apartment walls today. Cajeiri even thought of asking Uncle Tatiseigi for an invitation.

No windows. No harbor. There was no garden in the Bujavid that he could go to—despite his aishid’s discouragement, he did officially ask his father for permission to visit the little one he had heard lay off the Kitchen Court.

No, was the answer. He could not go outside. The garden was too public, access too general. He could not go there.

“Might I go to the library, then, honored Father? Just to the library. One promises, to no other place.”

“No, son of mine. You can send to the library, and the library will send up whatever you want.”

“How shall I know what I want? I cannot see the books!”

“They will send you a selection of titles on any topic. Or a list. You might have a list of all the books in the library, if you ask.”

He sighed, deeply, and looked at the floor, just disgusted. Nobody was letting him have any freedom.

“Things are unsettled,” his father said. “Until business this session is settled, son, things will remain uneasy. There will be no few measures put forward in the legislature provocative of action from unstable persons, not to mention there may be enemies lurking about that the Guild may not have laid hands on.”

“How long,” he ventured to ask, “do you think it will take for it to be safe, honored Father? To the end of the session?”

His father started to answer him and then sighed and said, “One believes you know, son of mine, that there is no easy answer to that. So cease asking like a child. One knows you are wiser than that. It will take as long as it takes.”

He was only eight. But nearly nine. He was not wiser than that, inside, where being locked up without windows made him want to break things.

But, honored Father! he would have cried, even a few months ago.

And of course that would have gotten him nothing but his father’s ill regard.

He had learned a lot in the sole company of grownups, especially in Najida. He had learned that busy people tended to have unusually bad tempers and that one never gained anything by pushing them until that temper surfaced. He had come on his father in the midst of writing letters, probably letters to people who annoyed him, or letters that were going to make people unhappy.

He also learned not to think over and over on things he could not fix. The fact that a baby that lay in a crib and cared nothing about windows was going to have the only view in the apartment made him mad. But he could not fix that. If he ordered his sitting room wall knocked down, all he would have was a view of the Bujavid hallway—which might be interesting, but it would upset Security. There was no question of that.

So he calmed his temper and sat there looking at his father, without a sigh or a protest, until his father grew annoyed with the silence and suspicious. It was exactly what mani did. She had the best tricks of anyone he knew, and those tricks very often worked extremely well on his father.

“How are your lessons, son of mine?” his father asked, then—it was always the topic when his father had run out of topics. “One has had no complaints yet from this tutor. Or, what is more remarkable, about him.”

“He wished to teach me about the East, honored Father. But he has never been there. I told him I have. So he said he would make a list of questions and find out what I know. But if he tells me anything I do not think is right, I think it would be prudent of me to ask mani if that is true.”

His father frowned, maybe just a little annoyed. “Possibly you should ask me if your tutor tells you any fact you think deserves further question.”

“One will do so, then, honored Father.”

“Go,” his father said peevishly.

“Honored Father.” He stood up, bowed, and left, going back to his suite.

He had made himself a project. He had his sketchbook, and he had his little office, in which he sat and worked on his drawings and maps of Najida—he thought them rather good, and his aishid, all of whom were very good observers, could tell him details he had never noticed but that he remembered when they mentioned them.

He had something to do while he was shut in, the way he had learned what he had to do when he was cut off from his associates from the ship and when no one would let him go back to space. He was making his records. He would not forget the ship. He would not forget his associates aboard it. He would not forget the space station, little as he had gotten to see it.

And now he resolved not to forget the way Najida was. Nand’ Bren was changing it, adding another wing, and that would be very fine. But he wanted to remember it just the way it had been when he had arrived there. And then when he did get to visit again, he would compare things and make new sketches. He saved everything. He had a drawer in his office bureau exclusively for his sketches. And he had another for his maps, and the great map on the wall showed him the whole world. Except for Mospheira. He wanted a map of Mospheira, but he had not gotten one yet. And he wanted a map of the north pole and the south. And maps of the major isles. He wanted all of it. He had seen the world from space. And it was not just lines on paper. It had clouds. It turned. The moon had mountains. Mountains so high that they would have snow if they were on the earth. There was so much, so very much, that most people never even thought about. People had windows and never even looked out them. Of all things in the world he could not understand, he could not understand that.

His tutor came to meet him in his parents’ sitting room, bringing his list of questions about the East. He answered, and his tutor would check him about a detail, and check him on a detail within the detail, and on very boring things about the neighbors. He knew everything so well he quickly had his tutor nodding thoughtfully and saying he must have heard certain things from his great-grandmother.

“Nadi, one spent two years on the starship, and mani had nothing at all to do except to instruct us every day. One has learned genealogies, man’chi, ancestral obligation, protocols, history, geography, geology, animals, plants, herbs, and the traditions of the East. Also one has been instructed in security procedures and tactics by very high-up Guild. One has also recently learned the history, the geology, and the traditions of the West Coast, including the Edi people; and also of the middle lands. One was instructed by Lord Tatiseigi and by my great-grandmother in proper deportment, penmanship, and courteous address. The ship-aijiin instructed me in the history of the ship and in astronomy, besides emergency procedures in space. One has the acquaintance of the Astronomer Emeritus. One has heard about the ocean and navigation and ocean fishes from nand’ Toby of Port Jackson, and one has been on Mospheira, and one has flown twice in the space shuttle. One understands and writes ship-speak and one understands and writes Mosphei’, which is very little different. We have met aliens, and we can speak to them in their language, and nand’ Bren has explained their protocols so far as anybody in the world knows what they think.” He drew breath. He had worked himself into a temper, which he settled, because he had had far worse tutors. “And I have had an infelicitous number of tutors, one after the other, who have insisted on boring lessons about laws and protocols and writing letters. One understands that writing letters is important, nadi, but is there not something new that will be more useful?”

“Perhaps,” Dasi-nadi said, looking a little taken aback, “you should tell me in the greatest possible detail what you do know, young gentleman, and how and from whom you learned it, just as you have. Start at the beginning.”

That was at least a new approach. “At the very beginning?”

“One would be most interested to understand the things you do know, young gentleman. One would never ask that you mention anything classified, but one would be interested, and it is very possible you shall teach me things I do not myself know. You surely have had an uncommon background. I shall ask you questions, but they will only be for clarification, not as a challenge to your accuracy.”

He was astonished. Suspicious. “Where shall I start?”

“As early as you wish. You were born in the Bujavid.”

He nodded, jaw still set. “One does not remember that, nadi.”

“What is your first memory, young gentleman?”

He thought. “The big stairway in Uncle Tatiseigi’s house.” A pause. Tutors pounced on such inexactitudes and carried on for an hour. “He is my great-uncle, but one has always called him uncle, the way I call my great-grandmother mani.”

“One certainly understands. One would do the same, in all courtesy. And your second memory, nandi?”

“The mechieta pen. The stables. I remember something earlier, but it was about the foyer with the lilies and uncle telling me not to go to the stables. And I was bored, so I did anyway. I was not a very obedient nephew. I watched. I climbed up on the fence to see—I was very short, then—and there was a mechieta waiting there, all saddled. And it looked so easy—he was very near the fence. I climbed on. He broke his rein and broke the gate latch and went right across uncle’s new driveway. It was new concrete. And they had to wash the mechieta’s feet and they had to break up the concrete that had set and pour new, because it was a mess.” He ought to be sorry about it, he was sure, but he really never had been. It had been exciting, and he was proud of himself for having stayed on.

Except that mani had been inconvenienced. That was never good.

“So what do you know about concrete?”

“It gets warm when it sets,” he said. And it takes days to do it.”

“Interesting,” Dasi-nadi said. “Do you know why it gets warm?”

“No, nadi. One has no idea.”

Dasi-nadi told him, and sketched on his slate, and it was interesting but short. So they went on, and he talked about coming back to the Bujavid and meeting his parents and not really remembering them. And the first time he remembered nand’ Bren.

And he talked about the big hall of the Bujavid and the paintings.

“Do you know which paintings are always in the hall?” Dasi-nadi asked him. “Four change, but three are always there. Which three?”

He had no idea. So he learned something else, very quick and actually interesting, that he could be smug about if anyone asked him.

And he learned a third thing. That he was not bored. He could bend the lesson any direction he wanted to go, and if there was an answer he knew, he could give it, and if he had no idea, Dasi, who seemed very smart, could tell him.

“You were not boring, nadi,” he said with a little bow when they were done. “You teach like nand’ Bren. You may come back!”

“One is flattered, young gentleman,” Dasi-nadi said, smiling. “One is quite flattered.”

It really was the first time he had ever enjoyed a tutor’s lessons. He enjoyed it so much he asked himself whether it really had been a lesson, or whether Dasi-nadi was just trying to get the better of him. He had almost been tempted to tell Dasi how much he liked maps.

But he had stopped short of that, because whatever true thing one told somebody else, that person could use it for power, and would, and he trusted nobody who came into the apartment trying to teach him things. He had had far too many experiences and far too many people trying to threaten him into good behavior. Those were easy to spot, and he knew immediately how to get them in trouble. The ones that came in trying to win him over because they wanted to get his favor in the future or his father’s favor now—those were a little harder to spot, because they were good at being polite.

And he really, truly hoped Dasi-nadi was not one of those. He would be truly disappointed if he were.

But he was not going to say a thing about maps for a long, long while, and if Dasi-nadi turned out to be one of those people just after his father’s approval—

Well, it was just going to be harder to figure out, and he was going to be very mad if Dasi-nadi was trying to trick him.

He would never, ever forgive it, in fact.

The thought put him in a glum mood within five steps down the hallway toward his own apartment, and he was feeling entirely glum by the time he walked through his own doorway.

Glum, upset about the new baby having his mother and having all the windows. He was glum about not having a beautiful bay and a boat just down the hill, because he had no boat, Shejidan had no bay. Downhill from the Bujavid there was just a hotel and a lot of businesses all crowding close about the Bujavid and his father in hopes of getting rich.

Damn, he said to himself, and felt as if he had sunk into one of those black holes nand’ Bren had told him about, where everything flowed in, and nothing, not even light, could ever get out. That was the Bujavid, so far as he was concerned.

He had slammed the hall door as he came in—not too hard, not to have his father’s security come knocking at the door and wondering what the thump was. As it was, they could guess, knowing his tutor had just left.

Jegari was in the sitting room. So was Lucasi, both of them at the table with books and papers. Antaro and Jegari had their own lessons to do, Guild lessons, about regulations, and guns, and procedures, and so on. Algini had promised to teach Antaro demolitions when they had gotten through some course work at the Guild. Antaro in particular said she really wanted to learn, and Jegari had said it was a good thing that both of them have that training, to protect somebody who would someday be aiji of the aishidi’tat. So it was possible Antaro was off somewhere about that.

But it was curious Veijico was the one gone, too, when he came back from his lessons.

Very curious. Jegari and Lucasi were clearly busy, however, pens going.

He was just about to ask Jegari and Lucasi where their partners had gone when he heard footsteps in the hall, from the servants’ hall side. The secret knock sounded, and he opened the door himself. There were the missing pair, Veijico in her heavier uniform jacket and Antaro in an outdoor dress coat.

That was odd. They had definitely come in from the service passages; staff could come and go from the next floor if they used the service passages and went through security there. Nobody would stop them. And particularly nobody would question security staff—even wearing outdoor coats.

“Nadiin-ji,” he said with a polite little nod as they came in.

“The shuttle left the station an hour ago, nandi.”

“Good,” he said. He was always interested in the comings and goings of the shuttle. Even if his father would not let him go watch it. But that did not explain why they were dressed for the outdoors or coming in from the servants’ level. “Did you go out to learn that?”

They grinned, both of them. Widely. “You are properly observant, young gentleman,” Veijico said.

“One should expect so,” he said, sure they were up to some mischief, and was intrigued to see Antaro unbutton her coat, which seemed rather uncommonly snug. And there—

There, in a red leather harness and with a coiled-up strap, was a long-limbed little creature all over with black hair, with a pursed little mouth. It stared at him with big gold eyes.

It blinked, looking just waked-up and a little scared.

That was weirder than it staring. It blinked like a person. It was spooky, it doing that. It looked to be thinking.

Its little hands took a firm grip on the lapels of Veijico’s leather coat. It looked the other direction, then buried its face under her coat, still holding on.

That was even spookier. And somehow very sad.

“It will bite, nandi,” Antaro said, “if it thinks you will harm it.”

“Is it what you expected, nandi?” Veijico asked. “We can still take it back if you wish.”

The parid’ja smelled just slightly. But not badly. And it looked so small and so scared.

“One wishes to hold it.”

Veijico took the creature in both hands and gently pulled him away from its grip on her coat. She handed it to him, keeping the strap in her hand, and immediately the creature grabbed Cajeiri’s arm with tiny fingers and leaped up closer to his body, clinging in the same way to the lapels of one of his better coats and butting its head against his shoulder, trying to get inside his coat.

That felt weird. Its little hands were quite strong for its size. He could feel it breathing. Very gingerly he stroked the fur on its back, below the harness.

“One would suggest the cage soon, nandi,” Lucasi said, “so that he can—”

The creature unwound suddenly and made a flying leap for the nearby chair. Antaro neatly intercepted the jump with her arm, strap still in hand, and it shrieked, went upside down for a moment, then climbed up and clung to her arm as Lucasi quietly opened the brass cage.

Antaro carefully unclipped the strap from the harness, with the creature inside the doorway, and it leaped for the crossbars inside the cage. It made a fast clicking sound and settled there and blinked at them.

From her pocket Antaro produced a small egg and offered it. It darted forward to the cage door, snatched the egg in amazingly capable fingers and darted back to its perch, where it clutched its prize under its chin with both hands and looked at them all with quick bright eyes.

It was astonishing. It was amazing it was not gears and motors. It was alive. It was thinking, and it looked back at them and clicked at them, in defiant possession of the egg, which perhaps it thought was not safe to eat yet. Or perhaps it was just too upset at the moment.

“It will need water,” Jegari said.

“And a sandbox,” Lucasi said.

“We have procured the sandbox,” Antaro said. “Two packages are being sent up from freight, on an urgent basis. The address says to notify us, nandi, and one hopes senior Guild will respect that, since we have somewhat abused the Guild seal throughout this operation. One package has a sandbox and sand, dishes, brushes, all the things it may need, and the other is a packet of fresh eggs and fruit, nothing that needs refrigeration.”

“One should be fairly quick with the sand, one suspects,” Jegari said under his breath.

Meanwhile, fascinating sight, the creature stuck one long fingernail into the egg top and made a hole, which it carefully widened. Then it shifted the egg to hold it in two hands as a young child might hold a teacup. Its purplish tongue flicked into the egg and lapped the yellow contents up quite neatly.

It was very neat. It licked up all the egg it could, then dropped the very clean eggshell onto the floor of the cage and leaped to the other bench.

“Its name is Boji,” Cajeiri decided, and when everyone looked at him oddly: “Boji was one of the mechieti my great-uncle had. Besides, it reminds me of Baiji, who deserves to have a silly creature named after him.”

“Indeed,” Lucasi said.

“Must he always be in the cage?” Cajeiri asked.

“Or on his lead,” Veijico said, “until he is very much tamer. They can become quite tame. He will sit on your shoulder or on your arm, and he will reach man’chi, once he trusts you. But let him rest a little, nandi. He was very upset on the train and especially in the lift. One believes the noises frightened him. A dish of water and a little quiet would be good for his stomach right now.”

“Water,” Cajeiri said, and Jegari immediately left the premises, presumably to take care of that. They had kept all the goings-on very quiet, because there was a strategy in the plan, that nobody else should know about Boji until he had been on the premises for a few days, and then one could prove that Boji was not any disturbance at all, that he did not smell, he did not scare the servants, and that they could take care of him perfectly well without disturbing anybody.

So he settled to watch Boji, just to watch him, determined to keep such an exciting creature and plotting how he could keep Boji’s presence as quiet as possible—while Boji settled to watch him, with what thoughts on the other side of the cage wall one could hardly guess.

It was very strange how much and how immediately he liked having Boji there. They had been fortunate five, he and his aishid, and he supposed in a way there was now an infelicitous sixth, but Boji should hardly count in the class of persons.

And besides, his mother and father were hardly superstitious, or they would hardly have had another baby. Two was an infelicity, and four was no better, so either they had to plan another baby soon—that was a horrible thought!—or they had to be a family of four forever, or, counting their aishidi, twenty, which still not that good a number.

But the baby would hardly have a bodyguard right off, would it? They would be sixteen for years. Two eights. Four fours. Eight infelicitous twos.

His mind wandered off to thinking about the baby. And once he brought his mind back from its diversion, it informed him it was not an unrelated worry, because his mother had gotten more and more touchy and particular the closer she was to having the baby. She had the servants running all over getting this and getting that and making things just so.

And if anything went wrong, his mother was the likeliest to object to Boji, as she had started objecting to everything lately that might inconvenience the baby.

He could claim that he had gotten Boji because of the numbers—because seventeen was a lot better than sixteen. That was the thing to say to anyone having a silly argument about something. One just found good or bad numbers, as suited, and argued. It was what the old men did.

And Boji and the baby certainly made the nonadults in the household not-two. Which was a good thing.

So, then, he decided he would say he had felt unlucky about the household numbers with the baby, so he had gotten Boji to make the numbers better.

He liked that. It fit. It would make his mother think he was learning traditional thinking, and he was supposed to do that.

So now he was happy, and even ’counters had to be. Happy, that was.

That was brilliant. It stood a fair chance of working. Or at least of diverting the argument.

Now—if he could just keep his mother from finding out Boji even existed—

First off, he had taken his precaution and gotten just two servants, Eisi and Lieidi, assigned to attend his suite, and once they introduced Eisi and Lieidi to Boji and explained the situation—they would hardly betray him at this point, would they? They would understand that this was a surprise, that eventually the whole household would know, but they would not betray a surprise, would he? Not if they wanted his future good will.

He imagined a triumphant show, with Boji all tame and proper, sitting on his arm and maybe doing tricks, as he had heard his kind could—fetching things from a shelf, or bringing one a pen or a book from the desk. He would demonstrate to his father and mother how very mannerly Boji was, and his mother would be charmed, and meanwhile he would have something to do in his rooms besides lessons.

Boji bounded across the cage and shrieked. That was a little worrisome. He went to distract Boji and quiet him. He had not thought about Boji making noise. That was a problem.

That was a big problem.

The door opened. He held his breath. But it was just Jegari coming back. Jegari had brought a covered dish of water from the kitchen, just a plain little white baking dish of the sort that could disappear from the kitchen stores with nobody objecting.

“Here,” Jegari said, handing the water dish to him. “I shall open the cage. You can put the water in. Just be careful he does not get past you. Antaro can hold the harness while you work, through the grille.”

It took a little arranging, but Antaro reached in and caught the harness,. Cajeiri carefully bent down and put the water dish down.

“Now we can take the harness off,” Jegari said. “He should think about his training when he has it on, but he will only do it mischief if we leave it on. Besides, it will chafe his skin.

That took another bit of careful maneuvering, which Jegari and Antaro managed, getting the harness unbuckled and then letting Boji loose in the cage.

Boji was happier then and bounded this way and that, from perch to perch, ignoring the water dish.

Antaro flipped little hammerlike stops on the bottom and the top of the door.

Antaro said, “Always do that, nandi, because he may be clever enough to get his fingers through and open the main latch. That is why the area behind the latch has a much denser pattern in the brass, so he cannot do that, but my grandmother had one that could open almost anything.”

“One hopes he minds his manners!” Cajeiri said fervently, and then was amazed to see Boji hop down, dip both little hands in the water dish and drink just like a person.

Fascinating. And very spooky.

Then Boji leaped back up to the perch and then to the wall nearest him, clung to the brass flowers of the filigree and looked at him through the holes with first one eye and then another, as if correctly realizing now who he belonged to.

They said parid’ji could find man’chi to the person that owned them.

Atevi could. Mecheiti could, in their own way. He had never wondered about other animals, except cats and dogs and monkeys, which were as absent from the world as dinosaurs.

He had so wanted a cat or a dog. Or a dinosaur. Just a little one.

But Boji was going to be so good and so much fun. And if Boji decided to settle man’chi toward him, it was going to be very, very good, and so impressive for everyone he knew.

Boji was more fun than any baby. That was sure.

Once mani got back, he could visit her apartment and be under her rules when he was there, which he liked far better than his father’s rules. Well—but—

If he stayed overnight at mani’s apartment, once she came back, somebody had to keep Boji. And he could not tell the staff about Boji yet. And he still had no idea what he was going to do about the servants.

He would have to leave half his bodyguard to stay in his apartment, and then he would have to lie, and then his bodyguard would, and it would just be damned difficult…

Or…he could take Boji to see mani. Mani might be amused by Boji. She had strongly protected all sorts of wild creatures on Malguri land, and she had been very fierce about telling lords they should not declare any wild creature to be vermin, which had prompted no few arguments with her neighbors and, on several occasions, shooting.

She would definitely think Boji was interesting. Boji’s kind lived on the western side of the mountains, and she might never have seen one close up. She might be his ally in keeping Boji. If she got back before his mother and father found out he was here.

He just sat, watching Boji clean his fur, plotting how to get allies on the matter of Boji.

And the shuttle was coming down. He would get to see Narani, and Asicho, who had used to treat him very specially. They were both coming back to nand’ Bren’s service. Bindanda was coming, too. Bindanda had used to make him special desserts. He could almost taste them.

And his tutor was not boring, which was a great surprise.

Suddenly everything in the world was going as right as it could go.

Well, except for the baby coming.

9

Letters and committee meetings.

Committee meetings, and more committee meetings, and a reasonable forecast of arguments and squabbles between regions that had to be headed off once the details of the Machigi alliance became public. Jealousies existed between clans within regions, and between provinces and regions, where it came to prerogatives and agreements with the government in Shejidan. Philosophical disputes existed between the modernists and the traditionalists and the Rational Determinists, a philosophical quagmire that the paidhi-aiji didn’t remotely wish to navigate. When it came to philosophy, one could let Geigi, a Rational Determinist, use his influence, from a safe remove at Kajiminda to make headway on that front. Let Tatiseigi, a staunch traditionalist, have at the rest of his associates in Shejidan, in favor of the paidhi-aiji’s position. There was a novelty.

The whisper was getting out regarding the new proposals for the disposition of the coast and the tribal Gan and Edi. Rumors were also getting out about the treaty settling the Marid and about the paidhi-aiji’s position on cell phones.

Three issues. One could not have shouted fire in the halls of the Bujavid and stirred up any more passionate reaction than that combination of news. There were increasing rustlings of alarm from every political entity in the aishidi’tat.

Jago reported that Tabini was getting questions, too. Tabini was letting supporters of the cell phone issue down by stages, saying that the matter was complex and under renewed study, not quite mentioning yet, for the benefit of those opposed to cell phones, the possibility of some device still more technical in the offing.

And the irony of it all was that, for all the furor the agreement between Ilisidi and Machigi was causing, there was no point at which the various clans, districts, industries, associations, organizations, and philosophical groups—could actually get to vote on whether or not there would be an association between Malguri and the Taisigin Marid. An association was purely—and traditionally—a matter between or among the participants, and it was, to a certain extent—nobody else’s business until it was signed.

Then the implementation was going to rattle every door in the aishidi’tat.

Atevi politics at its finest.

The aiji-dowager sent word she was winging her way here—or was about to. The time was flexible. The shuttle was coming…that took time, but gravity was not flexible. And Machigi’s representative would be coming in; the train would be on a commercial schedule, not being a special.

As for Ilisidi’s timing, it was a toss-up as to whether it was news about the shuttle, news about the representative, a personal letter from Tatiseigi, or the fear that Lord Geigi would be coming in to have a potential encounter with Tatiseigi that had gotten the dowager moving—but moving she was, possibly to fling herself between her two rivalrous associates.

Adding to the stir, the porcelain exhibit had just opened its doors to the Merchant’s Guild, as a “gift from the lord of the Marid,” and the word had now gone from the paidhi’s office to the Merchant’s Guild that this exhibit represented an opportunity for a trade that had not been available for a very long time. The first merchants to set up agreements in Tanaja naturally stood to profit most, and to get their hands on a currently limited number of items…oh, they understood that part very well.

That bid fair to start a feeding frenzy, and the feeding frenzy was almost certain to cross party lines and to upset just about every vested interest who couldn’t see a way to profit.

The Marid representative, too, was going to get a great deal of attention once she arrived—dangerous attention, in some quarters. And the Guild knew it.

Bren sent, by means of the Guild, a welcoming message for the representative when she arrived, along with a bouquet of suitable and auspicious flowers of the season, and a card marking the occasion.

One understands you have had a long trip and may wish to rest, he said in the letter, so one hesitates to call in the midst of your arrival. My office and my personal staff stand ready to assist or to answer any questions, and please have your staff contact mine without hesitation if there is regard way in which I personally can assist you.

The paidhi-aiji wishes you the most felicitous of beginnings here in Shejidan.

That handled the question of the representative with a certain grace. Holding the rank he did, he was hardly obliged to run down to the hotel district to attend the mere representative of another lord while she unpacked, but he had made gestures of welcome, offered help, and invited contact through channels readily available to the lady should she have the energy left to want a meeting tonight.

Looming over the schedule was the face-to-face meeting with the Merchants’ Guild Council, all of whom were supposed to have been invited to view the porcelain exhibit downstairs today.

That meant the reports had to be ready, not only for that Guild, but for Transport, for the Messengers, and for the Assassins—the last as a courtesy, the first as intimately involved in the arrangements the dowager planned to make.

Daisibi and his staff had their work cut out for them.

The flower arrangement on the committee room conference table suggested calm and felicity as well as prosperity—that touch, arranged by Daisibi, was always good with the merchants. It was a low arrangement, appropriate for such a gathering. Bren, far shorter than the rest, could still see the faces above it.

And the Guildmaster of the Merchants, a lean, thoughtful man whose name was Marchien, sat at the broad end of the table, flanked by his own chief officers.

Bren, paidhi-aiji, and, in this meeting, the representative of the aiji-dowager, sat at the other alone—in what convention called a mirrored arrangement. Higher members of the Guild sat toward Marchien, and lower officers of the Guild sat next to Bren. It was a big table, the largest conference room in the Bujavid, with microphones inconspicuously set at each place.

There were the opening courtesies. Then came the initial statement, not from Marchien, but from the Junior Guildmaster at Marchien’s right.

“We have seen the exhibit downstairs, nand’ paidhi. We take it this arrival from the Marid, in light of other events, represents somewhat more than a gesture of good will. But are we to take this level of artistry as an earnest of the sort of trade they intend, since your letter suggests the whole porcelain industry as a starting point, nandi? Such craftsmanship and costliness hardly seems an article of common trade, which could be economically meaningful. And this of course supposes that this agreement with the Marid goes forward.”

“Here is the proposal,” Bren said soberly, and signaled Banichi and Jago, who signaled Tano, who signaled the staffer with the cart in the service passage, and in rolled stacks of booklets, three reports for each member of the committee…thank God for the assistance of the clerical staff, who had pulled together historic reference and maps, import and export figures, listings of exporters and trade offices, plus photographs of the Eastern harbors, to go with the maps. There was a volume of history of trade with the Marid going back to the Great Wave and figures on Marid commerce and economy since, with the history of the five clans, plus information on the Marid porcelain industry and the suppliers of raw materials within the aishidi’tat. There was the economic history of the current trade within the Marid, plus photos of typical types, with annual sales figures.

Thank God for the clerical staff.

And give the Merchants’ Guild one thing. Like the Assassins’ Guild, the Merchants’ Guild was quite refreshingly easy in the singularity of its purpose.

And they were, in that light, also among the most honest of the guilds: It was very hard to get it to play any politics that ran contrary to that central purpose, since it was dedicated to profit, and its membership was passionately averse to losing money or losing opportunities to make money. Since they thrived best in peace—weaponry fell under another guild—they tended to prefer that condition, another fact in their favor.

There was quickly a proposal on the table to bring in the curator of the Bujavid collections to educate the Guild membership on the worth and technicalities of Marid porcelains compared to those of other regions.

“One may also suggest,” Bren said innocently, “the assistance of the lord of the Atageini, who is himself a renowned expert in the collectors’ market and knowledgeable in the value of collectors’ items, in the higher end of this trade. One is certain he would be a great resource.”

The Guild took notes.

And requested several samples of ordinary commercial craftwork, declaring they would seek expert opinions on that.

There was animated discussion of the opening of the Marid factor’s office and the arrival of the Marid representative in Shejidan—and there was strong interest in the establishment a Merchants’ Guild office down in Tanaja. There followed a motion to bring in the Transport Guild to discuss rail options for increased traffic between Tanaja and Shejidan and one to bring in the Assassins’ Guild to discuss security both in Tanaja, for the proposed office, and in the Marid north, considering the prospect of moving shipments from the Taisigin Marid through the Senjin Marid.

When the Merchants’ Guild moved, it moved on many fronts at once, efficiently and boldly, in areas of endeavor it was confident it knew. And it moved fast, with uncommonly little debate.

The meeting went rather well, in Bren’s estimation.

The Treasurers’ Guild, which was to say the bankers and accountants, had meanwhile, and simultaneously, held its own meeting and invited the paidhi to the summation of the session, again the upper echelon of a Guild with a well-defined objective and a set of simple and predictable requirements. They had heard the business afoot in the Merchants’ Guild pretty well as it transpired, having had a representative present for the presentation, who had kept sending notes by runner to the Treasurers’ Guild, and they wanted an office in Tanaja too.

But, even more ambitious than the Merchants, they were particularly interested in the rumored opening of new Eastern ports, a topic the Merchants had not yet raised in more than a passing mention, pending more concrete recommendation from the Treasurers. Several independent banks in that Guild intended to consult with the Merchants’ Guild to talk about an expansion into the East, where a different currency had prevailed from antiquity…and that was going to have its own complications, not to mention howls of outrage if western currency started to circulate in the East.

That issue had to be dealt with diplomatically—a note to oneself to urge the Treasurers to come up with a special currency or means of exchange to get value between the East, the Marid, and the main part of the aishidi’tat. The Marid was likely to deal in anything that worked, but there was serious opposition in Shejidan to any fragmentation of the currency, as they called it.

Not to mention—and one had rather not mention, if one could avoid it, but it was inevitable—the side issue that was under discussion in the Treasurers’ Guild: an audit and accounting for the long-tangled affairs in Sarini Province, since it had been determined that Baiji, in his tenure at Kajiminda, had been involved in numerous off-the-books transactions, which needed to be brought onto the books, involving, potentially, most of the west coast.

The Treasurers took a by-the-book attitude toward any assistance rendered the Edi people in the construction of a new governmental center: they wanted a public record of source and amounts—and such things tended to come back and haunt the donors if there was a tight vote in the legislature and any question of bribery or collusions of an illegal nature. Some exchange of gifts was routine, but it was understood to be a gesture. Extravagance could mean adverse publicity.

That audit was a looming headache that he and Lord Geigi were going to share, not to mention the new lord of the Maschi at Targai, and if Lord Geigi headed back to the space station for somewhat more critical matters there, it was going to be the paidhi-aiji helping the new lord of the Maschi explain it all. There were no financial records in the Kajiminda affair that they had been able to find, beyond the stash of Baiji’s notes and correspondence, which the scoundrel had probably kept as potential blackmail of his managers—the depth of Baiji’s naïveté and stupidity had not yet been plumbed—and, yes, the paidhi-aiji and Lord Geigi would be perfectly happy to provide copies to the Treasurer’s Guild, so long as the investigations did not run counter to the aiji’s current dealings and negotiations with the Taisigin Marid, the Dausigi, and the Sungeni.

If the Treasurers’ Guild wanted to find problems in the accounts of the other two clans in the Marid, they must present those findings directly to Tabini-aiji, and the findings would ultimately be brought onto the books.

But there would be no investigation of the Taisigi and their allies reaching back into a diplomatically sensitive past. That situation, damn it, came under a general amnesty, and he now realized he had to ask for a signed document from Tabini to make that clear before some accountant waded in and tried to raise issues that were covered by the amnesty. Sometimes amnesty had to mean amnesty, or they ended up refighting useless battles, and things went to hell on skids. The Marid had seen two hundred years of almost-progress periodically ended by publicity at the wrong moment…a fact that he had tried delicately to point out to the Treasurers’ Guild.

One definitely wanted a stiff brandy and a day to rest after that meeting.

The Messengers’ Guild, the guild most notoriously corruptible from antiquity upward, wanted the Assassins’ Guild to protect its crews in repairing and maintaining its phone lines in the more troubled districts of the Marid, and, oh, it was very interested in the paidhi’s opinion on the cell phone bill. The rumor that the paidhi had changed his vote on the bill having begun to spread like wildfire, it drew mixed reactions from the Messengers—with, Bren thought, perhaps an automatic suspicion that, from loudly opposing the bill, perhaps they should now vote for it, since they always had opposed the paidhi’s programs.

One hardly gave an effective damn. He would meet with them, he would be courteous, he would bear with innuendo, and he expected nothing useful out of them to the dowager’s plans, only that they would do what the aiji flatly ordered them to do; and if he could not make that happen, he bet on the dowager getting it the traditional way with that guild—by bribing someone high up.

The Assassins’ guild—well, no outsider but the aiji himself directly met with that guild, except in the person of one’s bodyguard.

But word came, nonetheless, unofficially, that that Guild was not displeased with the paidhi’s change of mind on the phone bill.

“Gini-ji,” Bren said to Algini, who had told him so, “one would be very pleased to think so.” And, on an afterthought, dubiously: “Should one be pleased to think so?”

Algini was quietly amused. “One does not see my guild’s opinion as divergent from your own, Bren-ji.”

To what extent and to what purpose, Algini did not divulge, but since Algini had stepped a little wide of regulations to answer that question, he didn’t press the point. One could at least believe that if the Guild were acting contrary to Tabini’s interests, Jago would whisper a warning in his ear at night or Banichi would have a quiet talk with Algini and get some serious understandings about warnings that should pass to Tabini’s bodyguard. He felt safe, in that regard.

Meanwhile the Guild, by Banichi’s report, owned or somehow maintained an address where it meant guard the Marid representative around the clock. It would shadow her constantly—of course for her protection—and one could bet the Guild would install bugs in every conceivable location in the lady’s apartment and offices. Secrecy about the bugs was likely a superfluous effort, since the Marid representative would be a thorough fool not to want to be monitored around the clock, for her own safety and for the success of the mission. Even a discreet and tentative Taisigi presence in Shejidan at the moment would draw out the usual flurry of lunatics and eccentrics, from people wishing to blow up the premises to people convinced they had to talk to the representative for one reason or another, usually involving a numerical interpretation and a sense of quasidivine mission in the matter.

The Guild was going to find the lady an interesting assignment. Thank God the responsibility did not fall on the paidhi-aiji.

But the paidhi had, Bren congratulated himself, done damned well thus far, getting Tatiseigi into a decent mood and having none of the guilds he’d approached express complete opposition to the proceedings between the aiji-dowager and Lord Machigi.

Ilisidi had—thank God—reported Baiji wedded and presumably bedded. Lord Geigi, who had not attended his nephew’s wedding, had meanwhile been very busy about Sarini Province affairs. He had gotten ink on the line in the agreement between his clan and the Edi regarding the exchange of land, and, via a paper Bren had signed before he had left, he had promised the assistance of both Kajiminda and Najida estates in the construction of the Edi settlement. The new center for the Edi would stand on a portion of Lord Geigi’s peninsula … little that Lord Geigi had ever used that sea-girt forested area. It was adjacent to the Edi holdings on Najida peninsula, and the combination would give them a tiny province of their own.

And great benefit to the aishidi’tat that agreement would be, once they could get that Edi treaty also ratified by the aishidi’tat, because if that happened, the Edi were officially within the aishidi’tat, were officially committed to peace with the Taisigin Marid, and the Gan would follow.

And if there was peace with the Edi, then Machigi would be much, much happier with the situation he was walking into, and both sides would have recourse to the law and to the Guild for any breach of the peace. Which meant lawsuits instead of wars before assassinations.

That would be an improvement.

And in consequence of the committee meetings of the day, there had been, on Bren’s return to the apartment, a towering stack of reports waiting on the foyer table—the proceedings, requests, and comments of various Guilds and committees that had also met today, meetings that he had not been able to attend.

Plus, from his hardworking clerical office, there were reports for him to review: reports for Tabini, for Ilisidi, and for Lord Geigi, and for the Guilds and committees—they were fortunately much of the same content, segments that could be broken out and sent to various subcommittee heads at need. He simply needed to look those over and send them.

There was a personal note from Geigi, arrived via the Messengers’ Guild, which confirmed what he had expected, that Geigi intended to be on the shuttle when it launched back to the station.

And—news—Geigi was coming back to the Bujavid and intended to be Ilisidi’s guest once Ilisidi got back from the East Coast. He would be here for a little time before he took that shuttle. And he would arrive on whatever day Ilisidi got back.

That arrangement would not work. And he was uncomfortable with the idea of his old ally Lord Geigi, who held an office equivalent to his, having to lodge downtown.

Inviting Geigi to guest under his roof, so to speak, risked awakening Tatiseigi’s general irritation that humans existed. And it might slightly ruffle Machigi, who had an ongoing issue with Lord Geigi. But it was an absolute necessity.

He and Geigi had business to discuss regarding the coastal estates, besides. So it did give them time to do that, in a crowded schedule.

And as he headed for his office, having instructed Supani and Koharu to move the masses of paper, Algini turned up from the security office.

“Machigi has just dispatched his representative, Bren-ji. Siodi-daja, of Jaimedi clan, is now in transit by train. She will arrive in Shejidan at sunset this evening. The Guild is prepared to assist her.”

Good on that score. Things were moving. Now everything would move. Fast.

“The shuttle is still on schedule?”

“On schedule, nandi. It will land within the same half hour as the lady arrives at the train station, so if you wish to meet one, the other is precluded. Weather is still good for a city landing.”

Generally the shuttle landings were further out, in respect to the city’s roof tiles; the space facility at the city airport had mostly plane traffic, moving personnel and freight out and back. But there was reason to land in the city on this one time, for security reasons involving its return flight.

“Notify Daisibi of the lady’s arrival, Gini-ji.”

So that the flowers would arrive fresh and have time to cope with whatever security the Guild had laid down.

And in this cascade of developments, and since the shuttle had chosen to come in at the old shuttle launch outside Shejidan, he had the rare chance to meet the shuttle and welcome home Narani and Bindanda, whom he had not seen for a year, and to welcome the other members of his household who had been absent for two, going on three, years.

Tano and Algini would interface very efficiently with the Guild guarding the lady. He could send them to meet the lady as a courtesy. And with Koharu and Supani running the household here, he had no worries about dividing his bodyguard.

“If you, Gini-ji, with Tano, would be so gracious as to meet the lady at the train…”

“Gladly, nandi,” Algini said. Algini was always anxious to be where the most interesting information originated. And that was with Lady Siodi, this evening, one was reasonably certain. One could lay bets that the Guild accompanying her would have a wealth of interesting things to say to the Guild establishment in the lady’s new quarters and to Algini that they would never tell to him.

“There will certainly be pizza left when you return,” he said. Their Najidi cook had very readily agreed to a dish this simple and festive for the dinner he was obliged to present to the redoubtable Bindanda, the master chef. The young man’s relief, when told that was the choice, had been extreme.

“We shall see the lady settled in good order,” Algini said. “And we shall get a report, Bren-ji.”

“One has every confidence,” he said.

So he saw the paper mountains sent into his office, and then he and Banichi and Jago went on to have their lunch, followed by a leisurely informal debriefing in the sitting room—Algini joined them there for an exchange of intelligence and a warning about the afternoon meetings. Tano came in with an account of reports sent to Tabini and messages received from him.

“The exhibit in the lower hall,” Jago said afterward, “is drawing attention not alone from the Merchants’ Guild. The public has seen the sign, and the news services have reported it. There is great public interest, and house security asks all households to be aware there will be tourist traffic in excess of the ordinary downstairs. At the museum’s request, the Guild is taking measures to provide a more extensive guard. The printing office, meanwhile, is doing special cards for the public.”

Keepsakes. Cards. Families kept such mementoes in albums, usually, along with their photographs, or hung very special ones on the wall, especially signed ones, and very especially ones with ribbons and seals of notable or memorable people.

And a card was being issued from the Bujavid Museum Office for the Marid porcelain?

God. That was going to bring out more than “crowds.” Mobs would be likely. A collectors’ item. A very high-value collectors’ item.

And, oh, the museum knew it. The museum would have the opportunity to collect beneficences for the event…one was certain it would set up a contributions bowl beside the object. There would be lines at the front door. They would be putting visitors through in groups, guide-escorted and moved along at a set pace. All this while critical presession committee meetings were going on, while the Marid emissary was settling into her residence—and when the whole drama of the Marid alliance was about to go as public as any such event had been in years.

He should have seen it coming. He’d thought of a few rich collectors straying through. But—with the mix of recent upheaval in the south, the long-term public anxiety about the Marid, the distant news of a political shakeup, and now—now gifts from the new authority in the Marid, sent, for all the public knew, to the aishidi’tat itself—oh, yes, it made sense. At least in their minds, that gift was to the aiji. The news had twigged to the idea something was going on, and now there was an image they could broadcast that was becoming a focal point and a general public understanding that the agreement involved the whole aishidi’tat.

God, he’d dropped a stitch. No, he hadn’t avoided publicity. He’d intended to use it. He hadn’t planned to be the lone representative of the powers that had been involved down in the south, with the business accelerating to the point of lunacy. Geigi wouldn’t be back until the dowager was; Machigi wouldn’t arrive until the dowager did. There was the Marid representative. There was himself. And what did he do with the pent-up potential?

He put up a damned art exhibit and thoughtlessly threw it open to the public almost as a matter of course. All exhibits in the lower hall went public after their initial purpose was satisfied. They always had. Did now. He hadn’t ordered otherwise. God! He’d made a mistake.

“Does the aiji know it, nadiin-ji?”

“He does,” Banichi said. “He has talked directly with the Museum Director.”

“Who ordered the release of cards, nadiin-ji? The Director?”

“One assumes the Director, Bren-ji, but one can check.”

“Do, Jago-ji,” he said. “I fear I have involved Tabini-aiji. And I did not wish this.”

“One will inquire of the aiji’s office,” Jago said and left, probably to make a quiet call through channels.

He had wanted to make the porcelain, ergo the negotiations, appear in a popular light. He had wanted the piece displayed in a good light—literally—not hauled inelegantly out of a case and set on the conference table in front of the Merchants’ Guild. And after it had served its purpose, well, there was hardly anything to do with it but take it public, was there? He had expected the Director to put the piece in a quiet little case in the middle hall. If they were getting that kind of traffic, clearly it was not going to be in the middle hall. It was probably in the foremost display case in the foyer.

Printing cards.

He wondered if Tabini himself had quietly leaked the word to the public. He hoped…

But, God, Tatiseigi had no discretion in communications. If rumor had gotten out to some art expert, and then gotten from there to the porcelain fanciers, who were numerous…

“What have you learned?” he asked when Jago returned quietly. “Is the aiji greatly upset?”

“Bren-ji, it was the Guild that ordered it,” Jago said.

Bren blinked. And stared at Jago, who quietly poured herself a refill of tea and sat down.

The Guild had just intervened in a crowded printing schedule and had cards printed for a spur-of-the-moment art exhibit?

“One cannot ask,” Bren surmised.

“No,” Jago said, “one should not ask, and I cannot say more. But positive information on the agreement is being dispersed to many lordly households.”

God. The Guild was backing the agreement. All-out backing it.

It made him nervous to have no check or objection whatsoever on what he was doing—nobody except Tatiseigi, who would cheerfully tell him his faults and flaws.

The notion that the Guild might be moving politics on its own again rather than supporting the aiji’s administrative authority—that gave him pause. Extreme pause.

In the light of what Tabini had told him—if Tabini had even told him all the truth—

God, what was happening in the understructure of the aishidi’tat?

If the agreement helped pave the way for lasting peace, down the road…good. He thought so, at least. If they could get the state stable enough to rein in the Guild—he was associated with the very people who were capable of doing that and who were going to tell him the truth. He bet everything on that. And Jago, who’d just given him that information.

He just wished he were a little more confident that he was not setting something skidding into motion that had no damned brakes.

And he wished he were a little more confident in his judgment. The Guild was supposed to serve as a check on the aiji’s power. It was the law court. The bar. The regulation of societal stress and the court of ultimate appeal.

Had the recent bloodbath in the Marid and the prior battle, when Tabini had come back, and the one before that, when Murini had staged his coup—had those set-tos, in which far too many had died, been the tipping point toward a new theory of government?

Rule by the most clandestine of guilds was dangerous. No matter how good, how positive the intent, letting that go on was not a good thing. And of all people to have some of the major players in his household—a human. The paidhi, who was supposed to be neutral in politics.

With Tabini-aiji’s bodyguard kept out of the loop because somebody lately playing politics at the top of the Guild had wanted to keep its operations secret and unstoppable…and didn’t trust Taibeni clan.

He didn’t approve. He very much didn’t approve.

“Nadiin-ji,” he said to them, “that may be good or bad. Let us hope it is good.” And he added, pointedly, “Keep Tabini-aiji aware. One asks.”

“We are watching,” Jago said. “We are watching all levels of this operation. Carefully. So are our partners.”

Algini and Tano.

“And we are reporting to Tabini-aiji, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “So is Cenedi.”

That made him feel better.

But not entirely. It meant that—should the Guild decide again that secrecy mattered more than law—it could decide to take measures against them.

Damn, he thought. Damn, he had to find out some things. He had to get uncertainty settled down, before things outright exploded.

The shuttle was on its way in, and meeting it required a train trip, a very pleasant trip in the closed quiet of the aiji’s red-upholstered private car, on loan again.

Meanwhile, the Guild reportedly had the Taisigi representative’s premises in order…meaning, of course, all the bugs were politely tucked in and well-concealed. Banichi and Jago professed themselves satisfied by the report they had from Tano and Algini, so one could take that arrival as going well. The clerical office had sent the flowers for the lady.

And for the rest, it was a smooth trip on rail out to the far side of the airport, until the train drew up to wait on a siding within view of the shuttle landing strip.

They had not long to wait. A call from ground operations advised them that the shuttle was now visible on approach.

One’s heart beat a little faster. Definitely. Even after a trip on a starship, these landings at the mercy of a planet’s unforgiving mass, involving so much support, involving weather, involving very high-velocity machinery, never became entirely routine. He got up and walked to the open side door to watch—he had on the bulletproof vest, as he had promised, a better-proportioned version and not so uncomfortable as the makeshift one. He stood in the light of a setting sun and spied the shimmering speck that was the shuttle. He watched it grow larger and more solid. He had landed on that very shuttle, and he knew everything going on in the passenger section, people taking last-moment account of any stray items. When the shuttle braked, it braked.

Wheels touched. The nose came down elegantly, and it slowed and braked, using up a scary lot of the runway.

Now it was simply a matter of waiting while the support vehicles moved in, while the exterior cooled a bit, and the safety crew had a go at the craft.

Inside, the passengers would be shifting about, gathering up their hand luggage, and the shuttle crew would be putting the shuttle into a safe condition for its two weeks or so of servicing and checks and refueling—the normal schedule for any shuttle on the ground.

Well, the show was over. Now it was all waiting. Bren returned to his seat as Banichi and Jago shut the door. They shared a little tea, it being close to suppertime, while Jago kept an ear to ground operations and Banichi kept track of events downtown in Shejidan.

“The Marid representative has reached her apartment, Bren-ji,” Banichi reported, “and Tano and Algini have met the lady, who expresses gratitude. She is quite pleased with the apartment and office and is particularly pleased to find an excellent and approved restaurant across the street, which is arranged to provide menus and deliver to her premises.”

“Excellent,” he said. He was entirely relieved. Two things were going well at once. Unprecedented.

He sat and sipped tea, while Jago followed post-flight operations. At last she advised them that the shuttle doors were opening and that a bus had been dispatched to convey the passengers and their baggage directly to the train, customs waiving an inspection on executive privilege.

Bren gave it a few minutes more, and when Jago reported that the bus was well on its way to the siding, he got up, set his own teacup in a safe enclosure at the back of the galley counter, and went back to the door with Banichi and Jago.

The modest spaceport bus came purring up alongside, next to a low ditch and blooming water flower. It stopped and opened its door, lowering its steps with a pneumatic hiss.

Out first came a young man: young Casichi, one of Narani’s many nephews, and then, white-haired and moving slowly with the young man’s help, Narani himself, who looked up with a wide grin.

Immediately after Narani came the portly and distinguished Bindanda. Then—was that Asicho, or Sabiso? Asicho, Bren decided, the excellent young woman who, with Sabiso, had attended Jago’s needs in their very male household aboard ship—the two were partners and cousins, as alike as sisters; Sabiso was right behind her.

And Jeladi! Jeladi, his sometime valet, who had been their man-of-all-work aboard ship, who now would assist Narani at the door and with the accounts.

Then came Kandara, and Palaidi, and Junari…all, all welcome and happy faces, men who had been on a grand adventure and now might have—finally—a chance to visit their homes in Najida village.

Bren descended a step. But Jago put a hand on his shoulder.

“Narani will need assistance, nadiin-ji,” he protested.

“Then you must stay here, nand’ paidhi,” Jago said firmly and primly, “freeing your bodyguard to do that service.”

Wherewith, she easily skipped to the ground as the senior company from the bus made their way toward the train. The younger members of the company had started offloading their bulkier stored baggage, a great deal of it, from the bus.

There would be gifts for family, all manner of mementoes of their service on the station—one could by no means handle such things roughly or without consideration. Banichi got down and headed for them to assist.

Narani reached the bus. And with these people, hang back as he must, Bren had no solemn formality at all. He offered Narani his hand for assistance up the last step, took a good grip on the door frame and assisted Bindanda—who had not lost any of his girth—and one after the other of the others. Banichi and Jago arrived hindmost, shepherding the baggage handling, and they and the younger folk heaved their loads up into the car in a happy and noisy chaos. Atevi on public occasions showed very little emotion, all stiff formality, but there was none of that reserve in this moment: everyone fairly beamed with happiness, even Bindanda, and most of all gentle Narani. Hugs were out of the question. There were simply deep bows, repeated deep bows, and very, very happy staff, while baggage was shifted and people found seats.

“Nandi,” Narani said more than once, “you do us very great honor. One by no means expected the paidhi-aiji to come in person.”

“I would have walked here barefoot to see you, Rani-ji, and you, Danda-ji, and all of you, and you know it! Welcome back! Welcome home! We have made our best efforts to put things in order in the apartment, as best we could, with the help of some young folk from Najida, and a young cook, Danda-ji, who is terrified of meeting you and so much hopes to have your good opinion. And by no means shall any of you delay meeting family. If any of you—any of you—have urgent need to visit your own houses for any reason, nadiin-ji, we shall make every effort to get you there and back again; and you all, in precedence of service, may have a week in Najida, at your pleasure and my expense. Nadiin-ji! One is so very, very glad to see your faces again!”

There were more bows. Protestations that none of them, not one! would leave until the household was in good order.

“You all resume your rank and your duties,” he said, “except, Jeladi—”

“Nandi!”

“You know your circumstances, that you will assist Narani-nadi!”

“Yes, nandi!”

“One has the greatest confidence, nadi! Sit, be at ease. We have every sort of beverage and fruit juice. But mind, mind, we shall have pizza on our return to the Bujavid, and you must arrive in good appetite!”

That roused a cheer. Fruit juice was the overwhelming favorite choice, and the youngest took over service. They had at least two rounds before the train began the careful climb up to the Bujavid train station.

From there it became a traveling celebration, a laughable effort trying to get all the baggage into the baggage office, and arranging to transport it themselves.

Upstairs, then, in more than one elevator load, their advance guard reached the front door—where Supani and Koharu met them. Koharu with some little ceremony turned over the keys to Narani right from the start. “An honor to do so, nadi,” Koharu said graciously, and with that, Narani resumed the post that was his.

Bindanda, now—Bindanda sniffed air redolent of fresh-baked pizza and said, with extraordinary charity and good humor, “The paidhi seems very ably served in the kitchen.”

Which was not to say Bindanda did not immediately head down the hall to the kitchen in his shirt sleeves, having handed off his outdoor coat and not even having changed to kitchen whites, bent on inspecting the kitchen operation.

Tano and Algini had made it back to the apartment not long before them. “Go rescue Pai-nadi, nadiin-ji,” Bren said to them under his breath, for fear their young cook would simply wilt at the sight of Bindanda, and those two headed toward that venue on a mission of mercy, right on Bindanda’s heels.

Supani and Koharu having gotten back to their own assignment, however, the hated vest could now come off, and Bren slipped on a light coat for house wear, while the staff settled into their rooms backstairs. It was suddenly a completely staffed household, a lively household and a happy one, even in the kitchen.

And within the half hour, pizza began to pour from the kitchen to the dining room in an extremely informal service. It was the atevi recipe—green, laced with alkaloid, all except one special one. It was a dish that newly established custom declared proper to eat standing, with drink in hand, even while touring the premises on a festive occasion. Even Narani put away three pieces and Jeladi certainly more than that—not to mention Bindanda, who must have accounted for one entire pizza himself, to Pai’s great delight.

Then staff, having toured the revisions to the apartment, settled on available chairs in the sitting room—and long past supper and an offering of brandy, they all traded stories, stories of life on the station during the Troubles and stories from the Najida folk of how they had stolen the paidhi’s furniture from the Bujavid—details that Bren had not himself heard, and he had to laugh at Koharu’s account of getting a room-sized carpet past two guards.

It was a splendid evening. Everybody got along famously, and everyone drank a bit more wine and brandy than proper; there was laughter, and good humor, and in due time—bed and quiet.

“Such a day,” Bren said into Jago’s ear when they were both abed. “Such a good day.”

“In every respect,” Jago said, and sighed.

10

Morning. And in Father’s household, unlike mani’s, they all almost never had breakfast together. Or lunch. Sometimes they had supper. Every few days they had supper.

But it was a surprise to be asked to breakfast with Father and Mother. At first one feared one’s parents had found out about Boji.

Cajeiri scrubbed and dressed and turned out in his best, all the while asking himself what other bad thing could happen or how he would handle it if his worst fears came true.

But once he entered into the dining room, he was perfectly cheerful. He had learned from Great-grandmother never to let worry show on his face, because then there would surely be questions about one’s bad mood, and then one would be obliged to tell much more than one wished and end up defending oneself before ever being challenged.

If the two servants he had tending to his apartment had taken a report about Boji to his father, he was going to be more than put out.

But again, one dared not let worry show. One just appreciated the breakfast, which was very traditional and actually quite good, and thanked the cook. And tried to be smart.

Since nothing came up after service was done, he decided it could even be one of those times when his parents had decided to notice him and have breakfast with their son the way other families did.

If that was the case, that was nice. Or it would have been nice if he had anything entertaining to say. Mother and Father had talked about the legislative session and the Communications Guild, while he tried to keep a pleasant expression throughout that dull stuff, and when after-breakfast talk was done, he decided he might be able to just slip out quietly and go about his own business.

“Son of mine,” his father said, stopping him halfway to rising.

He settled. “Honored Father.”

“Come to my office.”

This was not good. Not at all good. It could be about lessons. But he and his tutor had gotten along.

Maybe that was all Father wanted to ask him: how the tutor was doing. He would say, I want this tutor, and his father would say that was fine and let him go.

His father and mother went their separate ways in the hall; his mother remarked on his coat and cautioned him not to wear it except on special occasions.

“One thought this was a special occasion this morning, honored Mother,” he said, which brought a little frown to his mother’s face.

“Well, we shall have to do it far more often,” she said, which was not what he wanted to hear. And she patted his shoulder and then went her way to her suite, while his father had already walked on into the main hall with two of his bodyguard in tow.

Cajeiri had not brought his own guard to stand duty at breakfast, it being inside the apartment. But when he got to the office, his father’s guard took up their posts outside, and one opened the door for them, and shut it when they were inside. It gave the visit an uncomfortably formal feeling, as if he were some kind of offender being brought to court.

“Well,” Father said, settling into his chair at his desk, with stacks of papers and books everywhere about that were mostly classified, and with the important business of the whole world spread about them. “You do look very fine this morning, son of mine.”

“Thank you, honored Father.” It called for a bow. He made it, hoping hard that this really was only about the tutor and his lessons.

“You are still content with your tutor.”

“Very much so, honored Father.”

“A wonder. One has also a good report from him.”

“One is gratified, honored Father.”

His father turned to his desk and took up a small, fat envelope. It was a curious envelope. It had that glassy kind of look that did not belong on earth. It was so transparent one could see writing on it. His father laid it in the midst of his other papers. He wished he could read what it said at this distance, but it was impossible.

“The shuttle has landed,” his father said, “and brought with it a letter.”

His heart had already picked up its beats. Now it beat faster still, but he was not sure whether he was in trouble or not.

“A letter, honored Father.”

“You sent a message, this time by Lord Geigi.”

Faster and faster, and with suddenly far less hope of possessing that letter. He was definitely in trouble, maybe Lord Geigi was, thanks to him, and quibbling would not help matters. “Yes, honored Father.”

“You are determined, are you not, to keep up relations with your associates on the ship.”

“These are valuable associates, honored Father.”

“You think so. They are not the sons and daughters of aijiin. They have no connections.”

He had never heard that objection to his associations. He had never even considered that objection. And he pounced on the only logic he could think of.

“The ship-aijiin have no children, honored Father.”

“You know that, do you?”

“None my age, at least, honored Father. But—”

“Continue your thought. One wishes to hear your reasoning.”

He had never reasoned any logic for his choice of companions, except that they were accessible. There had been more kids, but a handful—a handful were the best ones.

“They have good qualities,” he said. His head had gone spinning off into ship-speak, and it was hard to find words in Ragi to describe these associates. “And they are valuable.” A thought struck him. “Nand’ Bren is not the son of an aiji, is he, honored Father?”

“He is not,” his father said. “Humans form their associations differently. Yet one might suggest that you are a more valuable associate for them than they to you.”

That envelope was about Gene and Artur and Irene and Bjorn. It could be from them. But if he asked for it, his father would probably say no, and that would be the end of the discussion for years. So he fought to think straight, and not to panic, and not to lose his words. (Lose your words, his great-grandmother would say, after thwacking him on the ear, and you lose your argument. Lose your argument, and you lose what you dearly want. Think, boy! What are your words?)

“Humans form their associations differently.” He answered his father with his father’s own words. “They do not have to be the sons and daughters of aijiin. I make them important.”

His father blinked, at least a sign that he was impressed. “And they have good qualities, you say. What are these qualities?”

“They are clever. They are forward. They know things.”

“And their man’chi?”

He saw that trap and stepped right across it. “Their man’chi is like nand’ Bren’s.”

“One doubts it is that extraordinary,” Father said. “But it has impressed you.”

“They are strong,” he said. “They are quick. They have protected me.”

“Protected you.”

“They have taken the blame for me, honored Father, when I was stupid.”

“An impressive gift. So.” Father was quiet for a moment. “And you were ordered, strictly, to forego this association.”

“I was ordered. But I have learned it would be improper for me, honored Father, to disrespect their man’chi.”

“That is how you read them, in particular. All of them.”

Another trap. It was a test.

“Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father. And Bjorn. Bjorn is a year older. One does not believe the rest have such man’chi, but these four. These four.”

“A fortunate number for an aishid. Was that your thought?”

“I have an aishid, honored Father, and they shall be. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene—they are the three I would most rely on. Bjorn I would rely on to help me and to fight for me. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father, these three would be with me through anything. Bjorn has man’chi to them most. But to me, too. I am older, now, and much wiser.”

Father nodded. “And you think it unjust that we have severed you from these persons.”

He could get angry if he let himself. Anger, mani would say, is your enemy’s servant.

“I know why you have ordered it, honored Father. I need to be with atevi. I shall live here and not in space. I shall need to know things I could not learn in space. I need to know atevi and not to be confused about what I am. I need to learn man’chi. I need to learn from atevi.” It was a recital, of things all the adults around him had said, over and over. “Now I know what everybody was telling me about grown-up feelings. Now I know what you and mani wanted to teach me about that. Now I am ready.”

His father leaned back in his chair, as he would do when he was taking a view of something, and ending a conversation. “You are almost fortunate nine. And extraordinarily precocious.”

“One hopes to be respectful.” He had learned to say that under the threat of a thwack on the ear. “Honored Father.”

“Are you? Respectful?”

His heart ticked up. “One wishes always to be respectful, honored Father.”

“Yet you send secret messages by a lord who may in the future wish your favor.”

“Nand’ Bren says Lord Geigi is honest and I should rely on him. But nand’ Bren has man’chi to you, and so does Lord Geigi. So I know he would have told you. But I suppose he might have forgotten to tell you. Things were very confused at Najida.”

“Oh, do not be elusive, son of mine. It hardly becomes an aiji. Speak your mind.”

“Then you should not be angry at Lord Geigi for sending my message. I am the one. I was not proper to him, to ask him to carry a message you would not approve. I did not expect him to send it. He may not have known you disapproved.”

His father’s face was quite grim. “He is no fool. Do you think he is?”

“Not at all. But he may be busy.”

“It was quite clever. He did come to me. I told him to send the message. And all the rest.”

“All my other letters?”

“I saved them.”

He drew a deep, slow breath. Bowed, which was always a good idea when the conversation was getting tense.

“Honored Father.”

“So here is your answer,” Father said, nudging the glassy envelope closer. “A letter carried down on the shuttle. One inquired of Jase-aiji as to the propriety of the exchange.”

“Jase-aiji.” Jase-aiji was one of nand’ Bren’s associates. Jase-aiji had been good to him, on the ship.

“I asked him, through the ship-paidhi, how your association with these persons stands. He responded that they often ask about you and often wish their good will sent to you. You are right. The association has not broken, though strongly encouraged to break.”

A second deep breath. A second bow. He did not trust his voice. His heart was beating for all he was worth.

“These three,” his father said, “and the fourth, are an inconvenient symmetry in ages. There will be comment on that, among the ’counters. And much as we belittle the ’counters for folly, there is reason in this. There is something missing. One does not think it is this Bjorn person, who wrote only briefly and formally and has entered technical preparation on the ship. He will not come.”

“One—has no idea, honored Father.”

“There will be someone,” his father said. “A fourth. Everyone will say so. But you are approaching your ninth and felicitous year, and one has asked oneself what sort of celebration there should be. Your grandfather and your great-uncle will of course have their plans, and their regional ambitions, about which you know something.”

“I know, honored Father. But—”

“Do not interrupt me.”

“Forgive me.”

“I am having a generous moment. I am having an extremely generous moment—and perhaps a moment of far less charity toward these pestilential regional ambitions. I shall not have a civil war breaking out between your grandfather and your great-uncle, or between your mother and me, or between me and my grandmother. Each will deplore the other’s influence. Half will deplore the association with nand’ Bren, half will support it. And it is in my mind to give everyone something else to deplore, if I can prevail upon Jase-aiji to move the parents of these three young people to permit them to attend you on your birthday—down and back up to the station again on the same shuttle cycle. Would that please you, son of mine?”

“Honored Father.” He found himself all but speechless. “Indeed.” He remembered to bow. “One would be extremely pleased.”

“One had little doubt of that. Your mother is anxious. I am not. One will expect extraordinarily good behavior before, during, and after this event. You understand the word ‘incident,’ do you not?”

“Yes, honored Father. One does understand it.”

“Do you understand my desire not to have one surrounding this event?”

“One understands very, very well, honored Father. One will be on absolutely the best behavior. And likewise my associates.”

“This entails the consent of their parents. Jase-aiji can strongly suggest they give it. He cannot order them to permit this, nor is it certain that your young associates will wish to come here. But you may invite them, and Jase-aiji will support your request, as will I. As will your mother.”

He bowed, and bowed again for good measure. “One would be ever so grateful, ever so well-behaved, ever so polite—”

His father lifted a hand for silence.

“Go,” his father said. “Go begin behaving well, today. Let us have another good report from your tutor.”

“You shall have, honored Father! Thank you!”

“Out.”

He left. He left with a look back at the doorway to see whether his father was still serious. He was. He ducked out and shut the door and went straight down the hall to his own door, and inside.

“Nadiin-ji!” he said when he had come in, and he scared Boji, who hopped from perch to perch in his cage and chattered at him.

But he had such good news, such absolutely unexpectedly wonderful news he could hardly hold it.

He had to start reading and writing in ship-speak again. He would teach his aishid. They needed to know it, being his bodyguards.

The whole heavens had opened up.

And when all his bodyguards appeared in the doorway, Antaro in only her underwear, he hardly even noticed that, he was so excited.

“I have news,” he said. “Nadiin-ji, I am going to have the best birthday there could ever be! My ship-associates are coming!”

“Indeed?” Antaro asked.

“For my birthday! Father sent the message, and I have letters!”

It was very little time until his birthday happened and until he could see his shipboard-associates, and they could meet his aishid, and they would all get together and talk until all hours.

Oh, and then he could show them how clever he had taught Boji to be. They would never have seen a parid’ja, or a mechieta, or anything of the kind. That would be wonderful to them.

He would show them the Bujavid and mecheiti. He would take them on the train, and they could go to Uncle Tatiseigi’s estate, and he would show them all how to ride.

And he would have Boji travel with them, because by then he would have trained Boji. Boji would amaze them. They all told stories about dogs and cats and horses, and he had seen them in the human archive, but he was sure nobody alive had ever seen one. And he had Boji, who would do wonderful things by then, and everybody would have a grand time, and maybe he could get permission to take his associates from the ship out to nand’ Bren’s estate at Najida, too, and they could see the ocean from right on the boat dock, and maybe even sail on nand’ Bren’s boat. Even if nand’ Bren could not be there, there were people who knew how to sail the boat, and with nand’ Bren’s permission, they could do it.

There would be so many wonderful things. So incredibly many things to do.

He had the envelope in his hand. Words from them. Shipspeaka. He had drawn his pictures to remember the ship and remember the words. And he had taught a few of the words and the alphabet to his aishid, but now it was urgent, and they were all going to learn and practice every single day.

Oh, it was so good!

Bindanda insisted he needed no day off to recuperate, and the result was a splendid and elaborate breakfast, the junior cook having had the foresight to have made a very large and extended food order, not just the staples for feeding twice the number as before, but the full array of ingredients, as the junior cook put it, that a master chef might expect to find in the best of kitchens.

Bren had signed off on the order, and the market had sent it up. And doubtless their junior cook had made a brilliant move, since Bindanda was clearly in a good mood.

Narani had the running of the household now, that venerable old man, and a dust particle would not dare linger. Narani had ordered flowers and started an arrangement of spring blossoms for the front hall, while staff scurried about on routine tasks, and Jeladi was supervising an inventory and assignment of staff to particular maintenance and supply…it was, in short, becoming a very well-run household this morning, one in which Bren found no fault at all.

Anticipating that he would have a household in reorganization and that his approval might be needed to set up certain accounts, he had not scheduled any committee meetings, not a one. He had foreseen also just the shade of a hangover after last night, but he had wisely avoided one and felt—surprisingly—extraordinary.

He blazed through the policy statement he had promised his clerical staff. Aliens might arrive in the heavens, as foretold, but they would not likely descend. The kyo were not the sort that coped well with strangeness, and that disposition at least seemed part of their makeup, not just a mutable cultural condition.

They are, however, very respectful of elders, and they were fascinated by the aiji’s son, who very favorably impressed them, as did the aiji-dowager, as an elder of great rank. We have a very good grasp of the basics of the language and are confident that the paidhiin on the station and the paidhi’s office in Shejidan will be able to translate adequately to enable a productive and well-conducted meeting. They have conceived of the atevi-human association as a good model for their own situation with their neighbors, and they wish to observe it in operation, which is their reason for contemplating a visit. They expect only to see how we live and to adapt it for their own circumstances.

One omitted the fact that the kyo had had no idea what to do about strangers and had gone to war with whatever strangers they met—though it was a little debatable who had shot first. Their troubles with their own neighbors was a problem one earnestly hoped never arrived on their planetary doorstep.

The world had, however, no choice about a kyo visit. The kyo either would come, as they had indicated they would, or they would argue themselves out of the notion and try to ignore the existence of a different model than the one they had. Politics must operate among the kyo. It did seem likely.

Rest assured they are very, very remote from us in space, and it will never be a frequent association, but a good one, out on the fringes of what we know of the universe. They have already given us better numbers and better information than we have ever had on the space beyond.

Please God that was all that happened regarding space beyond.

Then there was the statement he needed to write for the Transportation Committee, comprised of members of the hasdrawad and the tashrid. The Transportation Committee was the interface between the legislature and the Transportation Guild. They wanted to know whether to send the full text of materials the paidhi had provided to them on to the relevant Guild, which managed rail and air transport.

No, damn it, he did not want the full text of the Machigi documents going to that Guild—yet. Not yet. He had already said so, in no uncertain terms. This was the second query. One hardly knew what one needed say to make it clear.

Kindly await the paidhi’s office in consultation with higher authorities regarding this matter. We have not yet concluded an agreement, the seal on the matter is not yet firm, and we are far from contemplating specific routes, although if there are any of merit being suggested on the basis of rumor, we should appreciate those suggestions being referred back to the paidhi’s office for consideration by the parties to the agreement. Meanwhile, please advise the Transportation Guild to exercise patience. Once information begins to be released, the paidhi assures them they will be in the very first tier of that release.

That should keep the committee busy long enough. He already damned well knew where the expanded rail line had to go, the only route that had ever been available to it because of simple geology: it had to pass through Ilisidi’s lands, up from the coastal region where her name carried far more weight than any of her neighbors could claim. The fact that geology delivered Ilisidi the only route might not please certain of her neighbors, but no degree of debate would ever deliver a different route. Perfect example of endless circular argument, at which that committee excelled lately. One burst of brilliant leadership in the development of the space initiative, and then—the current chair took over, and nothing had changed since.

Afternoon tea, and it was so very pleasant to have Jeladi bring him only a scant amount of mail.

And most of it in ornate message cylinders from within the Bujavid.

One of those was white lilies on green. Tatiseigi.

That was potential trouble.

Bren Lord of Najida…

Well. That was interesting. It was the second time Tatiseigi hailed him not as paidhi-aiji, as he always had, but as a fellow lord…though using the lesser of his two titles, that of a minor country estate, instead of the admittedly grandiose Lord of the Heavens. Twice now, seemed to be a social advancement. Lord Tatiseigi went on:

One is in receipt of an inquiry from Lord Brosan regarding matters before the Transportation Committee, expressing concern about the security of rail crews working in the Marid. If you would be so good as to reassure Lord Brosan and other members of the committee…

Et cetera.

God. The Transportation Committee. Again.

One hardly blamed the workers in this case. But their safety was already being assured by the Assassins’ Guild, making it very unlikely there would be trouble. What else could the paidhi-aiji do?—take up a rifle and stand guard over the work crews?—with far less skill than the Assassins’ Guild, one was quite sure.

He wrote, in reply:

Tatiseigi Lord of the Atageini,

From Bren Lord of Najida

Esteemed Lord Tatiseigi, one certainly understands the anxiousness of the Committee and will undertake to assure the gentleman Chair that the Assassins’ Guild is…

A knock at the office door. Jeladi returned, bringing the basket back, this time with only one message-cylinder, one of the polished steel sort used by the Messengers’ Guild for items relayed electronically.

“Thank you, Ladi-ji.” He took the offered cylinder and opened it, hoping it was not from Machigi, with a disaster.

Ilisidi.

With good news.

I shall expect you at supper this evening, nandi, following our arrival. We have likewise invited Lord Geigi and Lord Tatiseigi, and I hope to see my grandson, if he can arrange matters on so short notice. As anticipated, we have important matters to discuss. We understand that Lord Machigi’s representative has now arrived. Would you do us the favor of calling on her and assessing her situation and intent?

Supper this evening. And Geigi was coming in, having been in direct contact with Ilisidi. Doubtless planes were already in the air. Something was up with those two.

Meanwhile he was going to have to make a delicate social call on extremely short notice, and thank God he hadn’t been caught with a schedule full of committee meetings.

He got up from his desk, went out to the foyer and found Narani at his flower-arranging.

“Rani-ji. Lord Geigi must be picked up at the airport this afternoon, one believes, and he may choose to guest in my premises for a few days. He must be urged to do so, on grounds of security, if you will see that message conveyed to him. I have just received word from the aiji-dowager that I am expected, with Lord Geigi, at formal dinner this evening. This afternoon, a mission on her behalf—I need to go down to the city to visit the Taisigi representative at her offices; one estimates about an hour for that meeting, excluding transit, but arrangements must be made that let me get back to the dinner in good order, ideally with time to consult with Lord Geigi beforehand.”

“Nandi,” the old man said, and one could at that point trust that every single detail of that arrangement would come off in the best possible order. One could do Narani the greatest possible favor by getting out of his way and letting him do his job, which was not going to involve flower-arranging for a good half hour: that it would entail advising Bindanda and Jeladi of the likelihood of a guest; having Banichi contact Geigi’s bodyguard and find out if Ilisidi had included an invitation for lodgings, or if Geigi could be persuaded to accept the paidhi’s; having Koharu and Supani have the paidhi’s best court day clothing ready for an afternoon outing; having his best evening clothing ready for the evening; and being sure that the social and meetings calendar for tomorrow morning was cleared of any other obligations in the most courteous possible way in case the dinner ran late—a good guess—or that there might be need for office work in the morning—another good guess.

One could meanwhile heave a sigh of moderate relief and think about the next thing, which was to advise Koharu and Supani he needed to bathe and change.

He had visited the foot of the Bujavid hill very seldom in his career. It was a train trip down to a small station that had a secure transfer point to transport. Legislators used it, committee witnesses might use it; court officials and secretaries used it; and servants of Bujavid households traveling on passes used it.

It rarely had the aiji’s own train pulling into the station at the bottom of the hill. But that was how the paidhi-aiji traveled, when he traveled. He had his bodyguard about him. He had his briefcase. He had the cooperation of a Guild special attachment, who were in contact, besides the ordinary security that surrounded this little substation. The van, specially protected and held for him, with a Guild-approved driver, would transfer him a short distance through the hotel district, and another Guild detachment would meet them at the curb of the Taisigi mission.

Time to move. He got up, moved briskly to the exit, debarked with a quiet assist from Jago, and the four of them went quickly down the four steps to the street level, where the van waited, all very nearly handled. He boarded. They all did, Banichi hindmost, settling for the short drive through the streets, in a van with comfortable padding, but no windows.

It wasn’t as if he got to see the hotel district.

He sat with his briefcase at his feet and his bodyguard a comfortable presence around him.

Far different than the early days, before so much neon had blossomed at the foot of the Bujavid hill. There was a new public tram, he knew, an improvement on the old uphill funicular, a conveyance for those for some reason unable to make the ancient long stairs of the Bujavid. The tram, which essentially ran forward and back, up and down the hill, would have had him on the street in front of the main hotel in ten minutes.

But no. A secure van. No windows.

They turned corners, several of them. Old Shejidan was a maze of red-tiled roofs, twisting streets, neighborhoods defined by man’chi, by association, from antiquity, and the heart of Old Shejidan was right here, clustered around the Bujavid and beyond the thin shell of neon. Far more people wanted to live in Shejidan than could live in Shejidan…There had been talk about emulating Port Jackson and building massive apartments over on the eastern hill, but, thank God, the traditionalists had won on that one. So increasingly there were suburbs and a busy rail traffic to the main train station.

Tabini had come down hard on wealthy influence-seekers buying up the maze of little shops and red-tiled houses that made up the heart of the city to turn them into office and lodging space. There was a Preservation Association, and Tabini had given it teeth, unfortunately just after the explosion of neon light around the two chief hotels. By the covenant, a shopkeeper could sell his shop only to another similar shopkeeper, and a house could not take in boarders without approval, no matter how legislators’ aides cried out for rental space. There were some islands of modernity farther out in the city—the neon in the hotel district was the greatest unfortunate exception—but those had not spread, thanks to that measure. The little shops prospered more than ever in the influx of visitors who wanted to see that antiquity and quaintness, and the householders continued to pass down their greatly envied old houses to their descendants.

So the heart of the largest city on the continent was going through a phase, as residents began to suspect that preservation was a good thing, not a vile plot to deny current residents a great deal of money.

In Murini’s brief tenure, however, there had been renewed pressure to sell in those red-tiled neighborhoods—to some of Murini’s supporters. Some owners had signed, and then regretted it, which was why there was now one modern office block stalled under construction next to the hotel.

But at least that one half-built construction was all Murini had gotten away with. The residents of the Old City, as they called themselves, had stuck together, and mysterious roof tiles had fallen very near speculators in the neighborhood, even in those scary days. There was talk, now, of tearing the half-finished building down, or allowing one more hotel, or refinishing it as a set of shops more in tune with the neighborhood. There was even a proposal to rebuild what had been there, but that was mired in controversy about authenticity.

He approved of the struggle to preserve the central city. And he leaned forward, elbows on knees, to get the best view of its winding streets through the front window, once they passed the busy commercial area. The way ahead was gray and brown, old buildings, those traditional red-tiled roofs, and there was a logic to the street layout that stemmed not from geometry, or convenience, or even topography—but from interfamilial associations that had lived and operated there for centuries.

The Guild had lodged Siodi-daja in a little aosi, that was to say a property without heirs, which happened now and again, a status always met by a frenzy of offers to buy. In this case, the Guild had used its influence, and the aiji’s funds, and had bought the property after the decease of the last of the family, one understood, some seventy-eight years ago.

A residence and an office this close to the Bujavid, when there were important lords like Geigi who did not have a residency inside the Bujavid—was amazing; and if ever the Guild released the property in which they had installed Siodi-daja, there would be another furious bidding war.

It somewhat answered the question what in hell they were going to do with Machigi when he arrived, not so long from now. Move Siodi out and Machigi in, maybe, except that the chief lord of a whole district could not lodge outside the Bujavid without some inconvenience, not to mention loss of dignity, unless in his own premises.

Machigi’s arrangement was going to be a headache from the outset; and hope to God the promised aosi was large enough to decently accommodate Siodi-daja and Lord Machigi in sufficient propriety. If not—

If not, there had to be some sort of arrangement for Machigi aside from that.

The van pulled up on bumpy old brick cobbles at the front of an ordinary looking house of the district, in a lane only scarcely wide enough to admit one such vehicle—ordinary-looking, except that uniformed Guild instantly came down the steps to the curb, and Tano and Algini got out and exchanged signs with the guards, looking up and down the block.

Banichi and Jago got out, and he did, with dispatch. Their driver would wait in the van, and any other vehicle that needed to come down the street was simply out of luck. The restaurant catty-angled across the street would get a fair amount of foot traffic in another couple of hours…but distinguishing an alley from a thoroughfare in the Old City was sometimes difficult, and most deliveries came by hand truck. So they would just have to walk the extra block, that was all, cursing the while, perhaps, but there that van would sit.

The local guard led the way. He and his aishid climbed a modest flight of stairs, up to a modest old-fashioned hallway with elaborately carved doors and two Guildsmen standing waiting for them.

Up two more steps to the main hall. A young woman in civilian dress waited to open the first side door, and within the room, with two more bodyguards, the Maridi lady was evident by her seniority and her manner. One immediately thought: this is a respectable lady, old enough to be Lord Machigi’s mother. Machigi could guest here without scandal. That solved one important matter.

“Siodi-daja,” Bren said, pleased, and bowed. She bowed in turn.

“Nand’ paidhi. One is astonished to receive so distinguished a personal visit.”

“One again represents the aiji-dowager, Siodi-daja. One trusts you have found the premises acceptable. It is beyond difficult to find lodging in Shejidan in any season, but in the spring—”

“Very fine,” she said and added, with a little wry humor, “and we find it extremely safe.”

He rather liked the woman, for that little spark. At the invitation, he appointed himself a seat in the obvious place, in a little sitting group with a little low table and a dry arrangement, aside from her desk.

The windows on this second story were all old-style, with white lace curtains, and admitting an uncertain light. The furnishings had seen at least a century and had come with the house. The lady’s coat sparkled with silver thread in the light of two dim lamps—antique, and quiet, like the rest of the lighting. It might have been gloomy, but it seemed genteel and pleasantly old-fashioned instead.

Quickly then, there was tea, as they faced each other in a house mostly occupied by the Assassins’ Guild and poised on a hair trigger against any threat. One imagined a basement full of armament and surveillance gear; and one began to get the entire picture, that this house, with all its other rooms, was as safe as a bank. Machigi could truly lodge here in safety, give or take the exposure of a van ride to the train.

“And how is Lord Machigi?” That much business could politely be discussed over tea.

“Very well,” Siodi-daja said. “And the aiji-dowager?”

“Well, and on her way to Shejidan at this hour. As is Lord Geigi.”

“And my lord is likewise ready to proceed, at the dowager’s invitation and as her guest.”

“Which will come, indeed, and quite soon. One trusts he will stay here in comfort, and his conveyance to the Bujavid will be with guards you appoint.”

A nod. “Excellent, nandi. One is glad.”

“You have received the final form of the documents, I trust?”

“To our knowledge, the final form. They have been couriered to Tanaja, to my lord’s hand.”

“Excellent. I can then report everything in order. Is there any other thing the dowager may wish to know in advance?”

“I have had no information.”

“Indeed. We hope to have everything covered. —And how do you find the city?”

“Very large,” Siodi said with a pleasant, grandmotherly laugh. “Very land-bound. I have never been out of sight of the sea before.”

“We are very much in the heart of the West,” he said. “One does recommend the Bujavid Museum if you have leisure, your guard permitting, and if you extend your stay, which of course we hope you will do. It is a public area of the Bujavid and generally has excellent personal security and excellent exhibits. No one will trouble you or they will answer to the very proper Director, one assures you. There is also a textile museum somewhat across town and a beautiful public garden, the Kosa Madi. All of these places you may find enjoyable.”

The talk ran on pleasantly through a second cup of tea, quite, quite easy and free and increasingly cheerful. The lady was charming. And no fool. When they were past the opening courtesies, the lady said, “And are we to meet with the various Guilds in this place, nand’ paidhi?”

“You are indeed, nandi. I know the Merchants’ Guild is quite ready to meet with you, most likely in the Bujavid committee rooms, if you are so kind, and it has abundant questions and a generally positive outlook. Transportation and the Messengers have been deluging me with queries, and those two Guilds are likely to request meetings in their offices within the Bujavid—those two will be full of questions, a far harder set of questions than the Merchants’ Guild will ask, but the paidhi’s office and, I am sure, the aiji-dowager’s staff will support you with research and communications. The Merchants are quite impressed with the porcelain, which is on exhibit, let me add, in the foyer of the Bujavid, under the auspices of the museum director.”

“My lord will be pleased to hear it.”

“Indeed.” A nod. “It would ultimately be politic for you to meet with all the Guilds, usually in their premises. The Bujavid will offer facilities for larger gatherings, and will offer services for any social gathering you may choose to host here. Hosting all the Guilds in a social evening would be politic, let me say. They rather expect it, in due course, particularly as you open your offices to do business.”

That was one topic which the lady accepted with a clear understanding of the social intricacies—one saw the flicker of sharp intelligence in those gold eyes, the ability to estimate a situation. Machigi would not have sent a fool into this situation—by no means a fool, this lady, and likely her staff would be no fools, either.

“If my staff may assist yours in protocols in that regard,” he said, “they are certainly willing to do so. If you have any questions, staff may talk to staff.”

“One is gratified.”

“Let me be frank,” he said, with some confidence in the lady. “We wish to have the agreement signing before the legislature session begins, within the next few days. We are aware of the difficulties involved, and Lord Machigi has expressed reservations about his personal safety, comfort, and dignity. You are here to smooth the path, one is quite certain, to gather information and to look the situation over. We are determined that Lord Machigi should not experience any uneasiness, not regarding the commitment of the aiji-dowager to exactly the course we have laid out, and not regarding the commitment of the East to further that agreement by specific actions. Lord Machigi will not be put in any uncomfortable position regarding relationships with the Guilds or on any other issue other than that we have already discussed. Your discussions may range into these territories, to your lord’s benefit, but they are not necessary to the agreement of association with the aiji-dowager. The agreement of association stands separate from all other issues. I am here officially to report to you that the aiji-dowager is on her way to Shejidan—I have done that—and unofficially that she wishes to meet with Lord Machigi and accomplish the signing before there can be any campaign organized against it. Within your establishment here, we are prepared to assure your lord’s safety and convenience. The dowager will, however, for publicity reasons, wish to have the signing in the Ivory Hall of the Bujavid lower floor.”

“I shall relay that information to my lord,” Siodi said with a little nod. “One is very gratified to hear it from your mouth, nand’ paidhi. In you, my lord has confidence. One begs you to maintain that confidence.”

“I have come to have a personal attachment to your lord. I would regard treacherous harm to him as a great and personal affront. I am personally committed to the prosperity of the Taisigin Marid. I believe general prosperity will come. I believe it is just. I believe it is right. I believe it is fair.”

A deeper nod. “One will most gladly convey that good sentiment, nand’ paidhi. My lord had warned me that the bright lights of Shejidan might alter a man’s thinking.”

“It does not alter mine, nandi, not in this matter.”

“Nor does proximity to Tabini-aiji?”

“Tabini-aiji is quietly watching the progress of this effort. He has some reservations, but he sees this in a favorable light, on its merits, and on his respect for his grandmother’s good efforts. He wishes your lord’s success in his venture with the aiji-dowager. He agrees that there were unfortunate choices made in the past. He shares many of the same concerns about the economy of the Marid as a past and future cause of war, and welcomes your lord’s agreement with his grandmother. He will lend his support to her ventures, and if your lord is the aiji-dowager’s associate, he will support your lord’s ventures in the process.”

That was a very carefully crafted paragraph, and he had not dropped a stitch of it. He was gratified to see it delivered to a woman who would not drop a stitch of it, either, in relaying it back to Machigi. Her face demonstrated just ever so slight relaxation, and she nodded a third time.

“Thank you, nandi. One is glad to hear so.”

“Please relay my respects to Lord Machigi and tell him that time is short to have this accomplished in good order and with a minimum of debate. Other communication will flow through the Guild, but the aiji-dowager wished me to pay this courtesy directly and to express her opinions as you have heard them.”

“Which is much appreciated, nand’ paidhi.”

It was not a long meeting. There was no second round of tea. Their relative ranks did not encourage it. But Bren emerged with an unexpected gift for the aiji-dowager: a thick portfolio, done up in courtly style, with seals and ribbons of varying houses, which represented the concurrence of various of Machigi’s lords, including, one was glad to see, the seals of the Isles and the southeast coast of the Marid.

There were notably no ribbons representing the Senji and the Dojisigi, not yet, nor could they be expected. Those two districts were being firmly sat upon by the Guild, who were not welcome guests, and neither one had its succession in order…their lords’ funerals had been quiet, underattended, so the report said, and there was as yet no mad scramble of various claimants to the aijinates involved. It was assumed Tiajo would become the figurehead for her father over the Dojisigi, but as yet Senji clan could not even find a claimant willing to stand in the target zone, and the Dojisigi, who ordinarily would have immediately advanced an opinion as to which Senji clansman should hold that seat, had been conspicuously silent.

Fear. A salutary fear prevailed in those districts.

All the North could ask was that neither clan should move to assassinate Machigi. And the Guild prevented that.

Possibly, too, which the representative had not said, but one suspected—possibly Machigi had taken his hint on how to use the Guild’s offices and was making quiet approaches to certain minor lords to the north, in Senji.

That was what the paidhi-aiji would suggest if he were standing at Machigi’s elbow. The paidhi-aiji had interfered in the Shadow Guild mop-up once, to plead that the child-aiji, Tiajo, not be a target. And he had asked himself more than once since, now that a spoiled child sat in authority over the other most powerful clan in the Marid, whether human sentiment had made a very, very serious mistake in that request.

He was thinking about that, all the drive back to the train station.

“Are you,” Jago asked him, once they were in the red train car, and completely secure from eavesdropping, “are you worried about the representative, Bren-ji?”

“Not about her. Not about Machigi,” he said, and shook off the doubts. “Your opinion, nadiin-ji?”

“The representative,” Banichi said, “seems quick to grasp things and is suitably reserved. She is anxious. But not fearful. She distrusts the Guild on a general level but is coming to terms with those immediately around her. This opinion we have from her bodyguard.”

“One has one’s own reservations. Nadiin, I have heard”—A moment for thought. “One has heard disturbing things from Tabini-aiji—which you know, regarding unease in the North. Before setting all this irrevocably in motion—before engaging the dowager with Lord Machigi in an agreement—is there anything I should know? Am I doing something wise—or otherwise?”

The train started into motion, a slow, slow movement, a vibration underfoot.

“One has inquired,” Algini said slowly. A pause. It was very quiet in the car. “If for some reason Tano and I are someday absent without explanation—”

Algini did not finish. He was, unheard of for Algini, visibly upset at that question.

“Gini-ji. Is there anything I can do?”

“If this should happen, Bren-ji,” Tano took up the statement, “rest assured our partners will advise you. And protect you.”

Now he was upset. Extremely. “Nadiin-ji. One is not willing to accept this. One is not willing to be protected when those persons I highly value, nadiin-ji, are put at risk! Is there anything you can tell me? Are you attempting to stand between me and a Guild action, nadiin-ji? Have I crossed a line, somewhere?”

Tano looked at Algini.

Algini said, “The Guild has been trusted for two hundred years. I have had representations made to me that, if they are carried through, will satisfy me. One begs pardon, Banichi.”

Banichi wore a very solemn expression. So did Jago.

“This visit to the representative, then,” Banichi said, “was a risk.”

“The guards near Machigi are not the problem,” Algini said.

“The guards near the aiji-dowager are not the problem,” Bren ventured to say. Unthinkable to him that there should be any breach of security under Cenedi’s watch. “Nor the aiji’s, one hopes.”

“No,” Algini said. “Specifically…” Algini got to his feet, walked a few paces across to the galley bar and used his communications for a moment, saying something Bren did not hear, but the others might have. Jago put out her arm a half second before the train began to slow.

It stopped. They sat dead still, with their train obstructing one of the two parallel tracks that ran up to the Bujavid’s most secure station.

And in that relative silence, with only the idling engine sound, but nothing from the wheels, Algini turned to look at all of them.

“Specifically, nandi, it is the Kadagidi.”

Murini’s clan, a Padi Valley clan, next-door neighbors to Lord Tatiseigi and longtime collaborators with problem lords in the northern Marid—including Murini. It made a sudden, thoroughly unwelcome sense that if there was going to be a problem involving the Guild, the Marid, and a prospective peace—the Kadagidi, as old and as influential a clan as Tatiseigi’s Atageini, were very likely to have their fingers on it, no matter that the Kadagidi had distanced themselves from their own clansman, Murini, disowned him, repudiated his acts…

Would one not repudiate a failure?

“As—infiltrated, Gini-ji? Or infiltrating?”

Algini said, solemnly, “Bren-ji, if one were surer of that matter, or exactly how one relates to the other, one would have more confidence in a good many things. This—this, Bren-ji, is my opinion—that the last Kadagidi lord to have any authority in Kadagidi clan was Murini. And that after him, much as Lord Aseida claims to have opposed Murini inside Kadagidi clan, he is a liar, and he has been a liar from before Murini overthrew Tabini-aiji. This man argued with Murini on trifles. Oh, yes, he withstood Murini. He distanced himself. He did all these things. He is served by an aishid led by one Haikuti, who has never yet misstepped in terms of Guild regulations, who came to Aseida from the Guild hierarchy, as I came to you, but I am not sure who sent him.”

“Can you be clearer, Gini-ji?”

“Haikuti is, in fact, one of the Guild that I personally would not have trusted. He is now, in this matter in the Marid, at odds with his lord, with Aseida, in supporting Guild action and arguing for supporting Machigi; but one has observed that Haikuti also argued with Lord Aseida in his initial support of Murini and later supported Aseida in backing the return of the old Guildmaster.”

“You think it is a show?”

“One believes, Bren-ji, that we have been witness to the longest, most elaborate machimi play that ever took the stage, and I do not think the players are yet wearing their true colors.”

There was silence still. Then Banichi said, “This is news to us as well, Bren-ji. You mean Haikuti is giving the orders.”

Algini said, “I mean exactly that, nadi-ji. I think there are so many layers to this that one could peel it to the core before one ever got to a single truth—and then it might prove poisonous.”

“Haikuti should be taken out,” Tano said. “But if we remove him, we scatter the problem. We do not know all his subordinates…and we are not utterly sure he has no superior.”

A very cold feeling crept over the little gathering in the car. From far, far away in the tunnel system came sounds of machinery, and from closer, metal clicking as it cooled. They sat, an island of red velvet in the dank dark of the tunnels, and said things unsayable in other places.

Questions occurred to him. Of Tano and Algini—when did you learn this? And of Banichi and Jago: What should I do?

But the one he asked was: “Gini-ji. How informed are others? Does Tabini-aiji know this? Do his bodyguard? What of the aiji-dowager and Lord Geigi? Or Lord Tatiseigi?”

“As of this moment,” Algini said, “no one of those persons knows. Not even Cenedi. Only you, Bren-ji.”

Next question, in terrible, terrible silence. “Will you tell any of them?”

Algini took his time about the answer. Finally: “This is my suspicion. My search. My conclusion, which Tano shares. If I am wrong, I have made a correct deduction but misassigned the fault.”

“You are sure, however, about the situation.”

“I am very sure, nandi. And—” A little nod of respect toward Banichi. “By Banichi’s good grace—and with his cooperation—we should inform Cenedi and consult with him about informing the aiji’s bodyguard. As for Lord Geigi’s bodyguard, they are good men, but in my opinion, too little informed on too much on this earth to bring in this at this stage. We should inform them the night before the shuttle leaves. They may know, in the heavens, and there they will keep their secrets. As for Lord Tatiseigi, being the neighbor to this situation, and Lord Keimi of Taiben, likewise—Tatiseigi’s bodyguard is not up to this; Lord Keimi’s bodyguard is, and should be brought current before Tabini-aiji or his bodyguard or young Cajeiri’s Taibeni bodyguards next visit that territory. This is a danger difficult to make any map. But controlling absolutely the flow of information is one of the few means we have to judge suspicious behavior. The web of triplines we have set, in that sense, is very scant, but it encompasses all of us here present. If we move against Haikuti—one hardly knows what it will set off. Right now, with information absolutely restricted, there is absolutely no reason Haikuti would move against you, Bren-ji; in fact, though Aseida would wish to, he will not, because Haikuti will wish not to call attention to himself. From the Kadagidi, you are as safe as you could possibly be. But once the information about my suspicions spreads into one mistaken channel—it becomes very likely he would move against you very quickly if he thought it would discommode me and give me and Tano divided concerns. One regrets to put it in those terms. But I believe I am right. Because of me, because of Tano, you will become a target of operatives far, far more adept than ordinary. Any one of your associates becomes someone whose demise might draw you, and therefore your bodyguard, into range. Everyone you know is under dire threat. Well that nand’ Toby is back on Mospheira at this juncture. There he is safely inconvenient.”

“What do you advise us to do, Gini-ji?”

“If Tano and I disappear, it might worry them, but they will not necessarily know it for a time. Tano and I often run internal operations and do not appear. Doing so puts an extraordinary burden on Banichi and Jago, especially in this season, when the public has access to the Bujavid, when the legislature is meeting, when you are on your way to meetings the schedule for which may be read on any bulletin board in the servants’ hallways and every committee. If we disappear, we have a staff of very young, occasionally silly persons, country folk who do not remotely construe the danger, who might tell their mothers, their associates back home…they are not trained in security, they do not always think, and they are an extreme danger in this situation. One hardly knows whether to tell them, or what to tell them, that will not then become news to tell their families in Najida.”

He well understood that. “We can tell them, for starters, the average truth, that there is a crazy person who is trying to get information on my schedule, who wishes to assassinate me because he blames me for television or the train schedule. One hardly knows if it is exactly true at this precise moment, but you know it is likely to be true once the news reports my change of mind on the cell phone bill.”

Algini laughed silently…laughed, which was rare enough for him. “Bren-ji, yes—amid such a tangle, a simple small falsehood. One will advise Narani and Bindanda of the truth. Not the others.”

Those two were senior Guild. And if Algini trusted them, they were reliable. The rest—even Jeladi and Asicho—did not necessarily need the information, and the fewer that did know, the easier to keep it contained.

“We should get moving,” Tano said, checking the time.

“Yes,” Algini said, and made a quiet call. In a moment the engine started moving again, climbing toward the station.

Five minutes. Five minutes, and the world revised itself one more time. He had not had a chance to ask: If you disappear, what will you be doing? But he might not want to know that. If anyone would know, it might be Banichi and Jago.

And he didn’t think Algini had known all this when they’d been under Machigi’s roof.

He did mark that Algini had not often come into the front rooms of the apartment since they had been back. Tano had. But not Algini.

He, the interloper, the human, the outsider, had just gained a window into the Guild that he was willing to bet no other lord of the aishidi’tat had—excepting maybe Tabini-aiji, excepting maybe the aiji-dowager.

Those two, likely. And it was damned scary to be in that small circle—the one lord with no troublesome clan connections to run under compromised doors. Even Tabini’s wife couldn’t say that. Definitely Damiri-daja could not say that.

God, what a mess!

That something serious was going on in the Guild was evident. Those who thought they knew what it was thought it was mostly going on in the Marid, where the Guild was mopping up its own problems.

But by what Algini said, the war in the Guild wasn’t over. The worse danger to the aishidi’tat was far closer at hand, and deeply embedded, and Algini rated himself and Tano damned near alone in intent to take it out.

Given Murini had never been never the brightest light to rule in Shejidan. And given that Murini’s personal bodyguard hadn’t been that good—good, but not that good—maybe everybody should have asked questions earlier as to how he had landed in power. But fools and bullies had assassinated their way into power by surprise before this.

Just—in this case—there were the Kadagidi, that they’d always assumed to be the power behind Murini. Unhappily, they were Lord Tatiseigi’s next-door neighbors, the subject of one of the world’s oldest off-again, on-again feuds. One generally expected the lord of the Kadagidi to be a pain in the rear. The Kadagidi had been that to most everyone from the foundation of the aishidi’tat.

But one also expected the Guild to be honest, and serving the aishidi’tat, not the interests of personal power. And if one suspected the Kadagidi, one expected the lord of a clan to be in charge of the clan and the decisions he made to be carried out by Guild under his orders.

Evidently, when Murini had taken over the Kadagidi, supplanting his own lord on his way to the aijinate, something else had happened.

The Guild had apparently suffered an internal coup. Given. They now knew that.

When Murini’s regime had collapsed in a popular uprising, the perpetrators had all run for the south. They thought they’d known that. Flight southward had made logical sense. It had made little immediate difference in relations with the Marid, which had been on the outs with the north and which had been supporting Murini on general principles.

But the fight and the flight had distracted their thinking, had it not, from another possibility, when they already suspected Murini was a figurehead. They had believed the wellspring of the poison had relocated down in the Marid, where it usually was and where the Guild had taken wide action to deal with it. That action was over, and everybody had breathed a sigh of relief as if it were all, all over…maybe with pockets yet to mop up.

But if the basic problem had not moved, if the problem was much, much closer to Shejidan…it was, by what Algini said, nested in the heart of one of the oldest clans in the aishidi’tat, in the Padi Valley, which was the heart of the Ragi atevi, the very heart of the aishidi’tat. He had been worrying about a young girl succeeding to the lordship of the Dojisigi, as if that were the worst thing that could happen to the situation.

Well. Damn. Damn the Kadagidi for the bastards they were.

Not that he was shocked. The Kadagidi had been flirting with the Marid for decades. But they had been so quiet since the Restoration. They had been so well behaved.

It seemed the Guild was in the midst of a silent war that was due to get still more dangerous…and that Murini’s coup hadn’t come from disgruntled lords. Murini himself had been of the Kadagidi family. But it now seemed his major and initial backing had not come initially from the executive or from the legislature, but out of the least expected and most secretive aspect of the government, from what humans would call the judicial—from inside the Guild.

Built-up opposition to Tabini had crept up within the shadows, starting many years before the paidhi-aiji had stirred up the conservatives. To this very hour, the Guild had not talked much about the movement that had sprung an attack on Tabini—except what he had just heard from Algini. It was generally accepted that the attackers had misfired—and killed Tabini’s innocent staff instead. In other circles it was suspected that the Guild around Tabini, before they died, had made moves to save Tabini’s life…knowing they were outnumbered, hopelessly outmaneuvered, and had no choice but get Tabini and his consort out of the region, fast.

Who had suggested Tabini take a holiday in Taiben, the one clan the conspirators could not crack?

Tabini’s staff had been wiped out. Tabini and Damiri had survived.

But who had driven the conspiracy? How could a mere lord order Assassins who could get the better of Assassins in the employ of the highest office in the land?

There were, in the majority in the Guild, Assassins with personal man’chi to the great houses, serving in all the clans that composed the aishidi’tat. Banichi and Jago were that sort of Guild members. So, one was relatively certain, was Cenedi.

But he had recently learned there was a second culture inside the Guild, one with man’chi only to the Guild itself…and that—

That culture had produced Algini. And maybe Tano.

One could see it, applying a little critical thought that the paidhi ought, perhaps, to have used long before now. One well knew that when Tabini’s administration had brought massive change to the world, and that change had upset people. Not only some lords, but no few of the guilds had found themselves arguing with Tabini-aiji—not recently, not all at the same time, but often enough to keep politics in ferment.

Yet amid all the furor of objections from the Messengers, and Transportation, and Commerce, and Industry, there had been utter silence from one guild.

The Assassins’ Guild, typically, had never said a word in opposition to the aiji. The whole world was accustomed to believe that that one guild, serving all houses, serving all interests, had no political bent and no opinion. It simply supported the aiji so long as he had a majority of lords on his side.

Wrong, apparently.

Apparently something had been building within the Guild. Maneuvering, as leadership aged and newer people moved into office.

Since the coup, since very recent events in the Marid, one began to understand that certain things had run exactly the way they would run in human society—or close enough that the paidhi should have paid closer attention to that circumscribed area of no-information. Whoever ran the Guild currently was a shadow, but he or she had an opinion. Whoever backed that Guild leader had opinions.

Algini himself had an opinion—and had finally declared man’chi for the paidhi-aiji only recently. Watching and waiting for years, Algini had finally declared a point of view and a loyalty.

Did it indicate that the paidhi had moved much closer to the Guild’s position?

Had the Guild’s new or renewed leadership now moved closer to him?

Or—third possibility—had the Guild now determined to act on him directly, to be sure he moved in the Guild’s direction?

He had seen the folly in the cell phone bill, for one major instance. He had already firmly put the brakes on the advent of war machines landed from orbit. Geigi, working with the space station during the coup, had started dropping what amounted to robotic communications centers and war machines about the continent and had unilaterally supplied Mospheira with cell phones and communications that had already changed the Island profoundly. Technology that had seemed in balance between humans on earth and the atevi now seemed sorely out of balance. At least atevi had come out of the event feeling that such might be the case, and they were worried about their future. What until recently had seemed like a stable and predictable future had started looking otherwise.

There was so, so much of the set of circumstances that had perched on his doorstep, in the Guild’s view of things. Could one doubt why the Guild had moved heaven and earth to get an agent into his household?

And now Algini was talking to him, warning him, advising him directly, and making suggestions. Did one take that only for Algini’s personal opinion? He wasn’t sure he did.

And there was one question he had to ask, that he dreaded asking, and he asked it when they got back to the apartment. He gave Jago a look that said, I want to talk to you, and the two of them went to the hall outside the guest quarters.

He knew a very few Guild signals, the ones that didn’t change with every mission. And he used just one, quietly, where only she could see.

Trust? The rest of the gesture went toward the rear of the apartment, where Tano and Algini happened to be at the moment.

She took in a breath, and simply nodded, adding the sign that meant, Aishid.

So she and Banichi had no misgivings about their partners. And therefore he should have none.

That was worth its weight in gold. To him, it was.

It didn’t answer the question what a human was doing, blind and deaf to man’chi, wandering in the mix of atevi motivations and loyalties…

Well, yes, it did. It did answer it, from the time a batch of humans had planted themselves in atevi territory, messed up the contact, and somebody had to be assigned to make the situation work.

It was gratifying that atevi at very high levels thought he had common sense enough to be warned about the ground he was treading. Maybe the Assassins’ Guild was the guild most apt to understand existence in that peculiar outland, between two loyalties.

And how damned scary it was to make decisions in that territory, trying to save both sides.

11

“He must be here,” Antaro said, out of breath. “The door has not been open.”

Cajeiri had looked absolutely everywhere and had Eisi and Liedi bring lunch in; and anyone going in or out was careful with the door, and was watched, carefully, and guarded at every step.

Boji had been missing from before lunch, and they had looked and looked and looked.

Antaro and Jegari knew Boji’s habits and where a little creature might take refuge, which was in small places. “He will come out for food and water,” they said, which made sense, so one of them sat guard over the cage, where food and water was, but far enough away not to frighten Boji.

Veijico and Lucasi had looked, and they were real Guild, who were good at finding hidden little things.

But bugs, they said, did not move when about to be discovered, and so one of them looked at one angle of the underside of a table, and the other watched the other side. They searched absolutely every piece of furniture and even behind the mattress, where it was up against the headboard, which was not easy to do, and behind every drawer of the bureau, which was not easy either.

The first thought was that Boji would not be far from food or water. The offer of water had not turned him up. The second thought was that a fresh egg or two might bring him, since he had not had an egg today.

It did not.

And one began to think over every trip they had made outside the doors last night and began to wonder uneasily if Boji had gotten out earlier, or if—worst of all—he had gotten to the front door or the servants’ doors and just slipped out far, far beyond their search, maybe down into the lower halls, in which case he could be anywhere. Anywhere. Even down to the train station, for all they knew.

Cajeiri feared so. He very greatly feared so, and told Eisi, one of the servants who had collaborated with them, bringing food and taking out soiled sand. “Be on the alert to any sign, anywhere in the premises. One believes he could even have gotten out into the servants’ halls, nadi-ji. Please look for him! Search little places! But ask no one! Do not tell anyone!”

It was a disaster. If Boji got out into the Bujavid halls, he would embarrass his father and his father’s security and the whole thing would be notorious, worse even than the mechieta and Uncle’s new driveway, which already was told about him far more often than he would like. His parents would wish they would have a new baby who caused less trouble. They would send him off to learn responsibility.

Maybe they would send him to mani.

Mani would not be very patient with him losing Boji in her household, but at least she would just thwack his ear and forget it in an hour or so. His father and mother never forgot anything, and every time he did something in the least wrong the whole history came up again.

It was just wretched.

And he did not want to think of poor scared Boji getting out in the halls. Boji could find his way clear out of the Bujavid, out on the hill, down to the streets. He would be in the middle of Shejidan, where he could get into more trouble, and where he would find no food. He imagined the outside of the hill, where, as best he knew, there was no water, just rocks, and trees, and shrubbery. There were probably creepers, so there might be eggs, but only very little ones.

And all the traffic of the hotels racketed about below the hill: streetcars, and shops, and the people coming and going…Boji could get into really, really bad trouble if he had gotten out. He could be killed.

Or he could be living down in the tunnels and passages of the Bujavid, which was even worse—there might be water, but there would be no eggs at all, and it was dark and scary, and Boji liked sleeping in little secure places, like the little bag they had hung in his cage, which he slipped into very happily, with just his tail sticking up out of the bag…

Where in the apartment was like that little bag?

His aishid was still searching. They were all in the girls’ room now, taking apart the beds and searching in little spaces.

He started looking for places they might not think of. He started thinking of things like a bag. He started thinking about cloth-covered, dark places, and he looked at the hangings, and he looked even inside a big vase. And then he got down and looked under a table in a dark corner and saw…

The underside of the chair next to the table was cloth. Cloth chairs with cloth bottoms. He went from room to room looking under chairs. He looked behind the tapestry. And then he looked behind the doors, and even tipped over the very tall brass vase, just in case.

Boji was nowhere to be found. Nowhere. His aishid had by then put the girls’ beds together again and put all the drawers back in.

So…

He looked under his bed. In case. And under the ornate chair in the corner.

There was, under its bottom, a dark spot that looked odd. He investigated with his fingers and there was a hole.

That was not the sort of thing the gentleman in charge of furnishings would like or would ever have let out unrepaired. And they had not put a hole in it in searching. It was just Boji’s size, and Boji had those very clever fingers.

He sat back on his heels and thought about it. If they made a big fuss and scared Boji, then the next time he got out, Boji would pick someplace harder to find. He could figure that. And he knew about this hole.

So he quietly got up, figuring to go get one of the eggs they had for bait. And on his way he put his head into the boys’ room, where they were starting to take apart Lucasi’s bed.

“One believes one may have found him. Be very quiet, nadiin-

ji! And stay here and do not make any noise!”

He ran and got an egg. And a writing pen.

And he went and sat down on the floor by the chair and used the metal pen nib to punch a hole in the end of the egg.

He sat very still with his back turned to the chair. Eggs had a smell. Boji always knew when one was offered.

Suddenly he heard movement, the sound of claws on fabric. A startling weight landed on his shoulder and headed straight down his arm to the egg.

Boji was back. He let Boji eat the egg but not take it from his hand, and with his other hand he got a grip on Boji’s harness.

Just then someone knocked at the front door, and Boji exploded, flinging egg every which way. Boji might have bitten him in his twisting and fighting to get free, except his hold on the harness was in the middle of Boji’s back, and Boji just fought and spat and yowled as he got up.

Eisi and Lieidi knew not to knock, but someone came into the sitting room, probably one of the other servants, who were not permitted, and Cajeiri was prepared to tell them so—if he had not his arms full. He gathered himself up to his feet, shoved Boji into the hollow of his other arm and tried to calm Boji’s struggles and chittering, soothing that had some effect, at least enough that Boji stopped fighting.

Antaro had gone down the inner hall to reach the sitting room…he saw her pass the door; both doors to the bedroom were open, the sitting room door and the inner corridor door, so he had no trouble hearing.

“Aiji-ma,” he heard Antaro say, and Cajeiri’s stomach sank.

“Tell my son I shall see him,” was the answer.

Boji’s cage was in that room with the door open. Cajeiri headed for the other, inner door, for Lucasi and Jegari’s room, with the intention of handing Boji to them, but Boji suddenly set up a yowl.

“What was that?” he heard his father ask, and Antaro said, out in the sitting room, with admirable presence of mind, “One will ask, aiji-ma.”

But there was nothing for it. His hands, his face, and his good clothes were spattered with egg yolk, Boji was chattering and spitting in fright, ripping the threads of his coat in frantic attempts to escape, and his father was not going to be in a better humor at being lied to by a trainee Guildswoman under his orders.

He took a deep breath, kept a firm grip on Boji, who was clawing frantically all the while, and went out into the sitting room. His father was standing there alone, Antaro having headed for the back of the suite. He met in Antaro the doorway and caught her eyes in passing, on his way into the sitting room. He dared not say a thing but just kept going.

“Honored father,” he said, and bowed, which made Boji grab his coat with both hands, for safety.

“Son of mine,” his father said in that deep, ominous voice. “What is that?”

“A pariid’ja, honored Father.”

“One can detect that basic fact. Let us amend the question. Why is it here?”

It was not a good thing to dodge Father’s questions. He had rehearsed what he would say when he had to tell his parents about Boji. He had rehearsed it every night. But all of that was useless. “One requested him, honored Father. One had gotten the cage, and one thought—”

“Thought. One is very glad that thought entered somewhere into the transaction.”

“One is confined to this apartment, honored Father, and one has no chance to go out to the country, and one misses it, honored Father. On the ship at least there was the garden.”

“One sees you have fairly well started one here.”

The plants. The many plants.

“One admires plants. And one so admired the cage, which is brass, nand’ Father, and not at all breakable! One in all points remembered the rule, that I might have brass, and it is very solid. I cannot possibly damage it! And one is very happy with the apartment, nand’ Father! One is very happy with the cage, and the plants, and since it is out of the question, one is very sure, to bring a mechieta to the Bujavid…One is sure there is no stable…”

“Not for a hundred years,” his father said dryly.

So there had been a stable, once. He was almost distracted off his carefully memorized track.

He wondered where it had been.

But he faced his father, desperately shoved the existence of mechieti out of his mind, and said, calmly, refusing even to entertain the possibility that his father could take back his birthday party, “One has had him for days, honored Father. One wished to demonstrate first that he is no problem and that he does not smell at all, because we keep him very clean, and he does not eat much, and he does not make a mess on the carpets…we have sand for him, and we have been very good about taking it out.”

His father began to laugh, slightly at first, and then really to laugh.

He was very keenly aware there was a mess, and it was him. Egg was all over his coat, all over his hands and face. He hoped the staff could save his clothes, but the coat was a bit clawed, too, and probably ruined, and he really did not want his father to know that at the moment.

“They bite,” Father said. “They climb. They nest in strange places. They do not do well in a house.”

“But I have all the plants,” he said. “He is happy here!”

“This is a forest hunter,” Father said.

“Have you ever had one, nand’ Father?”

“I have hunted with them, yes.”

“At Taiben?”

“At Taiben,” Father said, and a glance raked him up and down. “One takes it the creature is not well trained.”

“He is only a baby.”

“He is three-quarters grown and had best learn to come to a whistle, soon, or you will not be able to control him.”

“May I keep him?”

A small silence. “If you can train him. If you can train him. I had a good report from your tutor this morning.”

“He is an excellent tutor, honored Father. And one is trying very hard. And one will train Boji. One will! He is very quick.”

A second silence. “You understand that your mother will have concerns about the baby’s safety with this creature in the apartment. He must not bite, he must not steal, he must not escape this room, and he must, above all, learn to come to you when called.”

“Yes, honored Father! I shall teach him! He will not be a problem! He will be clean, he will be absolutely clean! And he will not bite the baby!”

His father looked at him and laughed, outright laughed, as his father rarely did.

At his expense. But it probably was funny. At his expense. His father laughed and laughed.

“Of all things,” his father said, then: “Take a bath. And one trusts no egg got on the carpet.”

“Honored Father.” He felt heat flowing to his face. “One regrets to report honestly there is egg on the carpet. One will have to call the servants to clean it—and they will. I have the promise of two excellent servants!”

“Have you?”

He had stepped into trouble. And trying to dodge around reasons with his father was just not a good idea.

“Someone had to carry out the sand and the eggshells, honored Father. But one has learned his bad tricks now, and it will not happen again.”

“One is certain something of the like can certainly happen again,” his father said, “and one doubts you have yet seen all his bad tricks.”

“Yes, honored Father.”

“So be smarter than he is. That seems a minimum requirement. Mind, he is here by my permission, which is hourly subject to change.”

“Honored Father.”

“One came here to tell you a bit of news.”

“Honored Father?”

“Your great-grandmother is back in the capital. Her plane just landed. She invites us all to dinner. Your mother and I have business this evening, with a charitable society, and that is an excuse. The plain fact is, considering the business afoot, it would not be politic for us to meet with your great-grandmother socially until the business with the Marid is settled. But you will politely represent us at your great-grandmother’s table. We have told her you will be there.”

“Yes, honored Father!” He bowed. He understood, he actually understood about the Marid. And he was glad to go to dinner at Great-grandmother’s table. If he were not standing there trying to restrain Boji from pulling free and ruining everything, he would have had all his mind on it and been entirely happy.

“You are to behave impeccably,” his father said sharply. “There will be politics at the table, even if no one mentions it, and lives rest on this agreement. Be wise. Be quiet. Be invisible.”

He bowed as his father left. And Boji squirmed, as he had been doing, trying to get free, or to bite him, or just because he was bored with being still.

“Quiet, you!” He took a careful grip with his left hand on Boji’s harness and resisted the urge to be angry with Boji, who understood nothing about carpets or his father’s power or that he had nearly gotten banished back to the market to be sold again. He found a grip that quieted Boji, and carefully smoothed his fur.

Boji looked up at him with big golden eyes.

“You have to behave,” he found himself saying. He was saying such a thing to somebody else. The world was upside down.

And to be sure nothing else went wrong, he went to the cage and retrieved Boji’s lead, clipped it on and let him go.

Boji immediately tested the limit of it, bounding to the nearest chair, to the floor, all around him, winding the leash around his legs, and making him look ridiculous. He was passing the lead from one hand to the other to prevent being tripped, about the time his bodyguard showed up in the other doorway, all quiet and sober and wondering what had happened.

Boji chattered at them in reproach and climbed his leg and his coat, wanting to go all the way to his shoulder, as if he were a tree.

He stopped Boji at the crook of his arm, holding the lead very short, and Boji took a grip on his fist, peering over it, staring at his bodyguard and chattering defiantly at them.

“It seems to have found man’chi,” Antaro said.

If it was true, it was a very good thing. But he was standing there covered in egg-spatter, and having been laughed at by his father…and warned to be invisible, and smarter than Boji.

But his father had, however, let him keep Boji. And tonight instead of being reprimanded, he had to go represent his father and mother at mani’s table.

He worked his hand in Boji’s fur, which Boji liked. And Boji chattered, but a very quiet chatter, sounding happier, at least.

“He is probably quite hungry,” he said. “He broke his egg. Find him another, nadiin-ji, and tell the servants we need the rug and the chair cleaned, and I shall have a bath. We have formal dinner with mani tonight. Be warned it will be adults.”

He did not recall really seeing his father laugh like that, except now and again with nand’ Bren, and nand’ Bren would laugh, too, about things he had never understood. So maybe it was not such a bad thing that his father laughed this time.

And if he looked in a mirror he might find he really deserved it.

There was a mirror in his bedroom. He went back and stood in front of it, and there he was, a little spattered, not too bad, and his coat not too bad. He had certainly looked a lot worse. It was by no means as bad as the concrete driveway. He had Boji in the crook of his arm, the leash in his hand, and Boji had curled up into a fairly compact ball, quite content for the while, and not looking too silly.

He really did not look the fool. Just a little messy. He decided his father had not been laughing at him. Rather, his father had been amused about the plot and maybe not even unhappy with him, since he had gotten along with the new tutor. His father was not always easy to figure out.

Boji untucked and ran out on his arm as if it were the limb of a tree, staring at the mirror, and bristling up and chattering at it in no welcoming way.

“Silly creature,” he said, and gathered Boji back to him, Boji still protesting, crawling over his shoulder and trying to see the other parid’ja.

Boji then decided to try to clean the spots of egg off the side of his face, licking it off with a little black tongue. It was rough and efficient, but Boji forgot about that when Lucasi brought another egg from their hiding place. He was all attentive, and when Cajeiri gave it to him, he held onto it very nicely and made a neat little hole in it and began eating it while sitting on Cajeiri’s arm, pausing to lick his lips.

Boji had gotten much quieter, then, when Eisi and Lieidi came in to find out the damage.

Boji held onto his egg and tucked tight into the crook of Cajeiri’s arm. Cajeiri found himself still being Boji’s tree—now a safe nook in a branch—but Antaro was right: Instead of running away, Boji was clinging close to him, holding onto his coat with strong little hands.

It was different than a mechieta, which was certainly not going to tuck into the crook of one’s arm, but some few of which, so he had heard, might take to following one about.

He had, from being the heir of the aishidi’tat, become Boji’s tree, that was what.

And mani was back on the ground in Shejidan.

And his father let him keep Boji and his birthday party. And his father, seeming in a good humor, knew about parid’ji, and knew what kind of creatures they were, and thought it funny, perhaps, that he was going to have that experience, which was probably not going to be easy.

It was all right, then, that his father had laughed.

He remembered how he had looked in the mirror and decided he really had looked somewhat funny.

He just preferred not to look funny when he showed up at mani’s apartment tonight.

12

Lord Geigi made it into the Bujavid half an hour after Ilisidi made it upstairs with her two elevator-loads of staff.

And, somewhat out of breath, Lord Geigi turned up at Bren’s apartment door, with only his bodyguard and a small set of baggage beside the wardrobe crate—particularly greeting the staff as well as Bren, who came from his office to meet him there. “Narani-nadi, Jeladi-nadi, such an additional pleasure! Thank you, thank you, nandi, for putting up with me! One will miss so your company, and one will miss your hospitality, Rani-ji, my neighbor on the station. Nand’ Bren, your staff on station has been so solicitous of me and so closely associated to my staff—they have been my associates, too, my consolation and advice, on whom I have not hesitated to rely in the darkest of times. One was so glad to be invited here, for an opportunity to bid them a proper farewell—so, so delighted to see all of you and to have another of Bindanda’s dinners—what an unanticipated treat! I shall personally mourn your departure from the station. Nand’ Bren, my esteemed associate, you must send others of your staff up to the station, and where my staff is of any avail in special training, we will be beside ourselves with delight.”

“One has grandnephews,” Narani volunteered, “at Najida, growing far too idle, one supposes—as they never shall here in the Bujavid.”

“One would rejoice,” Bren said, “to send more staff up, if you are willing to recommend, Rani-ji. Knowing they would have a contribution to make to Lord Geigi’s staff, one would not hesitate to restaff the premises. Nor would I take it amiss if any Najida youngsters felt man’chi drawing them toward my esteemed neighbor—what are we, if not two eggs in the same shell, nand’ Geigi at Kajiminda and myself at Najida? I would support them without hesitation. But warn them to guard their feelings and be advised—he is the most attractive of lords, but his service is not for those with ties to the earth.”

“You are so good, neighbor of mine! Ah, I had looked forward to a stay in a hotel, an outlying one at best, and this is beyond expectation.”

“You come with so little baggage, Geigi-ji! One recalls you had far more!”

“Destined for the spaceport,” Geigi said. “One has given it over to the baggage office, and they will send it over to the space agency, to be gone through and packed. It is such a relief, Bren-ji. I have left my valets at Kajiminda, to come on a later shuttle. I am destitute of assistance, besides the loyalty of my aishid. One had no wish to impose on your gracious hospitality, and one has absolutely no need of too many things, if one may rely on your staff for wardrobe care.”

“Of course they will be pleased to do it! Avail yourself of all we have, Geigi-ji. There is, you are well aware, dinner at the formal hour, and likely the dowager’s staff has been working since yesterday.”

“I shall be ready within the hour,” Lord Geigi said.

“Please. Join me for a cocktail in the sitting room, and then we shall go together.”

“Honored,” Geigi said, bowed, and went off to take possession of the guest quarters, a most auspicious first guest in the premises, while Bren hurried to use the bath in time to let staff have it pristine again for Lord Geigi…

The bath, the dress—the most formal of court clothes. There was, fortunately, ample time for Geigi to dress for dinner, and most of an hour left to sit for a preliminary cocktail in the sitting room, going over the latest news from Kajiminda—construction on the Edi center had started, at least as far as staking out the site, pending approval in the legislature.

The rebuilding at Najida had gotten as far as the roof, which had to be the most urgent matter—getting the difficult part done before another torrential rain; and, Geigi relayed from Ramoso, Bren’s major d’ at Najida, the news that the architect would send plans based on Bren’s sketch of what he wanted.

“One will be very anxious to see them,” Bren said. He had engaged the best in the district, and had an Edi foreman in charge of the clean-up crew, men who knew carpentry and masonry and who would, one very much hoped, get the work advanced by fall—it was approaching the summer runs of fish, and the Edi were chafing to work on their own new building.

Once all the legislative agreements went forward to give the Edi their new status—please God they went forward—there would be frustrating days of no progress on Najida Estate, during the height of the fishing season, and days when everybody was engaged on the Edi’s own building, but that was as it had to be. As it should be. He was absolutely determined to hire local folk, even if they had to have the roof of Najida estate under plastic sheeting until fall. It was a district that needed the money.

“And I shall be back on the station for it all,” Geigi said, “but one would delight to see the plans and also have views of the work going forward, if only for my curiosity. One has come dangerously close to being attached to the land again. Alas, my orchard.”

“Your staff can surely recover it. And now they will have help from Targai, surely, Geigi-ji.”

“Some trees are doomed. But indeed, that is the agreement with the new lord.” A sip of juice and vodka. “And once my nephew’s wife is pregnant, she will take residency there. Sidi-ji assures me she is a plain and practical young woman who understands rural districts very well, and who loves an orchard.”

The girl in question was the one Ilisidi had just married to Geigi’s fool of a nephew. Baiji would not set foot in the west again, but she, an Easterner, would produce a Maschi-clan heir to replace Baiji, and until the heir reached his or her majority, she would rule over Kajiminda district. Geigi might have been lord of Maschi clan himself, had he wanted the post; but he had appointed a subclan house-head to take that honor and had permanently relinquished his own residence at Kajiminda, breaking all ties with the earth. It was not something he had done lightly.

“One certainly hopes you will not utterly abandon the district, however,” Bren said. “One is certain the young lady is an excellent person, and one will be neighborly, but I shall miss you beyond measure, Geigi-ji! Know that you are always welcome under any roof I manage.”

“And you, wherever I am,” Geigi said. “I look to you, Bren-ji, to guide this girl and my heir, as a good neighbor. I have the greatest confidence in you. And should they misbehave in any fashion, I rely on you to tell me without hesitation!”

“So I shall, Geigi-ji. I shall keep a close eye on the situation, for their welfare, and I shall not, again, leave Najida unwatched.”

“Nor that eastern border,” Geigi said, meaning the border with the Taisigin Marid and the Senjin Marid. “One is greatly encouraged by your reports from Tanaja. But one begs you not to take personal chances.”

“One has every intention of being careful,” Bren said, “but between us, Geigi-ji, and with all due reservations regarding the district history, I have a certain sense, be it only a human one, that we have in Machigi—a very tangled relationship, but a workable one. I have a document from him, which he asked me to show to select individuals at my discretion. You are one I would include. In that very small circle, besides you, are Ilisidi, Tabini-aiji, and my aishid. It confesses to some things; it denies others. One of these things he mentions is extremely delicate, and one hesitates even to name it, but having that clear before tonight’s meeting…”

“Regarding my sister’s death?” The look from Geigi was suddenly flat, stark, direct.

“Regarding that, yes.”

“Tell me, Bren-ji. I shall not budge from our plan, no matter what you tell me. But be direct.”

“In essence, Machigi has not publicly attempted to claim innocence of her murder. He is a stiff, unyielding sort and has never, in fact, denied any charge against him. In this letter, however, he claims two things: first that the entire letter in which he contains his statement is a mix of truth and untruth, and second that he was courting your sister in hopes of gaining some favor with you should you attack Murini and claim the aijinate. That his enemies were the agents of the poisoning, and it was not his planning nor his wish.”

The stare continued flat, protected, emotionless for a long while. Then Geigi nodded slowly. “Credible,” he said in that same chill voice. “But you say, Bren-ji, that he was playing games with this letter. I shall be patient for the sake of the aishidi’tat, for the sake of lives at risk. But he will not do well to play word games with me.”

“It is his manner, I fear. It is a risky, self-destructive mode of address engendered, possibly, by pride. There is a possibility of truth in his claim.”

“There is also the possibility that the first circumstance is true and that, at her refusal of his suit, he killed her.”

“I have had very limited experience of his manner, Geigi-ji, but in several intense discussions with him, I have detected a high-mindedness—I can only call it high-mindedness. Pride that does not accord well with such an act. But I have also detected an arrogance that equally well supports a deception. I cannot judge. I am compelled to leave it to atevi judgment—or proof. I am extremely uncomfortable having even to mention it. But I would not have you put in a position of supporting this agreement without knowledge of that letter. And therefore I must warn you. I offer it, if you will wish to read it.”

There was a lengthy silence, and Geigi composed his face to absolute calm.

“I shall read it,” Geigi said, then.

Bren reached into his inner coat pocket and carefully withdrew a copy of the document; leaned forward and laid it on the little table at Geigi’s elbow, beside his glass.

Geigi took the paper and opened it, and in a lengthy silence, read it. A muscle jumped in his jaw at a certain point, and ceased. And at last he folded the letter. “Am I to have this copy?” he asked. “I would like to have it.”

“As you wish,” Bren said. “Please do.”

Geigi carefully put it into his own coat pocket, then said: “As you say, Bren-ji, he is arrogant. But the logic he presents is reasonable. The circumstances are reasonable. Kajiminda was undefended. My sister had no protection but the Edi. And they were leaving. I do see the man you describe in this letter.”

“I am bewildered by him, quite frankly, Geigi-ji. And this also I will say: The Guild entrenchment in his district is thorough and getting deeper. The Guild has its own motive in this action, promoting him as lord of the Taisigi. More I cannot say. But be advised. I think he is quite pent in.”

“Then I understand more of this letter,” Geigi said on a deep breath. “One appreciates the extreme delicacy of the task Sidi-ji set you. One has appreciated that much from the outset. And I shall examine that small possibility that he is too arrogant to plead his case with me, an enemy. I shall hold onto that possibility very carefully, with tongs.”

“One wishes one had answers.”

Geigi touched his chest, where the letter now resided. “It deserves several readings, the final one in the remoteness of the station, in the perspective of great, cold distance from local affairs. The earth brings me memories, not all of which are as pleasant as I have regarding my nearest and favorite neighbor. My sister was unwise in most choices, and my nephew will live and die a fool. Rest assured, Bren-ji, I greatly appreciate your frankness in this matter of her relations with Machigi. And from believing that Machigi killed my sister for his simple convenience to suspecting he killed her as a danger to him brings him a small step upward in my regard, but to sympathize with him as too proud to plead his utter innocence, well, I shall assess his qualities when I meet him. The agreement with the lord of the Marid stands to benefit everyone, while opposing it would benefit my enemies in two other districts of the Marid. So. I thank you, Bren-ji, for giving this to me in advance. You have never disappointed me in your sensitivity and your perception. And if you believe Machigi—there is hope he is telling the truth.”

“Geigi-ji.” He gave a deep bow of his head.

“Shall we not go to Sidi-ji’s dinner now? One understands Lord Tatiseigi will be present. I have now gathered up my resolve, I have fortified myself with good drink, I shall have the company of yourself and Sidi-ji, and I have nerved myself to remain absolutely serene this evening, knowing I have your household ready to soothe my nerves once this is done.”

Ilisidi’s formal table was, as always, traditional and elaborate, with service both wooden and silver, china and bone ivory, on a plain table runner itself at least a century old, not to mention the plates and glassware. A considerately low centerpiece of stones and Malguri spring flowers ran down the center, and the service was set for five…the fifth conspicuously lacking the wine glass, so Bren would have guessed had not young Cajeiri just turned up, fortunate fifth, without his parents, exceedingly happy to see Lord Geigi and him, bright and full of questions—was Lord Geigi here to take the shuttle? And brimming with declarations and announcements: he was very grateful to Lord Geigi for conveying a message and for interceding with his father, and his father was going to invite his associates on the station for his birthday, and he was looking forward to it and only wished Lord Geigi could come, too, and nand’ Bren had to come, and could they use his boat?

That came mostly in one breath. Cajeiri was very happy, and one was, frankly, astonished that Tabini had permitted the visit from space without consulting his human advisor.

Or maybe he had consulted.

Yolanda, up on the station, had been Tabini’s contact for the two years while the paidhi-aiji had been absent from the scene; and while one tended to forget Yolanda, who truly did not enjoy being on the planet and no longer exercised her office, she was a good one to consult on the temper of human relations aloft, a good, studious paidhi with about as much soul as Wilson, in Bren’s estimate.

One hoped to God she got it right.

Or was that…just a little professional jealousy?

Damn, he tried to be better than that. He was thinking so when the final guest arrived, with his bodyguard. Lord Tatiseigi—speaking of jealousy—came to sit in the same room as his grandnephew and his chief annoyance when it came to philosophy, political affiliation, and Ilisidi’s and Cajieiri’s favor: Geigi.

“Nandi.” Bren gave the little duck of the head courtesy demanded. Then two voices at once, one lighter than the rest and full of enthusiasm, the rascal:

“Great-uncle! One is so glad!”

“Well, well. A pleasant surprise, Grandnephew!”

The kid was acquiring the sly skills of a diplomat: happily diverting off a topic with Geigi that would send great-uncle into an apoplexy, to a cheery, apparently sincere how-do-you-do that elicited an astonished reciprocation out of Tatiseigi. Eight, and going on nine, for God’s sake, and absorbing his grandmother’s tactics like a sponge.

They were all seated—or almost seated—Tatiseigi the last, being a little stiff in the joints, as Cenedi and Nawari came in, preceding Ilisidi herself, so it was back up to their feet to give a courteous bow to their hostess, who arrived in splendid black lace with small ruby accents, and who bowed slightly in her turn, offering a serene smile and her ordinary manner. Her cane went to Cenedi, who set it against the buffet—she often kept it, but she exuded relaxation and good cheer tonight.

So they were all together, finally, in about as secure a place as existed in the Bujavid. And he was particularly glad to have Ilisidi safely back within Bujavid upper stories, where she was far safer than off in the East dealing with the neighbors.

They were five at table, a felicitous number, though containing a chancy two—and one knew exactly which were the Infelicitous Twosome: Tatiseigi and Geigi. One flattered oneself that the paidhi-aiji with the aiji’s son and the aiji-dowager posed the felicity in the arrangement, and thank God and thank Cajeiri’s clever start to the conversation, everybody was on good behavior all the way through dinner. In the course of dinner conversation, Lord Geigi avowed himself completely cheerful at the prospect of seeing his on-planet business neatly handled so he could go back to the station, and Lord Tatiseigi was rather caught up in hearing from Ilisidi the details of Baiji’s wedding—somewhat inconsiderate, had Geigi chosen to be take offense at having the scandal in Lord Geigi’s house aired, but Geigi remained in good humor and asked details himself, what his nephew had worn, and how Baiji, no great scholar, had gotten through his pledges without stumbling.

And both gentlemen quite enthusiastically, genealogy being a particular interest of Lord Tatiseigi, heard Ilisidi’s reckoning of the lineages and ancient associations involved in the marriage she had arranged.

“It is a very felicitous match, and you must understand, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, paying the old man personal attention—if she were human she would have patted him confidentially on the hand. She was not, and she simply nodded in his direction. “We have married that scoundrel Baiji to a lady of great good sense, not to mention her antecedents; the ancient connection of Lord Drusi with your own third-great-uncle, Tati-ji, might be argued to connect Atageini relatives as well. One has not forgotten nand’ Drusi’s Eastern wife, out of which the current lordship of the Atageini rises.”

“Now that is the most tenuous of connections!” Lord Tatiseigi said, and went on to trace exactly how the relationship ran, while Geigi added his own remote ancestry.

Cajeiri listened remarkably politely, though with his eyes occasionally glazing over, and a mere human attempted to connect the dots in a set of political and genetic relationships running back fifteen hundred years—long before humans had exited their own motherworld…

Arcane stuff. But it mattered to the traditionalists. It mattered because it contained history and subtext. That Lord Tatiseigi, traditionalist to the hilt, and Geigi, a Rational Determinist and a modernist, sat there comparing ancestors was amazing. Just amazing. The time had been when those two had been bitter, bitter opponents on the grounds of the very ancestors they now compared.

And then…

Then there came into question, not quite a case of business at dinner, the matter of the Marid and the porcelains and the ravages to Lord Geigi’s personal collections. Geigi and Tatiseigi had the passion for porcelains in common as well, and, starting from the ancestor who had started Tatiseigi’s collection, the dinner dwindled down to last courses in the completely esoteric discussion of green glazes, which was so much better than might have been. There was not a whisper yet about Lord Machigi.

But in conclusion of the meal, Ilisidi of course offered brandy in the sitting room, which would be the venue for serious, even disagreeable discussion, and Bren braced himself.

“One would very much wish to attend the after-dinner sitting, mani,” Cajeiri said quietly. “One will not say a thing, even if one should wish to.”

It was Ilisidi the lad addressed. Lord Tatiseigi looked a little put out at the idea, and he probably wanted to say the boy belonged home in bed at this hour.

But the things at issue were matters Cajeiri knew intimately—quite intimately, the boy having seen far too much of the warfare on the peninsula. Ilisidi had not withheld information of that sort from the boy. Ever.

“You will remember your promise,” Ilisidi said, “Great-grandson.”

“One assuredly will, Great-grandmother.”

“So, well,” Ilisidi said, and gathered up her cane, which her bodyguard Cenedi slipped conveniently under her hand in the same moment he moved her chair back. Ilisidi gathered herself to her feet, they all got up and filed out of the room, bodyguards arranging themselves as they went—Cajeiri’s youngsters adding a little confusion and inexperience to the process, but Cenedi sorted it out quietly behind them.

So they settled in the sitting-room, with brandy and one iced fruit juice—and faced one another for what was not going to be such a nice conversation.

“One does not wish, aiji-ma,” Tatiseigi said, “to offend young ears. But one must speak.”

“You will not offend him,” Ilisidi. “Nor, one hopes, Tati-ji, will our efforts to have peace in the south displease you. You know how very long we have desired a settlement, we do know that you hold opposing views in the interest of your region, and, fortunate third, we do hope to satisfy all your objections, because we have had them particularly in mind while arranging the agreements. You have been our instructor and our constant thought while we were working these things out. Do kindly hear us out before you frame an opinion.”

Neatly managed, Bren thought. A magnificent segue, delivered almost while the old man was drawing breath to object.

“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said, frowning, “but understand—” He used the all-inclusive plural. “—our objections reside in our concern for the aishidi’tat, which is an irreplaceable structure.”

“To that we heartily agree, nandi,” Geigi said. “And, speaking as one who has sometimes been at odds, but no longer, one hopes—we greatly appreciate your position. The aiji-dowager has often cited your opinions, and one now greatly appreciates the wisdom of your position, nandi. When one was young, one was far more reckless, but time and events are persuasive. Your objections are wisely made, and must be respected.”

Tatiseigi blinked. Twice, parsing that for traps, and Bren parsed it a second time himself, in some little admiration. God, Geigi had grown in office. Ilisidi looked on that with her usual calm demeanor and smiled a sweet little smile.

“So we do,” she said, “always consult with Lord Tatiseigi.”

The paidhi-aiji could hardly top that opening statement. He sat there sipping his brandy very cautiously, saying only, “One absolutely concurs, aiji-ma. Nandiin.”

“Well, well, well,” Tatiseigi said, a little flustered, and took a sip of his own glass. “Let me then advise you of my concern that any improved rail link will immediately become a conduit for spies and mayhem. That any increased trade with the South will upset the economy by competing against northern industry.”

“On the latter, we rely on your excellent knowledge of the northern economy to advise us,” Ilisidi said. “It will be extremely easy at this stage to make provisions to protect these northern enterprises, whether by making them more competitive or by managing import from the south. Not forgetting there will be export from the north, which may offer profit.”

“Export. These bare-elbowed folk in the south can hardly afford our goods.”

“Indeed,” Geigi said, “but an improved economy in the south will mean they can, and will want them, in increasing numbers. This is a major new market once it has elevated its standard of living.”

“They are a lazy, contentious lot,” Tatiseigi said, “who had rather waste their substance in war than improve their own living. The black market dominates their economy.”

“This has not been their choice,” Bren felt obliged to say. “Nandiin, they have maintained leaders whose warlike nature has made them feel safer—not that it has made them safe, but the reputation for violence has in fact defended them from the other clans in the Marid. That is the sort of choice the aiji-dowager has undertaken to change. She has identified one warlord with a vision exceeding his predecessors, and in consequence of his talent, he has become a target of his neighbors—with a good result for the aishidi’tat, because it has necessitated his accepting the guilds into the Marid to a degree that will profoundly change the politics of the district. But the guilds cannot effect a beneficial change without direction applied from the north and the east.”

“Setting up a massive clan structure in that district to rival the Ragi,” Tatiseigi muttered, “is dangerous. Destabilizing to the entire aishdi’tat.”

“For all his days, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, “Lord Machigi will be engaged in building up his merchants and his shippers and enriching the people of the Marid. He will have no time for adventures of a political nature, and once he has wealthy merchants under his roof, he will have the same constraints as does my grandson. Wealthy merchants, save those selling munitions, do not like war in their own region of operation, and we shall have the Marid trading in porcelains and textiles, wood products, foodstuffs—anything but munitions.”

“For now, Sidi-ji. But the next leader—”

“Should any future leader of the Marid step out of those bounds, the Guilds will be quite sure he does not step far…just as the Guilds constrain us in Shejidan. That is the profound difference in this agreement, Tati-ji. Machigi has taken the Guilds to bed, and now he is wed to them. So will his successors be.”

Tatiseigi was quiet for a moment, head tilted to one side. “And these foreigners in the heavens the paidhi-aiji warns us of? What when they appear? What when they play one region against the other? Or incite the humans against us? We cannot be divided.”

“Precisely,” Ilisidi said, “we cannot be divided. Nor shall we be. The Guild will see to that.”

The Guild, Bren thought, was not the argument he would have picked—given what he had learned from Tabini.

But Tatiseigi sat still, the brandy in his hand, and then he emptied it at a gulp and held out his glass for another.

Servants moved. No one else did, except Cajeiri was swinging his feet. And stopped in the general hush.

Tatiseigi took another sip. “You believe this as fact.”

“We believe it,” Ilisidi said, and for a dizzy, strange moment, Bren thought, Could she be behind what’s been going on in the Guild? At least…the current upheaval?

“You believe you have the means to restrain this wild southerner, Sidi-ji.”

“We have the means to remove this wild southerner, should he prove unwise. And he knows it.”

“One will concede to you, Sidi-ji.”

Feet swung. Abruptly stopped. Cajeiri piped up: “My father will back Great-grandmother. One is quite sure.”

There was a moment of surprise, a little shock, that Cajeiri had an opinion.

“The renegades shot at us,” Cajeiri continued doggedly. “They blew up a truck. They attacked everybody and tried to get them to fight. But we stopped them. They wanted to set Lord Machigi’s enemy in Dojisigi and assassinate Lord Machigi, so Lord Machigi has had to ally with mani. And she will not let him go.” Feet swung again, and stopped. “My father is keeping quiet because of politics. But we think he backs mani.”

“So do we back your great-grandmother, nandi,” Geigi said. “So does the entire West, and that is another district that has been, until now, too unsettled to unify. If we take this course, Lord of the Atageini, with the solidity of your great prestige, the whole West agrees to fight our legal battles in the legislature and in court and accept the results…and this agreement now includes those peoples now called tribal districts. We have also gained the Lord of Dur in agreement, bringing in his region. We have Maschi clan agreed, and, for once, the whole Marid is under one authority, who sees nothing more profitable for him than agreement. Should Machigi break this alliance, we here will maintain our association and deal with it, but more, for the first time the Guild will be in place to deal with it. So Machigi will no longer be able to think that he is out of reach of consequences. He is now as vulnerable to the Guild as any other lord. It is a new situation, nandi. I put by all quarrels in the interests of having this agreement work.”

“Even abandoning the matter of your sister,” Tatiseigi said bluntly.

“If I do, she will have died to some higher purpose, nandi, than the usual regional dispute. She will have died for something worth dying for. In order for us to deliver the conditions in which the agreement of Machigi and Sidi-ji can work, the tribal districts have to be at peace, and to put them at peace, the legislature has to approve their admission to the aishidi’tat and remove them from dependency on my clan. I back that proposal. One hopes, nandi, one extravagantly hopes for your vote in support.”

“One asks,” Ilisidi said, “Tati-ji. Try our way. We have ample recourse if it fails. We have built in precautions such as your objections have suggested, notably Guild action. We need you, Tati-ji.”

There was a moment of stark silence. Then a nod from Tatiseigi. “We shall agree,” Tatiseigi said, jaw clamped as if he were forcing the words. “You know, Sidi-ji, the political cost of this will be heavy.”

“You will gain, Tati-ji, and you may suffer the jealousy of your neighbors for that. We know the risk—and we know some of your neighbors, as do you. We ask you not visit Tirnamardi at any time in the coming weeks. We offer personnel to secure and protect Tirnamardi.”

“They will not be Taibeni, Sidi-ji!”

“They will not be Taibeni.”

God—inserting more bodyguards onto Tatiseigi’s staff? Maybe somebody who could wade in, replace several antiquated and overly expensive security systems, and get decisions made. That was his first thought: Tatiseigi assassinated and his vital succession over Atageini Clan coming down to Cajeiri would be monumental.

Second thought: Under ordinary circumstances, Tatiseigi would have set his feet and demanded favors or outright refused; but the old man was not stupid. By backing the agreement, he had great reason to worry about his next-door neighbors and strongest rivals, the Kadagidi, who were trying to regain their political power and would use it for capital…but by opposing Ilisidi, he set himself aside as useless, because he assuredly would never back the Kadagidi.

Cajeiri’s feet swung. He stopped them, but his eyes moved from Geigi to Tatiseigi. The boy understood. He’d been there when Tatiseigi’s antiquated systems had nearly gotten them all killed. Cajeiri knew everyone’s opinions. He had his opinions on his great-uncle’s feelings about the Taibeni. He knew all about his great-grandmother’s plan and the situation on the coast. And one hoped to God he knew he shouldn’t say a thing at the moment. Not a thing.

Lips went taut with restraint.

In a very long silence.

“I have avoided war all my life,” Tatisiegi said. “This is consistency on my part.” A nod, then. “The Atageini accept the proposal. We will back this program, specifically on your recommendation, Sidi-ji.”

They’d done it, Bren thought.

And he asked himself how much of Lord Tatiseigi’s movement in their direction had to do with the ongoing situation Tabini had warned him about, the situation with Lady Damiri’s other relatives, who were fighting to remove Tatiseigi’s influence from the ruling house in Shejidan and bring in their own to stand near Tabini-aiji.

Not to mention the situation within the Guild—the recent situation, and the prior situation, and the fact they were not likely to have eliminated every vestige of the shadow Guild. If there was a place the shadow Guild was supposed to have been eliminated—it was from the house of the Kadigidi, Murini’s clan, Lord Tatisiegi’s neighbor to the east. Tatiseigi had forever the Taibeni on one side and the Kadagidi on the other, and he had the most uncertain security on the continent.

So now Tatiseigi found a way to accept Ilisidi’s offer, at one stroke getting past the Kadagidi.

He found a way to accept a gift porcelain and had the paidhi-aiji advancing him as an expert in the collector trade.

He even found a way to agree with Lord Geigi, however indirectly, and patch up a quarrel that had ceased to be of any social or political benefit.

Damned right, Tatiseigi was aware of a danger to him and to his clan.

There was an interesting letter among Baiji’s little stash of blackmail material, one half line of which suggested the Kadagidi would favor Baiji’s proposed alliance with the Dojisigin Marid.

The interesting bit was the date, which was after Murini’s fall from power, after Murini had allegedly become anathema among the Kadagidi and the Kadagidi had become innocent as the driven snow. The associations in that letter nailed the Kadagidi as possibly complicit in the assassination of Geigi’s sister—and as backing a shadow Guild power grab as recently as current history.

If push came to shove, Tatiseigi might well know what to do with that letter.

Ilisidi had her own copy of that little store of documents, and when it came to interclan gossip, Ilisidi knew things. She collected things. Remembered things.

And delivered little tidbits of information when they most suited her.

Had that letter gone to Tatiseigi—along with the supper invitation?

One wondered. One did indeed.

Following Lord Tatiseigi’s agreement—and an unprecedented exchange of bows and courtesies of reconciliation with Lord Geigi—there was perhaps just a bit more brandy than was judicious. But it was an occasion, and the mood was optimistic, at least for the hour. Cajeiri, as a minor, went home earliest with his young aishid, without having committed a single indiscretion—exemplary behavior, and one the dowager noted with a deeper than usual nod in parting. They all left at once, Lord Tatiseigi down the hall to his residence, and Bren and Lord Geigi off to Bren’s apartment, on Cajeiri’s track.

They were not that late getting in, except for the brandy, and one thought even of one more glass, which was entirely foolish. He and Geigi were both tired. They needed to go straight to bed and have their wits about them in the morning.

Bren said his goodnight to Geigi—“A success, a very great success, Geigi-ji,” and received a reciprocal courtesy, the both of them happy with the evening. Valets were waiting to put them to bed; bodyguards were headed for their own well-earned late suppers in the apartment kitchen, after their own very long evening.

And Bren delayed for one compulsive, foolish look at the message cylinders waiting in the basket.

The design of the cylinders said they came from several departments of the government and Machigi’s representative, one surmised the fifth one to be. For the morning, he said to himself, resolutely.

But Tano and Algini turned up again from the inner hall, and Tano pulled a very thick envelope out of the front of his uniform jacket.

“This is from the dowager, Bren-ji. Cenedi’s company provided an extensive briefing.”

A slight cold chill went through him. Tano and Algini, as usual, had been door detail, Banichi and Jago standing duty in the dining room and the sitting room. It was always the door detail who talked with the resident Guild.

And learned the unofficial scuttlebutt.

“The nature of these, Tano-ji? Should one be alarmed?”

“These are in main the dowager’s final drafts of the agreement, Bren-ji. And also Cenedi’s intelligence report regarding the East. There is controversy rising regarding development on the coast, regarding the proposed rail service, regarding road building. Cenedi says these are routine matters, which can be handled with accurate information and negotiation.”

“We had a very interesting conference,” Algini said, “with the collective security details—we dodged Tatiseigi’s aishid to some minor extent, but we were very careful to give them every impression of full disclosure and full inclusion. That the two of the young lord’s bodyguard are Guild was convenient. We were able to include them, to warn them for the sake of their principal, but as juniors, with certain restrictions of information. Maneuvering around them covered our more focused talk with Cenedi. We have filled him in regarding the business already discussed. We are confident of his position. We have also passed nand’ Geigi’s guard a document not to be opened until they are on the station, and we have their undertaking to respect that.”

“However,” Algini said, and proffered another envelope, “this should be kept guarded and given to the aiji directly.”

One was not going to sleep well on that account.

The envelope was sealed without a signet seal. And Algini himself might not know its contents. One would bet it came either from Cenedi or directly from the Guild and was another bypass of Tabini’s bodyguard, who might—or might not—have been given it directly had Tabini attended the dinner.

Giving it to Cajeiri’s earnest young guard—no. This envelope was not that sort of message.

13

Bren opened his eyes, a little muzzy from sleep, and made space for Jago on the convenient side of the bed. She was shadow, all shadow, and settled quietly under the covers…and he suddenly became aware that it was late in the night.

That his bodyguard had been up very late.

“One wished not to disturb you,” she said quietly.

“Is something amiss, Jago-ji?”

“Not amiss, Bren-ji,” she said. “Algini and Tano went down to the town to meet with Guild from Lady Siodi’s establishment and from elsewhere. Nawari also.”

Cenedi’s right-hand man. Bren wiped his hand across his face, rising on an elbow and thinking—the place was almost certainly bugged by Tabini’s establishment. There were midnight consultations going on between his bodyguard, Ilisidi’s, Guild leadership—and those Guild the Guild itself had attached to Machigi and his representative. He hadn’t had time yet to get the personal envelope to Tabini.

But something must already be moving in the situation in the south.

And that realization drove the last residue of sleep right out of his head.

“Are there things I should know, Jago-ji?”

“There is progress on several fronts, since sundown, nandi. There is now an establishment in Sungeni and in Dausigi protecting those two lords.”

Lords loyal to Machigi— not necessarily loyal to him out of deep passion, but due to the economic and political realities of the Marid. Two small, financially weak clans had long found alliance with the powerful Taisigi their only means of survival—fearing they could be swallowed up by Dojisigi.

The two clans in question might have taken exception to Machigi’s sudden acceptance of the northern Assassins’ Guild. Their reaction had been a great worry in the whole arrangement with Machigi. But now the Guild had moved in on them, and the last of the Marid clans without a strong Guild presence…now had one.

“Do we know Machigi’s view on this?” he asked delicately, not to tread too closely on things on which Jago might have to preserve secrecy.

“He wrote a very helpful letter,” Jago said, “introducing the Guild delegates. The first was accepted among the Sungeni at sunset and by the Dausigi an hour later.” She turned onto her side, facing him, a darkness in the dark. “Machigi has also written a letter to Tiajo-daja, suggesting that acceptance of the Guild’s close guidance would secure her life and her father’s. And that rejection would not be a healthful decision. The Guild has provided a younger bodyguard, with close senior supervision, for the young lady,” Jago said. “Unhappily, the young lady is quarrelsome. She has already tried to enlist her new bodyguard to assassinate a list of enemies. The Guild naturally refused, and the young lady actually threw and damaged a number of atiendi items…” That was to say, artworks and antiquities belonging to the clan. It was shocking, uncivilized behavior. Shocking as a murder of sorts.

“One is dismayed.” What could he say? He had argued to safeguard Tiajo, which necessarily meant she would assume power. Such a childish act did not recommend her self-restraint.

“The Guild has made this act known in other houses where it has taken up guard. We have notified persons who were on the young lady’s list of intended targets; and we have consequently taken up guard and an advisory presence in those houses…so it has all flown back in the young lady’s face with a vengeance.”

“I intervened, Jago-ji. One begins to understand this was not my best idea.”

Jago shrugged. “She is having a difficult adolescence, and if she does not improve within the month, one doubts she will remain in any influence, if she remains alive. In fact, one of the persons she finds most objectionable has just proven quite sensible regarding Guild presence, and consultation is flowing back and forth, with very valuable information forthcoming from that source, which we can pass to certain other houses at a time of our choosing. Tiajo and her father have both been warned that if this person, her third cousin, Adil, does File Intent against her, the Guild may well withdraw her bodyguard and her father’s rather than continue to defend them.”

“Did she listen?”

“She immediately flew into a temper. Her father is now considering his position in some depth and attempting, far too late, to exert his paternal influence over the young lady.” Jago shifted up on an elbow and propped her head. “We are trying to preserve her, Bren-ji, and to amend her upbringing. But it is difficult. The next step is to remove her from power and send her off with her bodyguard for the next number of years and teach her more things her education hitherto has never mentioned. She will be the better for it.”

“I was wrong, Jago-ji, and I fear I may yet be wrong at the cost of lives.”

“The Guild can always remedy a mistake of leniency, Bren-ji, and the Guild will preserve other lives, should the time come. But the team assigned to her will try their best to bring her to reason. Further sacrifice will not be asked of them: They will simply be pulled out of the way if she cannot be redeemed.”

“I cannot conceive of it. One cannot conceive it, Jago-ji. One wonders if we could just pull the child up to the space station and put her under Lord Geigi’s care…”

“Lord Geigi would not thank you for that!”

“One doubts he would.” God. A child, a damned spoiled child, who grown old enough to be corrupt without ever growing up. And he had put himself in the middle of it.

“You are exactly right,” she said, with no doubt at all. “Banichi and I and Tano and Algini all agree. To reform her in place is the best thing, because the environment she understands is the easiest, and we can contain her. One will suggest the space station as an alternative. We all agree the child is immature. Her father and her father’s supporters have put her in a position for which she is entirely unfit. One is not sure of her intellectual capacity. That might be to the good, if she can be diverted to minor pursuits and let advisors rule.”

He fell back. “One only hopes for it. And Tano and Algini may have told you I need to speak to Tabini-aiji in the morning. They gave me a sealed message for him of some urgency.”

“It regards some of these very matters, Bren-ji. And you do indeed have a breakfast appointment with Tabini-aiji in the morning. All that is arranged. Meanwhile, it has been useful to have Siodi-daja in the city—particularly useful to have an arm of the Taisigi Guild accessible to central authority. Messages are passing very efficiently, and as we have reported an agreement here in Shejidan, Siodi-daja has reported herself satisfied with the security arrangement available to her lord and has sent that word to Tanaja. Things need to move quickly at this point. The dowager will be informed so in the morning. Preliminary copies of the agreement are being hand delivered to Machigi before sunrise.”

Night courier. Someone going down by train or plane.

“That fast, Jago-ji.”

“Definitely, Bren-ji.”

He had the envelope. He had within it, he now suspected, the Guild outline for its intended operations in the South; and he had the breakfast appointment—the message advising Tabini going directly, not even using something as safe as a message cylinder delivered between households. His fingerprints were to be on this one, only his fingerprints. There would be no vague report making its way from house to house among servants that a message had gone between the dowager’s household and Tabini. There was to be secure contact every step of the way. And spies who wanted to report would report that the paidhi, after supper with the aiji-dowager, had had breakfast with the aiji.

From the Guild to Cenedi to Algini to him to Tabini.

So people would, psychologically, be able to say exactly when and how information had passed, and it would be officially the paidhi-aiji’s fault, whatever happened as a result.

It was his job to get some sleep before he had to think.

It was his job to go next door and give Tabini-aiji a chance to stop what they were doing or to urge it forward, maintaining perfect deniability until it was a fait accompli.

He did not feel communicative in the morning, pre-tea, and pre-breakfast. He stood staring at the painted woodwork while Supani and Koharu fussed with his shirt and coat. The envelope he had put in the dresser drawer last night went back into the coat pocket without comment. Supani and Koharu had that very useful quality in valets—a good sense of when conversation might be welcome and when not.

This morning it was not.

This morning, while, across the hall Lord Geigi was still sleeping the sleep of a weary late night reveler, Bren was in his best morning coat, and he arrived in the foyer at the precise time his bodyguard and his staff and Tabini’s bodyguard had agreed upon. His bodyguard, in spit-and-polish, escorted him fifty feet down the hall to Tabini’s door, with all due ceremony.

After that it was up to Tabini’s staff to get him quietly to the small breakfast room, with only Tabini and his bodyguard in attendance; there was to be no Cajeiri and no Damiri, he strongly suspected.

A light breakfast. That would suit. He felt himself incapable of anything elaborate.

And when it was done, Bren simply took the envelope from his pocket and slid it quietly across the little table.

“Do you know the contents of this document?” Tabini asked him bluntly.

“No, aiji-ma, I do not. Cenedi passed it to my bodyguard under seal.”

“And the tenor of the meeting last night, paidhi-ji?”

“Have you—have you spoken with your son, aiji-ma?”

“I have not spoken to my son yet, no. Nor will I, on this matter.”

“He requested to stay for the after-dinner sitting, aiji-ma. During that session he did state that you supported his great-grandmother.”

“Go on.”

“The statement was timely and appropriate in context, it was taken well by his great-uncle and by Lord Geigi, and it had a favorable impact on the discussion, aiji-ma. His tone was respectful.”

Tabini regarded him at length with those cold, pale eyes. “My son often takes a great deal on himself.”

Dismaying. “It had, at least, a moderating effect on his great-uncle, aiji-ma.”’

“He has, for his age, a precocious self-confidence. It used to impel him into the servant passages. Now it impels him into delicate negotiations.”

“Aiji-ma. One apologizes.”

“One is certain you have no need, paidi-ji. His great-grandmother allowed him into the room.”

“Yet, aiji-ma, after that statement, Lord Tatiseigi and Lord Geigi were able to resolve their disagreements. They both agree to support your grandmother’s proposal.”

“Do they?” Tabini said flatly. “And now Cenedi sends us this document. Do you know the content of it?”

One could not swear the bedroom was not bugged. “Aiji-ma. I received a copy of the agreement. One expects that to be there. One knows the Guild is concerned about these matters and active in the south. One rather suspects the message is the Guild’s, routed through Cenedi, but one only guesses as to that.”

“And the shape of this agreement of association? Is it still what we were presented?”

“To a cursory reading it has not changed, aiji-ma. Trade between the Taisigin Marid and the Eastern ports. A side agreement with the Edi and the Gan, who have agreed to stop certain activities if admitted to the aishidi’tat. The dowager has also, one understands, negotiated with her immediate neighbors and with town officials on the coast—”

“The disturbance now reaches to the East,” Tabini said. “A consortium of ten minor lords who, backing her trade agreement, are now signatory to a development on the East Coast with Guild participation. She was very busy at Baiji’s wedding.”

Bren drew in a slow, careful breath. There was still that envelope, unopened, on the table between them. And if Tabini’s agents had reported all the goings-on in the East—that still left the business with the Marid.

“I should perhaps take my leave at this point, aiji-ma.”

“Do not,” Tabini said sharply, and took up the envelope and opened it. Bren sat still, watching the pages in Tabini’s hands. The missive bore no visible crest. It had multiple pages, no surprise; it was fine printed, not handwritten, no surprise, either. Its size and nature were characteristic of messages that arrived in envelopes—reports, generally, not personal letters. This one was extensive, more than five pages.

Tabini finished it. Flipped back a page, reread, then threw the document onto the table and got up and walked across the little room to his Taibeni bodyguard, exchanged a look with his aishid-senior, and then looked across the room at Banichi and Jago.

Damn, Bren thought. Not good news. Not at all good news in that envelope.

It was a moment before Tabini returned to stand at the table. He gathered up the document, folded it, put it into its envelope, and slipped it into his own inner pocket. “Tea,” he said, and his senior bodyguard moved to the sideboard to make a new pot, no servants involved.

Whatever it was, one was obliged to wait for Tabini to speak. Tabini sat down and waited, and the senior bodyguard, Jaidiri, quietly poured the light tea.

They drank. They said absolutely nothing; and Bren’s brain raced with anxiety and spun on no information, while Tabini clearly had far too much information at the moment and was trying to sort it.

Tabini finished his tea with a last, large swallow and set his cup aside. Bren didn’t try to empty his cup, just set it down.

Tabini said, quietly, “My grandmother has gone to war with the Ajuri. Figuratively.”

Lady Damiri’s father. Dursai Province.

He had absolutely no business commenting on a family matter. He had no nerves to warn him of the flow of man’chi or the lack of it. But Tabini looked at him, awaiting a reply.

“One hardly knows what to say, aiji-ma.”

“This, for once, is not regarding my son’s actions. Cenedi went to the East with my grandmother. One of his staff did not. You and your bodyguard, paidhi, are about to hear things which must not come to my son.”

“Aiji-ma. One will respect the sensitivity of it. So will my bodyguard.”

“I am sure your bodyguard, and Cenedi, will do whatever their man’chi compels them to do. And your bodyguard and mine need to know. There is an old rivalry regarding my son.”

“One understands.”

Tabini drew a deep breath. “You should understand more. Ajuri and the Atageini were allies—a hundred years ago, going up to my father’s time. That association ended finally when Tatiseigi, as clan head, did not at first approve the contract marriage that united his niece with Ajuri clan. That, however, is an old issue, and over time, Lord Tatiseigi warmed to their child Damiri as his grandniece. When we married her, of course, his opinion changed vastly, and she became his favorite niece. So for a time after our marriage, Ajuri and the Atageini were quite—socially close. But this harmony was doomed. The old reasons which had held the clans together had changed over time. When our son was born, it became a war for his upbringing, Atageini on one side, Ajuri on the other. And in the intensity of it all, Damiri had a falling-out with her father. She was then for a time in great favor with Lord Tatiseigi, a period which falls within your tenure.”

“One recalls the situation, yes, aiji-ma.”

“Then—we began the space program. We had its controversy. The entire aishidi’tat entered a period of upheaval that made it increasingly dangerous to have my son in close company with us at public functions. My grandmother’s conservatism is unquestioned. Tatiseigi’s is. Placing my son in her care quieted the conservatives, pleased Tatiseigi, and gave us time we greatly needed to politick our way through the unrest. That maneuver is also within your memory.”

“It is, aiji-ma.”

“Sending Cajeiri to the Atageini, however, infuriated the Ajuri. You may imagine. So. Let us leap to last night. In a very quick turn, the Atageini lord has suddenly agreed with you and made his peace with my grandmother’s move to settle the Marid. Why would he do that? Several reasons occur to me—not all of them the gracious presence of my grandmother or his fondness for your gift. First, my son has made childish but astonishingly firm regional alliances which, to a wise man like Tatiseigi, may suggest a different constellation of regional power in the future than has ever existed, one in which he can be of great influence. Second, the Ajuri have bent every effort toward reconciliation with Damiri and have insisted on providing staff. Her cousins and aunts have made much over the birth to come. So has her father—who has newly acceded to the lordship and now steers things.”

“Aiji-ma.”

“Note, paidhi-ji, that Ajuri and the Atageini survived the Troubles, intact. The Atageini survived because Lord Tatiseigi is politically important, as head of the conservatives—and because his house is such a sieve for secrets no one ever took him seriously as a threat to Murini. Assassinating Tatiseigi would have roused a stir in Murini’s own conservative backing, which he did not want—at that time.

“Ajuri clan, however, had a far more potent protective asset: a position of leverage within the Guild administration. And now we enter a different, difficult territory, paidhi, and certain conversations within the secrecy of the Guild have now met up with certain documents confiscated in the Marid action—to my personal distress.

“After the coup, certain houses took in fugitive servants from households in distress. These servants necessarily brought all sorts of information on various fallen powers—and the Ajuri acquired your old servants Moni and Taigi.”

Bren blinked, jolted down a new track of causality. Moni and Taigi, who had tried to get back into his service—and been stopped at the door by his aishid. “Aiji-ma.”

“They served in Ajuri for a time. Then they went back to you and applied for reinstatement. Your aishid wisely had them arrested. They claim utter innocence of motive. But their behavior makes them highly suspect. They have not gone back to Ajuri. They are doing small jobs in a suburb of the city, working for a restaurant.”

“One had not heard it, aiji-ma.”

“Do not attempt to assist them. I know your soft heart. They are very possibly still supplying information to the renegades.”

“To the Shadow Guild, aiji-ma!”

“I have told you that Damiri-daja and I have had our difficulties. And what has come to light now—does not favor her relatives.” Tabini tapped his chest, where he had the new document. The letter. “Ajuri is possibly involved with the shadow Guild.”

“Aiji-ma.” He was beyond appalled. Alarmed.

“We have given many clans and individuals ample understanding for things they may have done to save their lives and property during Murini’s administration. Had all our people died for us—we could never have returned. That Ajuri has connections within the Assassins’ Guild forged during Murini’s administration—this, we have never taken amiss. But the lords of Ajuri, the prior one and the current one, were not just surviving. They profited. One has always asked—Why did the attack so efficiently take out my staff? My aishid. Everyone I relied on. And yet missed me.”

It had been a massacre in this very apartment. And to kill a whole household staff, including servants—had been one brutal act among many…one terrible deed buried among the rest. The staff, even retired Guild, should have been off-limits once it was clear that Tabini was not present.

The Guild had struck at Tabini here, and simultaneously struck where he really was, at Taiben—proving they indeed knew where he was and was not.

They knew. That came sharply into focus, not for the first time.

And Tabini suffered, in that memory. He said nothing for a long time, and there was neither movement nor sound in the room.

At length Tabini said: “I cannot forgive my wife if she knew. But I do not think she did.”

“What is one to understand, aiji-ma?”

“Tatiseigi,” Tabini said, “survived because his influence among the conservatives was valuable. And Ajuri survived its relationship to us because it had influence within the Guild at highest levels. But now one wonders if it was not at higher levels than we estimated.”

To this hour Algini professed disturbance about the goings-on in the Guild.

To this hour, the Guild refused to give Tabini’s Taibeni bodyguard the highest-level information. Here he was, delivering a letter, in secret, that had come through Algini and Cenedi.

“What is one to understand, aiji-ma? Damiri-daja was also a target of assassination—was she not?”

“And they were not quite in charge of the Guild at that point. No. One does not believe they were behind the assassination attempt. But they did not diminish in influence during the Troubles. They grew in power, and their enemies met with misfortune. Tatiseigi, who would have been their target, was defended by a small body of loyal Guild, a wider band than he knew. And defended by me.”

One had no idea. It was possible that Tatiseigi had no inkling what had gone on, to this hour. But Tabini had indeed shown up quite rapidly when, returning from space, their little party had reached Tatiseigi’s doorstep.

“Ajuri is a small clan in territory, small in numbers, lacking subclans—lacking geographical position to make alliances as an equal among great clans. Tatiseigi was once their very best connection. But within the Guilds, especially within a Guild as powerful as the Assassins, a clever few can make their clan important. To this hour, they still hold that importance.”

To this hour. God. What was in that letter?

Tabini said, “And, this, paidhi-ji: Within the Guild, Ajuri clan Guild were in charge of records we now know were gotten out of Guild headquarters and that turned up again in records we found in the Marid. There is clear proof of custody. A pair of time stamps. And two signatures. These were not stolen—they were released; and we have them. We traced them to a very high-ranking pair of that clan within the Guild—who are, last night, deceased.”

War, Tabini had said. War on Ajuri Clan.

But that his grandmother had declared it. Had it been Cenedi who had moved?

Cenedi had been in attendance on the dinner and the after-dinner sitting.

Nawari hadn’t.

Banichi and Jago had been in attendance.

He had supposed Tano and Algini were, as usual, in the hall outside the sitting room. It took—maybe an hour to get to Guild Headquarters, an hour back. All the principals of the anti-Ajuri position had been sitting in that room—even including Cajeiri—safe, under the tightest and most alert guard in the Bujavid. Sipping brandy. Having fruit punch.

His mind raced.

“One imagines Ajuri clan has by this morning been informed of their loss,” Tabini was saying. “And I shall have to break that news to Damiri before it comes to her by any other source. They are remote cousins.”

Bren said quietly, “One regrets, aiji-ma.” But he was thinking: God, what is her position with Ajuri?

“I sent my son to a dinner last night welcoming his great-grandmother, fully knowing what his presence with her would signal. And Damiri and I have had a disagreement on the matter, and as of last night, she is not speaking to me. One hardly knows what she thinks this morning.”

There was no expression of regret possible. Bren only bit his lip.

“A ridiculous domestic situation,” Tabini said, “if it were any other household. But she is attempting to refrain from words that would, perhaps, be irrevocable, in her view. She is also well aware she is not at her most rational. She is about to give birth, and, one believes, she is quite emotionally determined that my grandmother not lay hands on this one—so it does limit her options. This determination to exert control is being fed by her father. She gave up Cajeiri to keep him safe, and she got back a child who—well, is very much his great-grandmother’s. As I am, despite my best efforts. That—has been a source of argument.

“That I have kept him with his great-grandmother in places of hazard has upset her.

“That he has rejected her tutors and now kept mine has upset her.

“I have told her that we shall not need to send this daughter away as we sent our son, and instead of being mollified, she takes that as an affront to this new child’s value in my eyes.

“Last night I made a decision that had to be made, sending the boy to a family dinner, and that brought the explosion—without her even knowing her two cousins were dead.

“In the last words we had last night, she said that I was trying to get rid of her and that she would not go. That she would have this next child in the Bujavid, in this apartment, so there can be no question of the child’s right to inherit—her words were: whatever leftovers her brother may spare her.

“I could send her away, paidhi. I could send her to her father’s house; but that would have undesirable consequences. Especially in light of what has happened in the Guild last night. And what has happened within the Guild to bring on such troubles in the aishidi’tat. Of that, I am still convinced she is innocent.”

One hardly knew what to say. And Tabini shifted back in his chair.

“I have in fact gotten you back from my grandmother, have I not?”

“Aiji-ma, I never left your service.”

“You have heard nothing in my grandmother’s confidence last night that you hesitate to report to me—or that you have reserved from reporting to me?”

“No, aiji-ma. I have not.”

“One finds that gratifying,” Tabini said, nodding slowly. “My son, be it noted, is not in my confidence on this matter, nor do I wish him to know what is happening until we have resolved it, one way or the other. Sad to say, he is in his mother’s confidence in nothing. One believes he has perceived this want of attachment. So I am careful what I withhold from him. If he finds himself distressed at us—I take comfort that he has you and his great-grandmother as an immediate recourse. You need not tell me details if he comes to your door. Just take him in. Keep him and notify me.”

“Aiji-ma, without question.” God, he did not want that to happen. “One wishes you may resolve this somehow.”

“Damiri-daja stands with one foot in her uncle Tatiseigi’s camp, man’chi preserving an Atageini parent she never knew, and with a living Ajuri parent now sitting as lord of the Ajuri. Lord Tatiseigi was not civil to her in her childhood—the man was scarcely civil to me, for that matter, until Damiri and I suddenly connected him to the aijinate. You know Tatiseigi. You know how his opinions stay set and, if ever changed, revert without warning.”

“One does, yes, aiji-ma.”

“One can hardly blame Damiri for her relationship to relatives in the Guild. And when we were fugitives in the hills—when we were fugitives in the hills, Damiri and I, we used to laugh, we used to say that we knew Tatiseigi would remain on our side since he never changed his mind, that we understood that her uncle and her father had to play matters carefully to stay alive, and we dared not go there.

“And when Damiri and I did regain possession of our son, on Atageini land, with Tatiseigi’s help—” Tabini leaned back in his chair. “Oh, that brought the Ajuri running. What I did not approve but did not at the time see as a forecast of worse—they were very quick to drive a wedge between Damiri-daja and her uncle over the usual list of grievances. No courtesy her uncle showed was adequate or sincere. Her uncle endangered her son. And worst of all—they maintained it was through his influence she had lost her son to my grandmother, who is Tatiseigi’s close associate. Adding to the problems of two feuding relatives, once we had our son with us, our son met every correction from her with, ‘Great-grandmother says…’ ”

Bren let go a breath, beyond words.

“You may imagine, paidhi, that that did not sit well with my wife.”

“One can well understand.”

“A child my grandmother reared, moreover, is quite capable of wielding his favor and disfavor as a weapon to get his own way. You may have noticed that in operation.”

“Yes.” Quiet acquiescence was definitely safest. “One has.”

“So our son had returned as a stranger and defied her wish to take him from his great-grandmother. Damiri has been unhappy since. And between you and me, paidhi, this next child is my own folly. This should not have happened at all. It was at a low point in our fortunes in the hills. And you may bear the burden of that knowledge, but it is not for my son to know in depth, for many, many years; and it is not for my grandmother ever to know unless you find it strongly advisable. This new child will certainly be born. Where this child will be born is another matter. Sending Damiri to the Ajuri—is not possible. But this morning I am not sure that she may stay here, under the same roof with our son. She is brave, she is resourceful, and ordinarily she is intelligent. But right now her thinking is not logical. I think she is convinced that Cajeiri will harm the baby.”

“She cannot believe that. That is impossible!”

“Yet I think she does believe it. In the latest upwelling of her family’s influence, one fears, she does not trust Cajeiri. She does not trust my grandmother. She does not trust you. She does not trust me, at this point. One is very glad to have my household out of my grandmother’s apartment, into much less confined circumstances, or I think we two might have come at it with knives last night. Our separate bodyguards have been quite upset—and Damiri’s are Ajuri. The fact is, Damiri’s jealousy of my grandmother has woven itself as warp to the weft of Ajuri’s scheming for influence over her. And it is a damnable situation.”

He had never looked to be taken this far into Tabini’s confidence. He had not understood why Tabini had lately left Cajeiri with him and with the dowager on the peninsula, in a war zone.

Now he had an inkling.

“So.” Tabini pushed back from the table, and Bren must rise, too. “Your bodyguard is now briefed. You are to exempt these matters from Geigi’s knowledge until he is bound back to orbit and safely out of the politics down here. But you should know this: I have let my son invite his associates from the voyage down from the station. There is reason in arranging this distraction. His birthday and his sister’s—it will be a sister, which he does not yet know—will closely coincide. I wish to have him occupied and on his best behavior, and I wish it to be a happy event in his memory—by whatever means I can engineer it. Once Damiri has her new child in her arms—” Tabini heaved a sigh. “It may mend a great deal. I have promised her she will have this one to bring up as she pleases. And Damiri and I may have better days ahead despite her father’s best efforts. So. Go. Be aware. Keep me advised of the schedule with Machigi. We are at ease with what we hear of that affair—so far. We shall not take up more of your morning.”

“Aiji-ma.” He bowed. He gathered his bodyguard and took his leave. And he hoped to God Geigi had slept very late this morning, so he would not have to answer even casual questions.

14

Geigi had slept in and was finishing one of Bindanda’s epic breakfasts in the main dining room with his bodyguard and valets for company when Bren got back. Bren simply left him at that activity while he repaired to his office for fast computerized note taking, and his own bodyguard headed for, he supposed, their own breakfast and their own quiet little discussion. Banichi and Jago had heard things Tano and Algini hadn’t, and very likely vice versa.

As he worked, something happened at the front door, mail, likely. There were already committee meetings on his schedule.

And in a fairly short time, Jeladi showed up in the office, quietly delivering a message cylinder that had the green and blue colors of the Marid.

That one couldn’t be ignored. It proved to be from Machigi himself, simply acknowledging receipt of a packet, courteously wishing him well, thanking him for the hospitality shown Lady Siodi. And the fact the cylinder itself had actually come from the Marid meant it had probably been dispatched yesterday.

That one required no answer. He finished his immediate notes, summoned Jeladi to advise him he was now at liberty for visitors, and received word that Geigi had received an invitation to morning tea with the dowager and would be leaving for that appointment.

Thank God, Bren thought. “Tell him I shall hope for his company this afternoon,” he said to Jeladi, “and that I do apologize for my neglect this morning.”

He ordered a pot of tea and simply sat in his office, in the more comfortable chair, listening, after a time, to the mild disturbance of Lord Geigi and his bodyguard exiting the front door on their way to the dowager’s apartment. Geigi, he trusted, well knew that business in the house, and particularly this one, had to be done regardless of guests: an unscheduled breakfast meeting with the aiji was not a matter of choice. In fact, Geigi was heading off on his own little conversation with another power, to be filled in on other things Bren hoped to find out, regarding, probably, Baiji and the situation in the East.

And her plans for the signing.

And maybe the behind-the-scenes situation with Lord Tatiseigi. There were so damned many fronts in this matter.

Quiet resumed in the apartment, Bren staring at the opposite wall for a time, feeling at once overextended and extraordinarily isolated, the possessor of very many details that could re-shape the aishidi’tat and of a personal communication from Tabini that could not bode well for its peace. Contract marriages came and went; most had written into the language a termination after a birth, with custody prearranged by the contract, man’chi of the child being determined by nature and instinct, usually according to which parent brought him or her up.

There were a few unions that lasted longer—couples who went for the ritual of lifelong marriage.

Damiri herself had been born of what was forecast to be a lasting marriage. She was born Atageini, but her mother had died in a riding accident, and Atageini clan had kept her until she was four, finally ceding her back to Ajuri after considerable fuss and furor; and then she had gone back and forth more than once. He had learned that much from the dowager.

A few unions began as contract marriages and worked out as lifelong partnerships. Tabini had only looked for a wise clan attachment, a good political match, to produce an heir. But he and Damiri had had a deep meeting of minds. And that relationship had been one of the constants in the political heavens, so well-known it had created a small boom in long-term marriage agreements. They’d worked together. Endured exile together. Suffered the loss of one child taken away by circumstances and only lately restored to them…and everyone had thought Cajeiri’s return would bring happiness to the aiji’s household.

Now clan loyalties were getting in the way—Ajuri ambition and the fact that Tatiseigi had never in his long life felt the need for tact or concealment of his opinions…

One always knew where one stood with the old man, that was certain. It was a virtue with strict limits. He’d sent Damiri to be brought up Ajuri. He’d remained at arms’ length all her life…because he detested Ajuri. Now, when her Ajuri clan connections were causing problems, she had no choice but to resort to alliance with Tatiseigi, and one could not blame her for not considering that a real choice.

There was not a damned thing he could do to mend what Tatiseigi’s attitudes had done. He’d succeeded with the old curmudgeon on the association issue simply because the political reality had changed, and he’d offered the old man a route to what he wanted—importance with the dowager and close relationship with Tabini and places of power.

Cajeiri’s contribution to alienating his own mother—he was a child. He had his own justified grievances with fate. But Cajeiri’s “my great-grandmother says” hadn’t helped.

The dowager, who had a very good network, surely had to know what was going on between Tabini and Damiri.

And if she’d tried to keep it somewhat quiet and had not told the paidhi-aiji, that was one thing—but if he had information, he had to be sure she knew; and he was sure Tabini, whatever his cautions about keeping it quiet, had to route a warning in Ilisidi’s direction. The dowager could not operate in the dark about the stress in the aiji’s household.

The question was how long a very bright youngster like Cajeiri, living under the same roof, could avoid figuring it out—if he wasn’t consciously exacerbating it—and how it would affect him if Damiri did leave. Cajeiri had never attached to his mother. He had not greatly invested, that one could detect, in the prospect of a sib.

And one had to remember, as much as Cajeiri had been affected by human society, much as he liked—no, loved the kid, there were triggers in Cajeiri’s psychology that were not human and did not turn in human directions.

Could Cajeiri deliberately set off the problems between his parents?

Yes. If his temper were set off, he might.

A distraction, Tabini had said. Bringing human kids down from the station…assuming the kids’ parents would permit it, and no doubt Tabini would apply pressure to make it happen—right in the middle of this mess. Distract the boy. Keep his mind on that, while all hell broke loose?

God. That problem, of getting permission from the human parents, was going to land on Geigi’s desk.

And was he then to limit what Geigi should know, when Geigi was going to have to assure a handful of human parents that the situation would be safe for their kids?

He called Jeladi.

“Tell Narani I need security around the office. And tell Banichi I need to see all of them.”

There were chairs enough in his little office. And Narani and Jeladi would see to security outside, no stray junior servant wandering near enough to hear too much.

He had to tell them. He had to get an atevi opinion. That was paramount.

15

It was well into morning. Nobody had been allowed out into the halls, which Cajeiri first took as a security alert in disguise when the permitted servant, Eisi, woke him, apologizing that he was late, but they had to keep the doors shut and not stir about the halls.

“Why, nadiin-ji?” he asked.

“Your father the aiji has had visitors.”

“Who was here?” he asked, and the senior servant said, “We are not to discuss it anywhere, young gentleman. May one assist you to dress?”

“Who was here?” he asked Eisi.

“One is truly instructed not to say, young gentleman. There is breakfast. Just now. One has set it on the—”

“Who is it you serve, nadi?”

It was, deliberately, because he was angry, mani’s sort of tone. The servant looked at him, wide-eyed, and said: “The paidhi-aiji, nandi. He visited. We were not to move. So everything is late this morning. One fears—one fears breakfast is cold.”

Nand’ Bren. Nand’ Bren had been here on business, and he had been ordered to stay in his room.

That was crazy. And Eisi stood there looking upset.

“You are not to tell anyone I asked the reason,” Cajeiri said grimly, and he got out of bed. “Help me dress. Is my aishid awake?”

“Yes,” Eisi said, and hurried to the closet.

He dressed. He heard his aishid stirring about, and Jegari came in, dressed as far as shirtsleeves.

“Everything is late, nandi. We all overslept.”

“My father surely had official business this morning. With the paidhi.”

“There is all that business with your great-grandmother going on.”

“I was part of that,” he said peevishly.

“You were, nandi,” Jegari said, “but your father may have had other business with nand’ Bren.”

“One supposes.” He still did not like being left out. He slipped on the light day-coat Eisi offered him, and they went out, picking up Lucasi and Veijico and Antaro on the way to the sitting room. Eisi had set out breakfast on the modest table that served sometimes as a dining table—it was a disgusting breakfast, since the eggs were cold, there was only mild red sauce with the eggs, none of the green, so someone had made a mistake. The toast was cold.

And there was still a lot of opening and closing of the front door, so something was going on.

Boji screeched, upset. That would bring his father in if that went on. But Boji’s breakfast was late, too, and he was out of sorts. Cajeiri left his breakfast half eaten, went over to the small table, took a raw egg out of their hiding-place, and went to feed the rascal.

He carefully opened the cage. Boji saw the egg and was right by the door, ready to climb up on his arm, where Boji now preferred to sit to eat his eggs. Boji’s funny little face had brightened delightfully when he saw the egg coming, and it made him a lot happier. He enjoyed watching Boji eat: his little tongue was very neat and clever, and he could reduce an egg down to absolutely nothing but clean shell, light as could be, in an amazingly short time. He scratched behind Boji’s ear and got a happy chirr out of him, while Boji held his egg for himself and plied that long tongue cleaning out the egg.

Just as a knock sounded at the door and the door opened nearly simultaneously with the knock. Boji exploded, the eggshell flew, and Boji bounded off the top of the cage and up to a hanging plant, then off for the top of the bookcase and the hanging and on to the tall vase and, Cajeiri saw to his alarm, right for the door, where a fool of a woman stood wide-eyed with the door wide open.

Worse, she yelled and ducked.

Boji shrieked, leaped for the woodwork and sailed right over the servant’s head, right out the door into the hall.

“Get him!” Cajeiri cried, and all four of his bodyguards rushed the door, shoving the woman—one of his mother’s servants—out of the way. The servant lost her balance, rebounded off the table by the door and sent it skidding over the bare tile edge of the room before she fell flat on the tiles by the doorway.

Cajeiri ran past to the hall, but there was no sign of Boji, just Lucasi and Jegari looking about in every direction, and too many doors open. The servant’s door to the sitting room stood open, the door to his father’s office was open, and past that, there was the accommodation and the bath. The door to the further hall and the kitchens and the security station and his mother’s suite was open. Worst, the door right beside his had the servants’ passages, which went even downstairs, if those doors should be open. Only the door to the foyer was shut.

It was a disaster. “Why is the servants’ door open?” he asked angrily. “Which way did he go, did you see?”

“One fears he may have gotten to the far hall, nandi,” Jegari said.

Boji had no harness on. No leash.

And it was his fault. His stupidity. He had taken Boji out of the cage without his leash, because Boji would be held by his interest in the egg, and Boji was stronger and trickier than he had ever imagined.

And now Boji was loose somewhere. Even his aishid in immediate pursuit had not been fast enough to see which way he had gone.

“Antaro and Veijico are searching as quietly as possible, nandi,” Lucasi said. “Shall we search?”

“Do,” he said. “Do.” He heard a step behind him, remembered the servant and turned. The servant gave a stiff little bow. “Leave my suite alone, nadi!” he snapped at her. “You are not to open that door.”

“Young gentleman,” the woman protested.

“We have said!” It was mani’s expression, and he used it, spun on his heel and headed for the sitting room servant’s door, the first one. And the sitting room had its other doors open on the foyer. And even as he stood there in shock, he heard the front door open and stay open.

He went out to the front hall and the foyer, trying to compose himself, and saw his father’s major d’ receiving mail from someone, with the door standing half open. Neither man looked alarmed.

One could just imagine…

The transaction done, the major d’ closed the door and turned. “Young lord,” the major d’ said. “Your father has requested you not be in the foyer without a bodyguard.”

“And we request this door not stand open!” he said. “Ever!” And he marched back and shut the doors between the sitting room and the foyer. Shut them hard, one and then the other.

And he had been rude, he knew, and he had been rude to the servant his aishid had knocked down, and he had insulted his father’s major d’, an estimable old man.

And Boji was missing somewhere in a very large apartment.

The woman was still in the hallway when he got back. Cajeiri said to her, quietly and deliberately, “You are not to tell anyone. Anyone! Or you will have me upset with you for the rest of my life!”

The servant looked a little angry. Cajeiri didn’t, at the moment, care, but he thought it good, on mani’s teaching, not to make the woman think she had an enemy. “If I get him back, and if you are discreet, that is all I want, nadi. I shall forgive it. But not if you talk to my mother! Never if you walk to my mother!”

“Nandi,” the servant objected.

“One does not care if my father himself has told you to report, nadi. You will not talk, or I shall remember it forever, and you will not be happy!”

“Shall I search for him?”

He drew two quick, deep breaths. “You may search the servants’ hall, quietly, and without attracting attention. If you find doors are open, close them, but remember which doors and report them to my aishid. Above all, do not leave any doors open!”

“Yes, nandi,” the servant said.

“Go,” Cajeiri said, and went, himself, and joined the search at the end of the hall.

Two serious death threats and a warning from the Guild in a single morning was definitely worse than the average day. The news about the dowager’s agreement with the Taisigin Marid had begun to get out.

And there were rumors, Banichi reported as Bren walked the distance to Ilisidi’s apartment, that the agreement was actually between Tabini-aiji and the Marid.

Bet on it, the rumors would swear that various disadvantageous provisions were in the agreement, privately negotiated by the paidhi-aiji. One rumormonger’s private fear went into full-scale distribution as fact as the rumor passed through the usual channels.

“We had better get this agreement signed, nadiin-ji,” Bren said to his aishid, “before they claim we’ve traded the space station into the bargain.”

“The controversy is decidedly warming up,” Tano said.

“And in so few days,” Jago said. “One can never get facts distributed so quickly.”

The dowager had made room in her schedule—she had not said whose meeting she had moved to accommodate the paidhi-aiji, but Bren suspected Cenedi’s absence and the fact that the dowager was currently attended by two of the lesser-rank bodyguard meant that Cenedi and Nawari were attending some otherwise important meeting in her stead.

As for the information he had brought, he could only forge ahead—not that he wanted to tell the dowager that there was trouble in the aiji’s household, but Ilisidi’s affairs were bumping up against the Ajuri-Atageini feud, and there were reasons. He had thought it over and over, and he had made his decision—he had to tell her, in such a way it did not inflame the situation.

There was the requisite tea service. And afterward, the dowager patiently heard everything he had to say, then waved her ruby-ringed hand dismissively.

“Well, well,” she said, “and well presented, paidhi-aiji. One reads very well between the lines. And one has seen it coming. We have known Damiri-daja from the day she took her first steps, and we are all too well acquainted with the Ajuri-Atageini issue. One was, to be quite honest, never that surprised that the prior lord of Ajuri should die of indigestion. Nor surprised that the new lord of Ajuri has noticed his daughter sitting next to my grandson.” A waggle of fingers that sparked ruby fire. “And Tati-ji has certainly noticed his notice. It hardly surprises him. But—Damiri-daja had a falling-out with Tatiseigi, naturally; she was young and foolish. She had to imagine that her father in Ajuri would be the perfect parent. She went to him—she came flying back again, having found no great solace there. Tatiseigi took her back. And she met my grandson from that standpoint…so things became as you have witnessed. She has grown up somewhat suspicious of relatives’ motives. She has been a staunch and stable match for my grandson. But Damiri-daja has always suspected us…she suspects anyone whose advice to my grandson supercedes her own. And removing her child from her care—but the heir of the aishidi’tat was at risk. I could keep him safe from assassination. I could teach him what he needed to know. I could set the stamp of the Padi Valley conservatives on him, through his great-uncle. Should he lack these advantages? What could she possibly expect of Cajeiri’s father—considering the actions of her own?”

There were times one could both deplore the dowager’s actions—and uneasily understand exactly why she’d done what she’d done by taking over Cajeiri. The result was Cajeiri as Cajeiri was, educated by his politically independent Eastern great-grandmother, the chief power over half the continent, and by Tabini, the very liberal aiji of the Western Association; and in a minor way educated and supported by Tatiseigi, chief of the conservative Padi Valley Association and of the conservative party as a whole. He was not to fall to the influence of a small, ambitious northern clan.

More, he was alive.

“One is sorry for Damiri-daja, aiji-ma, at the very least. And one feels she has been good. And one does not know where to stand, but one fears Lord Ajuri has put Ajuri clan in a very delicate political situation.”

“Unfortunate in the extreme,” Ilisidi said. “We have urged Tati-ji to quiet the quarrel of his clan with the Ajuri, for her sake. But I fear it may get worse, much worse. There are investigations in the Guild, proceeding slowly, carefully, but Ajuri clan is rapidly losing its influence. And one does not believe that the current Lord Ajuri has the skill or the background to weather this, any more than the late Lord Ajuri. Damiri’s choice now to attack us in her resentment over her son is very ill timed—very ill timed. It has the flavor of her father’s sort of shortsightedness and clan-centric thinking, but one supposes she is in an emotional state right now and needs no urging from him to be unreasonable. But one is very suspicious her father is adding fuel to that fire.”

“One has great trepidation even to mention my interceding with her, aiji-ma—”

“Oh, by no means consider doing so, paidhi-ji. If the attempt went badly, it would go badly for everyone involved, and the fact that Cajeiri is strongly devoted to you cannot make you a disinterested party in her sight. One fears you are in fact a special target of her resentment, particularly as the boy’s last adventure landed him at your estate.”

He drew a deep breath. “You are aware, aiji-ma, that Cajeiri-nandi, from the moment of his return to his mother, cited your rules quite strongly in contradiction of his mother’s reprimands.”

“Did he?” Ilisidi said with a lift of her brows. “One will have to have a word with him—not for adherence to my instruction but for the political folly of antagonizing his mother. He acted quite foolishly in doing so. Does that state of affairs continue?”

“One has not had that impression, aiji-ma. One believes it was in the high emotion of being moved into his parents’ household. Being moved out of his chosen surroundings has become a sore point with him. And of course the restrictions of the Bujavid are difficult for anyone. He is rarely allowed out of that apartment. With good reason, of course. But—”

“One perceives it,” Ilisidi said. “I have discussed the matter with him. Intellectually, he understands his situation. But he is a child. A very young child—intermittently.” A sigh. “His father was like that as a boy. A constant surprise. His parents and I found him one day walking on my balcony rail. His parents of course ordered him to come down. He said if they did not permit him to reside the season at Malguri, he would throw himself off the third-story railing. There was quite an argument while he walked up and down the rail. He settled for half the season at Malguri.” A deep sigh. “Tabini knew even at that age that half of what he wanted was better than nothing. He was quite smug about it when he left, and he said of course he would not have fallen because he did not wish to fall, and that he was not a fool, nor should be dealt with as one. In fact he was so obstinate a child, his parents sent him to me fifteen days early.”

“One does see that in Cajeiri.”

“My grandson had to go back to his father, of course, after that season at Malguri,” Ilisidi said. “My grandson learned self-control that summer. I knew he would need it, particularly once he did return. My son, now, Valasi, applied self-control only when he wanted something he could not get by force. He held grudges and was ruthless to persons that ever had opposed him, striking out for no good current reason but for some cause deep in the past. He struck only because that person had ceased to be useful. Wasteful. Wasteful. People feared him. But one never knew what sort of grudge he held. My grandson’s instruction came from me but also from the shadow his father cast. My grandson has no wish to cast such a shadow as that. So he has shaped himself to avoid that trait—sometimes to his own peril. He is at times far too forgiving.” She set down the teacup. “Paidhi-ji, do not repeat these things to my grandson.”

“I shall not, aiji-ma.”

“You know I do not tell secrets idly. Know the temper of my grandson. If he were my son Valasi, Damiri would not have borne a second child. She will. If he were my son Valasi, Damiri would not bring up this child. She will. If he were my son Valasi, Damiri would be in danger for the rest of her life. She will not be, whatever she decides and wherever she resides, unless she takes action against him. And if I am any judge, she will not leave the Bujavid voluntarily—partly because she is stubborn and partly because she is too intelligent to put herself back under her father’s authority. But for the next season at least, she will be unstable. We shall not intervene with this child—unless she instructs this child to oppose Cajeiri. That, of course, we will not overlook. That is the risk we run in this second child. And in this matter we shall see how wise Cajeiri can be. You will see. I am not certain how long I shall be at hand to watch over my great-grandson.”

“You are absolutely indestructible, aiji-ma. And your influence over your great-grandson will not change. It is far too well-set in him.”

“For which I shall never be forgiven, one suspects. Even by my great-grandson himself.”

One could not say Cajeiri loved her, of course. A human had no instinctual comprehension what Cajeiri actually did feel toward his great-grandmother. But whatever Cajeiri felt was powerful and deep.

“His qualities and his intelligence will surely inform him how very much he owes you, aiji-ma. He is no fool, and he is honest.” That word, too, had different connotations among atevi. Maintaining-sensible-relationships-of-mutual-exchange. “One hopes he will become more diplomatically considerate toward his mother as he grows older. And one is equally certain your grandson will always be grateful—” Yet another charged word, about keeping one’s relationships in good repair. “—for your saving the boy—in all senses. Of that one has absolutely no doubt, aiji-ma. Your grandson knew you would do well by the boy. He wanted for his son what he had from you. He walked a railing to get to Malguri. He sent his son to you. That is my opinion.”

“Ha. My grandson knew his own temper could never bring up this boy while he was dealing with Damiri’s crises. There have been storms in the house before this. We have saved Cajeiri from those. We have taught him to ride. We have taught him self-restraint. Had I had his father during his very first years—who knows?” A wave of a black lace handkerchief. “But past is past and done is done. For the future, this second child will have an adequate upbringing, if she is intelligent and personable. But she will not have the care I have taken with my great-grandson. Cajeiri was born under a marriage agreement. I told my grandson at the time that that was foolish—it should have been a mere contract marriage. Then we should have had it clear and specified in writing whose Cajeiri was from the outset. But no, my grandson did not listen. He had found his life partner. Well, now we have a second child under this identical marriage agreement, and again, if it were an ordinary contract marriage, Damiri-daja would not be in such a state, wondering if my grandson would take this child from her, too. She would know it was hers, were that the stipulation. So she is strongly determined, by what I hear, to claim the rights she was promised and to claim them for the next child, since the elder refuses to respect her. Well, fairly so. I certainly do not fault her for claiming what she was promised. You will have noted a certain impulsiveness in my grandson, as in my great-grandson.” A small flourish of the black lace-edged handkerchief and a flash of rubies. “But you, nand’ paidhi, you have not asked to be burdened with such confidences! You will have enough to do on my behalf in the next few days. The Taisigi representative has sent a message in the last half hour: Machigi is on his way.”

Profound shift of focus. “On his way, aiji-ma!”

“One assumes that since he knows he has an approved residence available to him, he intends to make use of it and get this done, as we have urged him, before there is any greater furor. We couriered a message to him last night. He will lodge in the Taisigi mission and, we presume, is coming here to sign the promised agreement at the earliest.”

Within the hour, that message must have come, just before they entered the dowager’s sitting room. Tano and Algini, on duty out in the hall, undoubtedly had found it out from the dowager’s staff. They had probably sent that information to Banichi and Jago, who were with him. But they had not been able to inform him while he was engaged with the dowager.

“Then I shall inform Lord Geigi, aiji-ma.”

“Do.”

“Shall I attend the signing?”

“Oh, that you shall, nand’ paidhi. You certainly should! And if I can persuade my grandson and Lord Machigi, we will have a large attendance—in the lower reception hall, with the news cameras. The news service, we are told, has carried so much rumor about this agreement that truth about it will be news indeed. And once the document is signed, we shall have exhibitions for the participants. I have the library engaged in creating an informative display of maps and books, along with the full text of the document. I have a package ready to go to the television, a tour of the coast in question, interviews in the Eastern village that will become key to the new port. The villages in the East are quite excited. They have just gained a new meeting hall and the prospect of a road linking the three villages along that shore. And a promise of new building, employing locals. It will require minimal dredging, it is in an area of minimal impact on sea life or fisheries, it is all at my expense, and Lord Geigi has informed us, back at Najida, while you were off visiting Lord Machigi, that there is a technology that can deal with pollution in the waters of the bay, so the local fishery will not suffer. You see, nand’ paidhi, we are not too old to learn new ways.”

“I shall certainly approve it, if it does that.”

“We are quite interested in seeing it applied, not only on the East Coast. You will explain it to my grandson.”

“With the greatest enthusiasm, aiji-ma. I shall need to ask Lord Geigi, clearly.”

“And with this inducement, you, nand’ paidhi, are going to prepare arguments to convince fishermen who need their sons and daughters to follow their trade to let the youngest go to pursue this new technology.”

Preventing technology was easy: ignorance, poverty, and prevalent disease did that very effectively. Directing it by stages was what the paidhi’s office had been established to do…without disrupting the social structure or ripping the old trades and the old customs away indiscriminately. “One entirely understands the mission, aiji-ma. And I shall take pleasure in it.”

Give or take two death threats in one morning. But he’d had those ever since he’d left off building dictionaries and had begun to build a space program.

So Machigi was coming. No wonder the death threats.

That meant the Guild was shifting things into motion, possibly because of more credible than usual death threats; they hadn’t forewarned his aishid, damn them…

On the other hand, they were in position now to know exactly the state of readiness. The dowager had the documents, he had laid the groundwork with critical committees, Siodi-daja had set the de facto Taisigi trade office near the Bujavid, where Machigi could safely lodge and from which he could safely reach the Bujavid.

And Ilisidi had a notion she was going to set up a media event.

They were in it. The Guild might tweak circumstances. But the event was about to become a juggernaut.

It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at a program he’d launched with Ilisidi and had misgivings.

But this one—

He saw in it a real possibility that he and Ilisidi and Tabini could go down, along with the aishidi’tat, if it all blew up.

At very least, the paidhi-aiji might be called upon to take all blame.

God, he hoped this worked.

There was no sign of Boji. Nothing. Cajeiri had stood guard inside the sitting room while Antaro stood guard outside, and Veijico and Lucasi and Jegari had turned over every chair and looked in every vase and moved every heavy item to discover any Boji-sized hole.

“He can get through anything his head can get through,” Jegari said, “and that is a very small hole.”

It was beyond exasperating. “He will need food,” Cajeiri said. “He will need water sooner. What will he do, nadiin-ji? Shall we keep our apartment door ajar?”

“Just a crack would be enough for him,” Jegari said. “He can move the door. They’re quite strong.”

“One knows he is strong, nadi!” Cajeiri said in frustration. “One could not hold him! And he can hide in the smallest space! What have we not thought to search?”

“Any hall beyond any opened door, or any door that may have opened since,” Veijico said unhappily. “Perhaps you should advise your father, Jeri-ji, so he can alert the staff. He can go on moving every time an entry is left unwatched.”

“No,” he said. “We shall not.” He had just gotten permission to invite his associates down from the ship. And that could go away if his father was angry with him. Every good thing could go away, just like that. “We cannot make my father mad, nadiin-ji. Let us try to get him back on our own. He may come back for food and water. Let us set an egg in the cage. With the door open. And then one of us will watch there.”

“There is the bath, nandi,” Lucasi said. “That often has water standing. Or simply condensation. It will smell of water.”

“One of us can watch there,” Jegari said, “even all night. He is most active at twilight. When the house lights are mostly out, then he may come out.”

“We shall do that. Eggs. Fruit. He loves fruit. And we have two servants we can trust, and that woman, who is supposed to be looking…have you heard from her?”

“She has reported on two doors,” Lucasi said, “which she closed, which are no help.”

“He will not have gone into the office. My father was there. Nor the security station, with people there. Nor the kitchen, too likely—wherever there are people, he will avoid.”

“The closets,” Jegari said. “We should look in the cleaning closets, Jeri-ji, in the servant hallways. He will want dark places. You should stay in the apartment and watch for him to come back, and let us search.”

He was not supposed to be alone. That was his father’s standing order. But he could stand watch all night near Boji’s cage if he had to.

And they would have to. He was not going to have his father forbid his associates again.

It was not even his fault. It was all the servant’s fault.

Except handling Boji without his leash. He had done that, and it was stupid. So he could hardly blame the servant, except for coming into a part of the apartment she had no permission to be in. And that just made him mad. Really mad.

“Nadiin-ji,” he said once they were in the hall again and had Antaro in their midst. “Only two servants were ever supposed to come into our rooms! This was agreed. Why did this person come in? Go tell Jaidiri that an unauthorized servant came into my room, when we had asked to have only particular servants tend our rooms! And that we wish him to know we want to have it as we ordered!”

Jaidiri was the head of his father’s bodyguard. It was scary to talk about involving Jaidiri in the mess, because things could go immediately to his father. But now that he had thought it through, dealing with it as a security matter seemed a sensible thing to do. Jaidiri would ask his father’s head of staff and find out who had ordered the woman to come into his room, because all the women were his mother’s, and they had no right nor reason to be meddling with his room. Jaidiri might mention it to his father in passing, but only as a matter of fact. It was going through channels. His father had constantly told him to go through channels. And he would feel better if he knew why someone else was coming into his apartment.

Lucasi said, smartly, “Yes.”

“Do,” he said, making it an order, and Lucasi went off at that very moment.

“I shall go set up to watch for Boji in the apartment,” he said. “Keep searching.”

They agreed, and he went back to set up with a pen to block the door just slightly open, and have the cage open, with water in the cage, and most of all, just inside the door, an egg.

It was going to be a long wait, and he could not even take his eyes off the door to read. He just had to sit and watch, because Boji was very clever, very quick, and very sneaky. Trapping him was not going to be easy.

There was no likelihood that the paidhi-aiji was going to have to host a formal dinner for the signing, so Bindanda, who was sending out daily orders for this and that exotic item—mostly staples that had to be gotten from Mospheira, so as not to poison his lord—was not going to have to present a formal service amid everything else that was going on in the household. They did not want to go into the evening’s event with a heavy supper sitting on their stomachs; there was to be a little refreshment at a reception afterward, and the decision on a very light cold supper perfectly suited the kitchen.

“The boy you have engaged to assist me is intelligent and willing, nandi,” Bindanda said, arms tucked tightly across his stout frame, “and there are excellent possibilities in him, but one would not gladly undertake a dinner party as yet with only Pai for help.”

So Bindanda was off the hook and glad of it.

Narani, however, that estimable old man, was not. He had a great deal of work to do, including arranging yet another bulletproof vest—a change in brocade to go with the brown tones as well as the blue and the green—and being sure a young staff had every item of the paidhi’s court wardrobe ready not only for this evening on short notice, but for any of a number of meetings that might follow.

“One begs to urge that you need more shirts, nandi,” Narani informed him. “Five more, at minimum. And more socks. One has made a list, which one would be pleased to send to the usual supplier on Mospheira. And a session with the tailor is in order: We need one more vest, in a modest gray-green. And, nandi, one is certain one remembers the brown coat from before we went up to the station….”

One had to agree that a new coat or two might be in order. “But the brown coat is my most comfortable, Rani-ji. One wishes to keep it—for quiet, home occasions.”

“It was always an excellent coat, nandi,” Narani said, and one had confidence that his favorite coat would be safe and made as presentable as possible until it simply wore out.

Geigi’s own major d’ and staff were simultaneously working Geigi’s needs into the schedule; his wardrobe and that of his staff had to be in proper form for this evening.

And beyond that—

Beyond that, he and Geigi had nothing personally to do at this point but to exchange information and wait for events to play out, for Machigi to arrive in Shejidan, then settle into the Marid trade mission and get ready. The signing was set for the evening, and the word was out. Several lords, including Lord Dur, Adigan, and his son, were coming in by plane—by commercial plane, this time, unusual for the younger lord, but he was accompanying his father. The Edi and the Gan peoples were not sending representatives, but the new lord of the Maschi was coming. No few of the minor lords were coming in on short notice, some by train, some by plane.

Among the latter—the lord of the Ajuri. They had word of that along with the news of the others, and what the lord of the Ajuri wanted, no one was certain. He was not in the Conservative Caucus, was not speaking to Lord Tatiseigi, and had absolutely no interests on the west coast or the east. His sudden appearance on the scene roused some question, given the matters the aiji had mentioned, but that was Tabini’s problem, on a completely different front. He would not have an invitation to the event, one was quite certain, and one hoped he had a hotel reservation and didn’t plan to move in next door…one hoped not, and one didn’t think he’d get such an invitation, no matter the situation in the city, where no few of those who were invited to an event on short notice were going to be calling in favors for lodging. The paidhi would have invited Dur, but he had Geigi, and no more room. Suites in hotels at any close distance were absolutely full-up where it reguarded suites. A room, possibly, could be had. But status was at stake.

So various staffs would be going mad, trying to outfit various lords for a court event, trying to assure on-time arrival, possibly from lodging clear across the city—and trying to assure their lord was decently fed before the event, which meant catering was going to be at a premium, as well.

In that thought—he did inquired about Dur’s arrangements but was assured he would dine on the flight.

So that was managed, and the new lord of the Maschi was not yet of status or seniority enough to be invited to dinner preceding so important an occasion. It was safest not to ruffle the waters of protocol; he would just stay quiet and not do anything remarkable this evening until he and Geigi had to go down to the affair, at a time decorously just ahead of the dowager’s arrival—staff would handle the timing.

He told his staff to advise him if any message arrived or any news broke.

And after the initial flurry of arranging things with staff, and with so short a time left, he felt himself incapable of focusing on any extraneous business. Geigi agreed he was in the same condition—so he and Geigi sat at the table in the sitting room and played cards, game after game. As a host, one did feel somewhat a failure in the matter of entertainment, but poker afforded a chance to occupy one’s mind and simultaneously carry on a bit of conversation—as they did, somewhat erratically. Playing poker with an ateva was calculated suicide, but he did win now and again in moments when Geigi’s attention, for his own reasons, lapsed off into the event bearing down on them.

Their sole job now was to stay out of the way of staff. Tano did pop into the sitting room to report that, yes, Machigi had reached the regional airport, had chosen to go out from there on a smaller plane, rather than go down to the larger airport at Separti, and would arrive at a good hour.

Arrangements for his protection were in place, Tano said, and Lady Siodi had requested Guild assistance to set up a proper private dinner, which had to be catered from across the street, one supposed. Machigi would get something to eat before the signing—nobody wanted to face a political problem on an empty stomach.

And the efficiency of staff contacting staff meant that by now Tabini was as unofficially in the loop as he wished to be—which was, for public consumption, not involved at all—and only Ilisidi’s staff was quietly working with Bujavid offices regarding the venue for the signing.

Banichi came in to report that set-up was finished in the downstairs reception hall and was undergoing a security check, and that the Guild was satisfied with arrangements for Machigi’s travel to and from the Taisigi trade mission.

By now, if the paidhi were playing for more than points, he would have been sunk in debt.

They tried small talk, which did nothing for one’s card-playing; by luck, the mail this afternoon had involved a report on the construction at Najida, and that carried into an engaging conversation with Geigi—and two lost hands—on the merits of native stone and wood as a theme for Najida’s new wing and the relocation of the sitting room into the new wing, with a window looking out over Najida Bay.

“A brilliant notion,” Geigi called it. “And what for the old sitting room? It was always quite convenient to the front door. One imagines the paidhi-aiji might enjoy the state of a reception hall.”

“Oh, one thinks not,” Bren said with a laugh. “One finds oneself quite content with the character of a country lord, nothing so grand as a reception hall in my house. One was actually thinking of making it another guest suite. And yet another idea was relocating my own quarters to the new wing and having the entire front hall for my guests. Guests were never a consideration in the original arrangements at Najida.”

“The old lords were never a social lot,” Geigi said. “But you are quite apt to have a cluster of associates dropping by with large staffs, never forgetting the young gentleman. You may need that new wing to extend to the road.”

“I have thought of that,” Bren admitted. And they fell to discussing architecture, and the need to keep the view rustic, and to keep it from impinging on the tranquility of the bay, and of Najida Village.

“Trees,” Geigi said. “Native trees.”

One liked that idea. There were no trees on the ridge, and one had the notion, considering the field across the road, and the forest that quite abruptly began on the next rise, that the previous holders of Najida had gotten their timber by clearing that land.

It was hunting range. One had to consider that and leave ample grazing for certain species.

But the renegades and their mortars had done immense damage out on the heights—cratering the landscape. Granted it had been rock and scrub, it had been peaceful rock and scrub, and that he was determined to sculpt back into a semblance of something more natural than shell craters.

Not to mention the hazard of unexploded shells. They currently had the entire area posted, and the village children were strictly warned. A handful of children, in fact, had been the first ones to report the location of shells, and had quite wisely given them a wide berth.

“One is determined to restore the heights,” he said. “We may derive some stone from that source, but we will do plantings there, as well.”

“It has been neglected ground for centuries,” Geigi said. “Since the Edi were moved onto the mainland. I have in my collection woodcuts that show that area densely wooded.”

“That surprises me. Perhaps I shall consult with your new majordomo, Geigi-ji.’

“Please do. And I wish you to do something for me, Bren-ji.”

“Beyond a doubt I shall. What is it?”

“Will you look in on Kajiminda from time to time, even after my nephew has an heir, and that young woman moves in? One wishes Kajiminda to open its doors to all neighbors, in the way of the Padi Valley establishments, and to maintain a gallery for the exhibit of my collections. Those are the instructions I have left. I wish to open the doors to the Edi folk and to tourists I believe may come, once the agreements are in place. I wish people to see these old woodcuts of life as it was and to see my porcelains, such as—those that my scoundrel of a nephew did not barter away. I shall be making those arrangements with my staff…and setting up needful security. Visitors will keep them on full salary, and provide traffic for the region’s enterprises.”

“I should be very happy to open Najida in the same way, except the secure rooms,” Bren said, the whole idea flashing forth with a vision of roads and tour buses and maybe an inn near the train station, eventually with all the amenities. “One finds it a brilliant notion. We should correspond about this, Geigi-ji.”

“With great enthusiasm,” Geigi said. “Once I am on the station, I know my mind will be all plastics and metal and circuits again, except my little potted trees. I should be very pleased to have such a correspondence and a partner in such a project, to remind me constantly of my Kajiminda.”

“You must remain lord of Kajiminda, no matter how long this young lady may be resident, Geigi-ji. I value my neighbor extremely. I shall never give you up!”

“One is more than gratified,” Geigi said. “Ah, Bren-ji, how pleasant these days in your residence! You have been a most excellent host. Even under fire at Najida, one could feel it.”

He had to laugh. “One accepts the compliment, nandi.”

“Humans have the concept—friend, different than associate. Would you say, Bren-ji, that we are friends?”

That definitely set him back. He had built such a strong wall about that word, never, ever to use it with an ateva—even with his aishid, who were closer to him than anyone on earth, even closer than Toby.

But if there was one ateva who could use that word advisedly, exploring the interface from the opposite direction—it would be Geigi, who lived and worked with humans of every sort, good and less good.

“I shall admit to that feeling from my side, Geigi-ji,” he said carefully. “And you may have the confidence in me that a human would have in such a relationship.”

“It is an intimate relationship. Excluding family. Excluding loyalties. Excluding obligations of clan or birth.”

He nodded. “It is that. Though it can admit any of those co-existing, it is independent of them.”

“It can occasionally be unwise.”

“As clan obligations can occasionally be unfortunate.”

Geigi gave a little laugh. “No way of being is perfect.”

“Regrettably, no. One thinks not.”

“Yet you are, paidhi-aiji, my friend. I would not say that of any other human, except Jase Graham. And one has not dared use that word with him. He has not your understanding of the hazards.”

“Advisable, that exception. He could misunderstand.”

“But you will not. I also live on that dividing line, Bren-ji. So I say, you are a peculiar association. The connection I have with my aishid, with my staff, these things are absolute and passionate. But there has to be a peculiar word for such a peculiar position as we have with each other. We are in some ways the same person.”

“It would be apt,” Bren said. “I think it would be apt to use that word, Geigi-ji.”

Geigi laughed at that, and said, with a deprecating gesture, “One would hesitate to attempt the word love.”

Geigi was joking. And there was humor in it. Friendship without love involved was a peculiar thing. But this was an ateva who, like his aishid, would fight for him. His aishid would fling themselves between him and a bullet. They in fact had done so. Geigi, if he were so physically inclined, would still be a puzzle in that regard. Probably Geigi would not be so inclined. He was a leader among atevi, having come to that position not quite by instinct but by circumstance. He was not a leader as atevi usually defined the term—strongly instinctual, driven to be that. Not an autocrat, not inspiring a following. If Geigi had ever had to take the aijinate, it would have been a cold, calculated move, and he would have been very unhappy in the office, continually feeling out of place—as he evidently did not feel, on the station.

Geigi was what Geigi had had to be. And if an alien word defined part of what he had to be, and gave him some sense of connection, Bren thought, so be it. Geigi was Geigi. And thank God he was that.

“How would you define love, then, paidhi? Can you make it intelligible to me?”

“Close to man’chi,” he said.

“So they say,” Geigi said, and then they spent the next half hour concluding it was not, quite, that.

“Is it pleasant?” Geigi asked.

“More so when reciprocal,” Bren said. “Miserable, in fact, when not reciprocal.”

“Ah, we shall never define it.”

“No more than I wholly understand man’chi,” Bren said, “lacking the appropriate responses, myself.”

“Not lacking. But free of them,” Geigi said. “At times it seems advantageous to choose the persons one attaches to.”

“Yet we frequently choose so incorrectly,” Bren said. “Barb-daja was an incorrect choice. We were incorrect for each other. Yet she seems perfectly correct for Toby.”

“Tangled, tangled,” Geigi said in gentle amusement. “Man’chi is so much more direct—not needing to be reciprocal.”

“Yet equally unpredictable,” Bren said. “The machimi plays would never exist if it were predictable.”

“More predictable than this love,” Geigi said. “More logical.”

“One is hardly sure it is always logical.”

“We are sure of nothing in our most basic feelings.” Geigi laughed. “And that is what we have in common. I think we may have attained wisdom, Bren-ji.”

Wisdom it might be. But one still wished one entirely understood what was in the minds of the principals of the upcoming agreement. Man’chi—maybe. A face-to-face meeting could affect that.

And it was coming closer.

Jago came in, and he broke to receive her report that they were in contact with Machigi’s plane and that that plane was on approach to the airport. Lady Siadi was on her way to meet Machigi and escort him to the de facto embassy.

A veritable deluge of flowers had arrived at the Taisigi trade mission, Jago said, one offering from, of course, themselves, one from the dowager, one from Lord Tatiseigi—one was amazed to hear that and thought that Ilisidi had probably applied pressure. Not quite as amazing, there was one from Lord Dur, up in the northern Isles.

There was also, from the trade mission, reported receipt of a floral arrangement from, of all sources, the Kadagidi, who had certainly been behind the attempts on Machigi’s life. The Guild had informed Lady Siadi of its arrival and asked what to do, and Lady Siadi had ordered it rerouted to—one could only imagine the consternation—Lady Tiajo of the Dojisigi, with a note regarding its origin and route.

One could only appreciate the gesture, and one was sure Geigi would particularly appreciate it.

Tiajo, the replacement for her late uncle—holding her lordship over the Dojisigi with Guild at her elbow and around every corner—would not likely put that arrangement on display. Likely the unfortunate bouquet would meet an indecorous end, if the young lady knew how to read a threatening gesture and correctly interpret its message: Your clan’s connection to the Kadagidi is not forgotten. Particularly when they make a threatening and insulting move. And if Tiajo failed to interpret it correctly, it was very likely the Guild would make it clear to her and her father.

Meanwhile, the paidhi-aiji could contemplate sending a bouquet of his own to the Kadadigi. There were other than felicitous ones. He was very strongly tempted. Two dead flowers would do.

But best Machigi do the honors, once he was back in the Marid and secure in his own residence. No sense stirring things up further.

He had included his message with the floral courtesy he had arranged this morning, a personally penned note, which said,

Felicitations on your arrival, nandi, and please be assured that representatives of the Assassins’ Guild, allied to your own bodyguard and mine, have taken direction of security at and around your residence, and that all things in my awareness are proceeding well.

You will surely have heard that the aiji-dowager is now in residence and that the signing will go forward.

Please accept these flowers and sentiments presented in your foyer as expressions of hope for this agreement.

Signed and sealed.

And to hell with the Kadagidi, who, given a chance to remake both their image and their actual record, seemed bent on the same damned course of agitation as before. The chance for peace seemed to focus now on prying the whole northern Marid out of the idea that the Kadagidi were allies. Lady Siadi, doubtless quietly consulting with Machigi, and Machigi with the advice his own bodyguard, had just taken a major first step in that effort, in rerouting, of all things, a bouquet of flowers.

He went back to the table where Geigi waited with tolerably good news.

16

There was no sign of Boji, and now there was worse: Grandfather was coming. Grandfather had rented quarters down in the hotel district, and he intended to stay there, and he was coming this afternoon, late, and Mother had told Cook that she would have dinner with her father.

It was grim, that was what. Just grim.

Cajeiri had watched all day, all day, for Boji to show up; and his bodyguard had been on watch, and now it was sunset, and Mother was dressing for dinner, which he was doing, too, but he was exhausted. It was amazing how tired one could get, just sitting and watching one little doorway, and having to wait, if one had to go to the accommodation, for one of his bodyguards to come in to report. Somebody had to watch the door. And Eisi, who came in to help him dress, was too uncertain. Eisi would have no idea how to catch Boji. He was not sure he did.

And then people were going to be coming and going by the front door, and it was just going to be a lot of noise and servants opening and shutting doors…his father was off at a meeting and might not be back for supper. Which would leave him alone with Mother and Grandfather.

He had no choice about it. He had insisted on dressing in the sitting room, which distressed Eisi, but he had his way about it. He had to be on best behavior, and he knew everybody would be upset about that. He was without his bodyguard at the moment, but Antaro remedied that, coming in quietly and quietly scooping up the egg by the door.

“There will be a formal dinner tonight, Taro-ji,” he said to her.

“Yes,” Antaro said, encompassing the whole situation.

And suddenly the most alarming shriek resounded through the whole apartment.

“Damn!” he said in ship-speak and ran for the hall door, not faster than Antaro.

“Get it out of here!”

That was his mother’s voice. From down the hall.

He ran for the door, his bodyguard right behind him, and skidded on the tiles in a fast turn for his mother’s suite. Ahead of him he saw his mother’s bodyguard and some of his father’s exit the security station and head in the same direction, toward the very end of the hall, where his mother’s suite door stood open.

The bodyguard had the door and was not going to let him or his guard in, but he ducked and got under a forbidding arm. His mother and her servants were in front of the beautiful windows, by the lace-covered crib, looking up above the windows.

“Get it!” she shouted, and at the yellow top of the room, up among the lace draperies, raced a small black streak, leaping from drape to drape.

“Close the windows!” Cajeiri cried, because the tall windows were all standing wide open. “Quick, close the windows! Boji! Boji! Come!”

Boji shrieked, then turned and jumped from curtain top to curtain top, coming his way. Cajeiri flung up his hands, and a black missile hurtled through his hands and hit him right in the chest at full force, arms around his neck. He stumbled backwards—would have fallen, except for his mother’s bodyguard. Boji clawed his coat and shirt, trying to get into his collar, and he hugged Boji tight, wrapping him in his coat as he gained his balance. His mother was shouting about her lace and her nursery and that animal, which was not quieting Boji at all.

One of his mother’s guard tried to take Boji from him.

“No!” he said, holding on; the woman got hold of Boji, and Boji bit the woman. Blood spurted all over, the bodyguard reacted, and his mother yelled, “Get that animal!”

“Stop them!” he yelled at his own guard, and twisted away to protect Boji, ducking behind Antaro.

“Daja-ma!” the wounded bodyguard cried, and the whole room froze. Cajeiri stood back in shock, with blood all over his coat and his young bodyguard making a wall between him and his mother’s very senior and meaning-business bodyguard, two men and two women. “You stay back!” he shouted at them. “Mother, honored Mother, he has done nothing wrong!”

“Who said you could have such a thing?” his mother said. “Son of mine, this tops all! Who brought such a creature into this apartment?”

“My father has said I may have him, honored Mother,” he said. He was shaking, he was so upset, but he managed a little bow. A very little one, because Boji was stiff as a wound spring and apt to make a break if he let his coat gap at all. “One regrets. A servant startled him.”

“Are you bleeding?”

Concern from his mother. That was at least something. And he did not want his bodyguard to have to fight off his mother’s. He bowed a second time, lower, catching his breath. “No, honored Mother.” That was not quite true. He had scratches from Boji’s nails. But all the blood, the blood on his coat, the blood spattered over the baby crib and the lace, was from his mother’s bodyguard. “He is very tame, honored Mother, just frightened.”

“Well, he will go back to wherever you got him,” his mother said. “Now!”

“Honored Mother, one begs you will ask Father.” He needed to get Boji back to his cage. Urgently. Boji was starting to squirm, and he had a sort of a grip on Boji’s nape, but not a good one. He was afraid Boji might bite him if he were scared. “I shall put him up, now. He has a cage, a very strong cage. I was holding him in my hands when your servant—”

“You will get rid of that creature!”

He was appalled. “Excuse me, honored Mother,” he said, deciding that getting Boji away from the nursery was the first thing to do, and fast.

His father would not send Boji away.

“Take that creature out of here,” his mother said, ordering her bodyguard.

“They will not!” he said. “Luca-ji. Jico-ji. They will not.”

“Excuse us,” Lucasi said politely and with a bow to senior Guild. “But we have contrary orders, and we respectfully appeal to the head of security staff.”

Lucasi was stalling. Cajeiri ducked and ran, with Boji squirming and ripping his lace to shreds, and Antaro and Jegari close with him, getting out the door. “Help Lucasi!” he said when they were in the hall. “I shall get Boji back in his cage. Call my father’s guard. Now! Do not fight them—get Lucasi back to the room.”

“Yes,” Antaro said, and turned off for the security office at a run. Jegari stayed with him. “I shall stand out here and not let anyone in,” Jegari said, as they came up on their own suite. “Lock the door, nandi.”

His room had no servant passages. He went inside and threw the lock on the door, then, hugging Boji inside his coat, went over to the cage, which had its door open and an egg and water inside. He very carefully extracted Boji from inside his coat—Boji had scratched his neck and chest, and it was bleeding, and it stung, but the blood that was spectacular, that was from his mother’s bodyguard.

Boji went into the cage, dived for the perch and clung there, wide-eyed, with all his hair standing on end, and two gold eyes staring at him. Boji was so upset he was not even going for his egg.

“It is all right now,” he said. “We are safe. We are safe, Boji!”

But just then he heard footsteps outside, and he heard his mother’s guard telling Jegari in harsh tones that Jegari, being only a trainee, was wrong to be standing there and had better leave or get hurt.

And he heard Jegari telling them that they would have to move him, because he would not move.

He went to the door himself and yelled,

“The door is locked, nadiin, and I shall only open it when my father instructs me to open it. Go away, or you will have to break the door and damage the paint, and my father will not approve of that!”

“Young gentleman,” the chief of his mother’s guard shouted back, “you are in the wrong in this matter! Obey your mother and open this door!”

“We shall not, nadiin!” He had never imagined being afraid in his own room. But it occurred to him in a terrible flash that Guild had been fighting Guild in the south, and that uniformed Guild had been shooting at him and at Great-grandmother in the basement of Najida, and who knew? Maybe his mother’s bodyguard were not who they were supposed to be. He was scared, his heart thumping hard, and he desperately wished he had a phone so he could call his father, or call his great-grandmother, or nand’ Bren or someone. He almost expected to hear shots break out, and he moved back from the door in case someone should try to take the lock out. No, he was not going to open that door. He edged aside, then thought of the very heavy table, and got behind it and pushed, struggling to move it across the floor. It screeched on the wood, and might scratch it.

“Young gentleman?” he heard from outside. “What are you doing in there?”

There was silence. He finished moving the table, sweat stinging in the scratches on his neck.

Then came his mother’s voice: “You are to open this door this instant, Cajeiri! I shall not put up with this sort of behavior! You are being disrespectful and disobedient!”

Boji shrieked. Cajeiri flinched and shouted back, “Go away!” and saw that, should the tall adults find a key and open the door, he could duck under the table and maybe get out the door past their feet, and maybe get out the front door of the apartment if he was fast enough and lucky.

But that would leave his bodyguard in trouble—and leave Boji to them, and he no longer believed Boji was safe or that they would not kill him. He had no idea what to do. He had no advice. And he was more and more scared.

“Young gentleman!” one of the bodyguards shouted. “Obey your mother!”

“Not until my father comes!” he said. “Go away! Call my father or call my great-grandmother!”

“Young gentleman,” his mother said, “you are disrespectful!”

“I am careful,” he said, finding his voice shaking a little. “Guild has tried to kill us, when we were out on the coast. So tell them go away. I will open the door and talk to you when my father is here.”

“Your father is in an important meeting right now! You are not permitted to be by yourself in your suite, which is one of the agreements under which you have it at all! And you are not permitted to have that filthy animal tearing up the furniture!”

“He is safe in his cage again, honored Mother, being quiet and respectful. If someone had not frightened him and then not shut the door when I told her to, he never would have gotten out into the halls! So it is not his fault, and it is not mine! I have had Boji for a long time, and he has bothered no one!”

“Long time! We have only scarcely gotten into this apartment! Is this something you brought back from the coast? Is it the paidhi’s doing?”

“It is not, honored Mother! I have had him since a few days ago. You let me have the cage. It is a parid’ja cage. So I got a parid’ja! It is perfectly reasonable, and he is doing no harm!”

“No harm! You have destroyed your sister’s nursery!” Sister? No one had told him it was a sister. It changed all the numbers. Everything. His mother cried, “The whole room will have to be repainted, and I cannot be exposed to the paint! All the lace of the curtains and crib is ruined, the work of hundreds of hours of someone’s labor! This was badly done, son of mine! It was underhanded, it was sneakery, at which you are uncommonly skilled, and I will no longer tolerate it! One hardly knows how your great-grandmother has tolerated such behavior, but certainly you have not learned the social graces in her care! You have not learned considerate behavior toward your mother! You have not learned proper behavior in a city apartment!”

“We are perfectly respectful, honored Mother! Your servant did this!”

“You listen to me! You are not in the wilds of Najida! You are not in the company of fishermen, farmers, and hunters who come tracking indoors with muddy boots! And you are not living in a stable, whatever your great-grandmother may have allowed! A son of mine will not bed down with filthy animals! That creature does not belong in the city!”

She had spoken ill of Great-grandmother, and of nand’ Bren. If he had been in the least disposed to open the door, that would have changed his mind. He had never suspected such bad opinions existed in his mother. He had no idea what to do, now, or how he was ever going to stay in this apartment and live with someone who was so rude about the people he most respected, and he had never been so angry with his parents in his entire life. He found himself pacing in a circle, he was so mad. It was not fair, and there was nothing he could do about it, because he was a child, and his father wanted him to be here. And he no longer wanted to be. Ever.

“Cajeiri?” his mother called out.

He could go off into his bedroom and ignore her, but he was afraid she would order her bodyguard to break down the door unless he went on talking to her.

And if she broke down the door, there was nothing he could do, short of some action he feared would make his father take his mother’s side, because whatever his father did, there was politics in it.

His father had married his mother because of politics.

His father had gone on living with his mother because of politics.

He had brought her back with him from exile because of politics.

And—he had forgotten it in the confusion—his grandfather was coming to visit tonight because of politics. And Grandfather could show up at any moment.

There was nothing he could do.

Negotiation, mani had said to him, maintains a state of affairs in which no one is shooting.

It is also an excellent way to play for time.

He went back to the door. “Mother?” he said in a moderate tone.

“Open the door, son of mine.”

“You have frightened Boji, honored Mother. He was doing nothing wrong when he was frightened out the door. Everyone chased him. That scared him worse.”

“And I tell you that animals should not be in a city apartment.”

“He is perfectly clean. He is well mannered. And I am very sorry he bit anyone, but he was scared.”

“I will not have that filthy animal in this apartment!”

“And I will!” he shouted back, but that was not wise. He was so mad, he thought: I am my father’s heir, and you are not. And that was the truth. It was truth enough to stiffen his back.

But if he said that, things could go very badly very fast. He said instead, quietly, negotiating: “One respects one’s mother, but it is also needful to respect one’s father, and I have gotten both permission and instruction from him regarding Boji. If a servant had not violated orders, he would never gotten loose. Now he is back in his cage and doing no harm. Please accept my apologies, honored Mother, for what was done, but it was done. It will not be done again.”

There was silence from outside, a very long moment of silence.

Then: “We shall have a word with your father. You were wrong to have sent to him.”

“I believe I was not, honored Mother.”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“I believe I am not unreasonable, honored Mother.”

“Your grandfather is arriving this evening. I had intended to show him the nursery. I am quite, quite upset about this, son of mine.”

“One is very, very sorry about the nursery, honored Mother. And one promises it will not happen again.”

“We shall be sure it will not happen again,” his mother said, and then she went away. He heard the footsteps retreating, and his bodyguard was still out there, or might be.

“Jegari?” he asked. “Antaro?”

“I am here,” Jegari said. “Antaro is here. Lucasi and Veijico are down the hall in the security corridor.”

“Is it safe for me to open the door right now?”

“Yes,” Jegari said, and with several efforts he hauled the table out of the way, unlatched the door and let Jegari and Antaro in.

They both looked worried, as well they might.

Jegari said: “That was not a good situation, nandi.”

“Not ‘nandi!’” he said, vexed. He so envied nand’ Bren right now, the way he managed his bodyguard, the good feeling there always was in that household. It had been very much lacking in his father’s house. He was sure of that now. He had thought it was that they had all been crammed up together in Great-grandmother’s apartment. But now he knew that that feeling had been there for as long as he had been home. “Especially now, nadiin-ji! I shall be called Jeri today, if you please. I wish to be called Jeri.”

“Jeri-ji,” Jegari amended himself, and after a deep breath: “Lucasi and Veijico did report to your father’s security staff, and one of them has left; the other is maintaining silence, and his only instruction is to wait. Your mother’s guard is with her. Your mother’s bodyguard has ordered us to stand down or be arrested and reported to Guild; Lucasi and Veijico have refused on grounds of security, and they recommend to us to take orders only from you until there is some other order. We are trainees. We two are safe from Guild action. But they are not.”

“And,” Antaro said, “they recommend that should there be violence offered by your mother’s bodyguard, we resist and make an extreme issue of it. They are not armed. But they will resist. Extremely.”

“One is very grateful,” he muttered. “It is brave. One is very glad you are not hurt.”

“Your mother’s guard is more than upset with us,” Antaro said. “Your honored mother is not at all in a good mood, and they feel it personally.”

“Nadiin-ji, this is serious, and one is worried. Where is my father? Do you know? Why will he not come here?”

“He is downstairs. He is in a meeting.”

“Are you sure of it?”

Antaro said, “Your father’s guard is talking to him. The senior aishid is with him.”

He let go a breath then. He wanted that to be so.

“And mani and nand’ Bren are all right?” he asked.

“They are all right. Lord Machigi is arriving this evening to sign the agreement with your great-grandmother, and the whole Bujavid is under special rules right now. Your father and his aishid are in a meeting with Lord Tatiseigi, going over the agreement your great-grandmother is offering to Lord Machigi.”

“He is going to be so mad at me.”

“You told the servant to shut the door, nandi,” Jegari said.

“I did,” he said. “I did tell her. Why was she here? Why was she here in the first place?”

“We have no idea, nandi. Jeri-ji.”

“Do you know when my grandfather is coming?”

“Kitchen is preparing a big dinner,” Antaro said. “Your mother ordered it.”

“One suspects,” Jegari said, “your esteemed grandfather may have decided to come visit because of Lord Machigi. But he is not invited to the signing. Veijico found that out. Only invited people can get in. So he is definitely supposed to be here all evening.”

“So my grandfather is a—” He was not sure he had a word for his grandfather. Coming here to throw salt in the pot, was what Great-grandmother would say he was doing, meaning trying to take over without consulting the other cooks in the kitchen. Or in this case, coming to visit to get right in the middle of things without an invitation.

“My grandfather is not here to help,” he said. “He always shows up when things are going on. But he is not an ally of my great-grandmother.”

“The young lord of Dur is coming in,” Antaro said. “If he is not already here. So is the new lord of the Maschi. All sorts of people who are allies of your great-grandmother are coming.”

“Lord Tatiseigi is a close ally of my great-grandmother. But he does not approve of the Marid. And he is downstairs with my father.”

“One has no idea,” Antaro said. “He is head of the conservatives.”

“Except my grandfather. My grandfather is a conservative. But one does not have him and Uncle in the same room. Do you think Grandfather coming here might be because of that meeting my father is having with Uncle?”

There was a moment’s silence. “It could be,” Antaro said. “It actually could be. Your great-uncle has an invitation. Your grandfather, nandi, does not.”

“Grandfather will not be happy at that,” he said. “And my mother—” Mother was all upset with the baby coming. Everything was the baby. And Grandfather was supposedly all excited about the new baby, and calling Mother a lot. And ordinarily Mother had no patience with Grandfather. But now she was defending him and anxious to show him the new nursery and invite him to dinner…

And Uncle Tatiseigi was in residence again and making up to Great-grandmother, and making peace with Lord Geigi, and both of them sitting drinking brandy with Great-grandmother and nand’ Bren, and all interested in Lord Machigi coming in, and this new agreement that was supposed to stop wars with the Marid…

So Grandfather was coming for supper, and Grandfather had no invitation to the big event this evening.

He wished he could ask Great-grandmother what his grandfather was up to. Or why Mother was being nicer to him than to Uncle. It had a very upsetting feeling.

And maybe it was not all about Boji.

And now Mother was mad—and upset. The pretty yellow and white nursery was destroyed—though all he had been able to see was one curtain a little askew and an unfortunate accident on the wall, and he did not think Mother really had to repaint the whole nursery or throw out all the lace curtains and all.

But Mother was upset: that was what he had heard in her voice. She was very, very unhappy, and he was not that sure now that it was all about Boji at all.

And his mother was sounding more and more like Grandfather. That upset him. Mother was not behaving well at all lately. Not since the baby. Not since—well, Mother had not been wholly nice to him since he had gotten back from space.

And there was nobody more grownup to make grownups behave.

But—there were people. There were people who were downright scary and other grownups were scared of them for very good reasons.

He had an idea. He had a very good idea. It was scary. But in his opinion, certain people, particularly his grandfather, deserved it.

He went back into the hall, to his desk, sat down, and laid out a sheet of formal note paper, shaking the lace of his cuff out of the way as he took pen, dipped it in ink, and wrote.

Esteemed Great-uncle Tatiseigi, Lord of the Atageini and Tirnamardi, I believe that my grandfather, the Lord of the Ajuri, is on his way to Shejidan.

I do not think he meant to come this soon. I think he knows Lord Machigi is on his way here, and I think he is very much against Great-grandmother in everything. Mother has just complained of Great-grandmother very unfairly. She says Great-grandmother has been a bad influence on me. Grandfather is certainly going to take her side. Please come visit and rescue me.

He thought honesty was probably a good thing, because his mother was going to blame him for everything.

Honored Great-uncle, my mother is particularly angry because of a parid’ja in an antique cage, who escaped and damaged the nursery. My father said I might have him. My mother calls him a filthy beast and she says keeping animals is Great-grandmother’s idea, when I know you also have very fine mechieti, like Great-grandmother, so one knows you understand my situation. Please, esteemed Great-uncle, I do not want to ask Great-grandmother to come rescue me, because if my mother said such things to her, one does not know what might happen. But, Great-uncle, you are very brave and very powerful. You have connections with my mother, and she respects you. I would be very grateful if you would come to the apartment and ask me to stay with you for a few days. You are very respectable with everyone and everybody will listen to you. Please help me and take my side, and I shall never forget it. One knows you are very busy tonight, but all you need to do is come here and send me to your apartment, and I shall bring the parid’ja and stay there and be no trouble.

He read it once, for good measure.

Uncle Tatiseigi had always wanted custody of him, well, except the time he had ruined the driveway. But Uncle Tatiseigi had always been extremely jealous of influences on him, even mani. And Uncle Tatiseigi was not at all on good terms with Grandfather. He was afraid, but he was not going to admit that. Surely Great-uncle would come.

He folded the letter, he sealed it very properly—he used a little ring he had, which was not a proper seal, but he had a small waxjack at his desk, and it served.

“Take this,” he said, “one of you. Get to the servants’ passage, get downstairs, and get down to my great-uncle.”

“If he is in the meeting, still,” Jegari said.

“You can give it to his bodyguard.” Everybody would be standing around the door of the meeting-room, including his father’s bodyguard, and they had tried that, and Father was still not here. But Uncle might get a message.

Uncle could at least move his father. Both of them might come up here. That would be the best thing—if only they agreed with him.

It was a terrible situation to be in.

And he had not asked for it. More than Boji, he had done no wrong. He really had not done anything wrong. That was the puzzling thing. Always before, if he was in trouble, he had done something really, really wrong.

But right now, things just seemed to be happening that were not all his fault.

17

It was absolutely necessary for the paidhi-aiji, and Lord Geigi, to show up at the event in full court dress. That was first and foremost. They had to appear, they had to give the right impression, and they had to be protected against the very real possibility that some attendee might not be on the up and up.

That meant bulletproof vests all around and a last-moment fitting. Narani was determined to have a good fit on persons he sent out the paidhi’s door—stylish, entirely unremarkable as what they were, and compatible with court style—and the poor tailor had shown up at the door with his case just about on the hour, every hour since supper. Bren had suffered three fittings, Geigi two—since Geigi’s security had gotten together with Bren’s and agreed that, indeed, bulletproof and pale silk was the latest fashion.

But lords were dressing for dinner, flowers and good wishes were reportedly piling up in the Bujavid security office, and so many people being involved, ment the news of Machigi’s arrival was now getting out.

And if the gossip of tailors and flower arrangers and number-counters hadn’t let the secret out to the building staff by now—its intermediate step on the way to full press coverage—if all of that failed, there was a conservative caucus, and they could always be counted on to blow any secrecy wide open.

Neither the liberal nor the conservative caucus was a meeting politic for the paidhi-aiji to attend. Nor were they apt for the aiji-dowager’s attendance—by a long shot—though she occasionally did meet with the aristocratic side of the conservative caucus, where it regarded her passion for the environment.

Tatiseigi, however, was reportedly down there—he was in his element. In very fact, Tatiseigi had convoked the meeting and asked Tabini to be there, an attendance nearly unprecedented. One understood the Merchants’ Guild had also been invited to appear, and almost certainly the porcelain trade would come under discussion, if only as a gloss.

The Assassins’ Guild was naturally there—not officially on the speakers’ list—they didn’t come to committee meetings and the like. But they were standing by every aristocratic member in that meeting.

Which was how information was flowing to his staff. So either the Guild leadership approved of that leak going to certain staffs—or his staff was getting it second-hand from the dowager’s or Tabini’s.

There had been the usual conservative viewings-with-alarm for openers. There was plenty of viewing-human-influence-with-suspicion. That was traditional, like the counting of numbers for felicity.

That had, predictibly, occupied the entire front of the meeting. It had not made the paidhi’s cold supper happier. But the execration of human influence was the establishment of bona fides for certain speakers, so it was understandable; the usual speakers were the Old Money of the aishidi’tat, in the main. Ragi clan ruled the aishidi’tat, some said, only because the Old Money could not abide one of their own lording it over the rest.

And then, wonder of wonders—Lord Tatiseigi had taken charge of the meeting and opened his statement with the accurate observation that there was no region of the aishidi’tat more conservative than the Marid.

He had further stated that if the conservative caucus wished to find kindred opinions in political debates and in the legislature in the future, they should work to stabilize that region of the continent, put power in hands with but one neck, as Jago so colorfully quoted Tatiseigi—and insist that everybody listen to the Assassins’ Guild’s new establishment there and operate through them in the old traditional way.

That last suggestion, Jago reported, had occasioned another furor. Why had the Assassins’ Guild, that bastion of conservative opinion, recently run amok, one asked, if not the ascendancy of liberal elements within it?

Because, Tatiseigi had retorted shrewdly, his lifelong neighbors, the Padi Valley Kadagidi, who had disowned Murini as a failure and supported Tabini’s return to the aijinate, had been lying: It was all designed to put the clan back into a position of great influence.

The Kadagidi, Tatiseigi had gone on to say, had publicized an enemies’ list that only began with the liberals of the legislature. But, Tatiseigi proposed, the real rivals of the Kadagidi were not at all the liberals. They were the other Old Money clans, whose leaders were in jeopardy from Kadagidi aspirations. The Kadagidi sat at the very heart of the aishidi’tat, assisting and backing the renegades of the Guild in districts south of Shejidan. The Kadagidi could not be in favor of the Guild action which had removed the Shadow Guild from the Marid.

And they had not deigned to show up yet in the legislature.

“Clever man,” Bren said, hearing that. “How was it received?”

“With the usual objections from Lord Diogi,” Jago said wryly. Diogi was not one of the brightest lights in the legislature. Nor that influential. Tatiseigi, notoriously not on the cutting edge of technological developments, was equally famously no fool and weighed far more in debate than Diogi.

“But no other objections,” he said.

“There is debate on mechanisms,” Jago reported, “to assure that there will be no competition to the detriment of certain regional interests. That these matters be referred to the Merchants and reports received.”

“Understood,” he said, and sat thinking about Lord Tatiseigi, who had made some very unprecedented movement on various questions…mostly on issues definitely to Tatiseigi’s advantage, taken all together. It seemed on the one hand too good to be true—and on the other, the constellation of advantages, ones he personally had labored to collect, precisely to try to head off conservative opposition—were real advantages.

Well, he’d made more of an impact on Lord Tatiseigi than he’d thought. Tatiseigi had quite happily taken the opportunity to fling stones at his neighbor the Kadagidi, via the whole program—and had gotten in a good hit or two. He wasn’t unhappy to hear that, and the Kadagidi were going to regret not being in the meeting. Possibly the Guild as currently constituted had been at work there, too—

—or possibly the Guild members that served the Kadagidi were having problems that Jago did not have clearance to report.

Might some that protected that house have gotten themselves personally involved in the fracas down in the Marid? That would be interesting.

Might there have been a thinning of the ranks, leaving the Kadagidi with less than their usual protection?

Some among the Shadow Guild had fled from Guild vengeance to the south. Naturally those that they knew had run first were the leaders.

And would the Kadagidi be stupid enough—or scared enough—to admit them back into Kadagidi territory? Surely not.

“Is there, Jago-ji, any of the Shadow Guild in the Kadagidi district? Is Lord Tatiseigi advisedly taking that position?”

Jago’s gold eyes flicked upward. And down, hiding secrets. “Perhaps. We have personally taken aside all of Lord Tatiseigi’s bodyguard and explained certain things forcefully. He is under heavy protection.”

“One understands,” he said.

Jago went back about her business elsewhere.

And he went to consult with Geigi, who was in the hands of his aishid, being dressed.

“Tatiseigi is speaking in favor of our position,” he said. “We are doing very well, thus far. He has not carried the day, but it seems reasonably likely that he may do so.”

“The porcelain,” Geigi said, fastening the vest, “has incredibly sweetened his mood. Had I known this a decade ago, I swear I would have sent the old reprobate my best!”

“I believe it is the contemplation of gain, Geigi-ji. Gain from transport of grain: he is admirably well-situated for it. Grain headed south and fish to the north. Not to mention the porcelains.”

“Well, well, well,” Geigi said, and turned to accept his coat. “I swear to you, I shall ply him with little gifts. I shall remember it if the weather truly holds fair, from the Padi Valley.”

“He is a very shrewd politician,” Bren said. “If we can enlist him, so much the better for the dowager’s cause.”

There were a dozen things still to do—one of which was to look up and absolutely fix in his head the names of two similarly named bays on the East Coast that he had confused before, and the names of several contacts in that district.

He was doing that when the office door opened, and Banichi came in.

“There is a difficulty, Bren-ji,” Banichi said.

“Difficulty.” Adrenaline came up. Instantly. “What difficulty.”

“The young gentleman,” Banichi said. “He sent to his father earlier to request his father come back to the apartment. Now he has dispatched one of his aishid from the apartment with a message to Lord Tatiseigi.”

“To Tatiseigi.” He was immediately confounded and chagrined—puzzled that the boy, if he was distressed at not having his own invitation to the evening event, had not sent to the aiji-dowager and chagrined that the boy had not sent to him, who was right next door. He would have explained to the young gentleman—the high security involved, the chance of difficulty—and the statement it would make having the aiji’s son present. The omission of an invitation was a political decision, not an accident. “Should I go there, Nichi-ji?”

“The young man has reportedly had a falling-out with his mother,” Banichi said. “That is the matter at issue. And one does not believe it would be a good idea, Bren-ji, either to send us or to go yourself.” Banichi looked worried. So, he was sure, did he. They had both heard Tabini’s account of difficulties.

And an issue had to arise today. This evening. “Perhaps,” he said, “we should notify Jaidiri.” That was the chief of Tabini’s bodyguard.

“Jaidiri knows, now, from Tatiseigi’s bodyguard,” Banichi said.

“Damn. One hardly knows what to do.”

“There is nothing that suggests itself,” Banichi said. “Damiri-daja’s father is in the city.”

“Twice damn,” Bren said, and there went his concentration on details. Damn and damn. “Keep an eye on that situation. Keep me posted.”

“Yes,” Banichi said.

He went to have a concentrated look at his maps, to fix the names in his head. He tried not to think what might be going on next door, and he told himself an eight-year-old within a very little of fortunate nine had been desperate, appealing to his great-uncle and not his great-grandmother…He was in possession of information internal to the family and dared not send down to Ilisidi’s apartment. She would march in, already at a pitch of nerves from the Machigi affair, and if there was war to be had on Cajeiri’s account, she would declare it.

And the fight that would create in the chief household—one didn’t want to contemplate. The boy was far from stupid. He had not sent to her.

Please God he had not sent to Ilisidi.

Banichi came back to his office, this time with Jago, in some urgency. “Tabini-aiji himself has left the meeting, stating for the membership that he has received an urgent message. Lord Tatiseigi’s guard, on the advisement of Tabini-aiji’s bodyguard, has held back the message from the young gentleman and has not yet shown it to Lord Tatiseigi.”

Bren drew a deep breath. “We should probably notify Cenedi, if he has not been told, but one must emphasize he should keep the news from the dowager. Is the caucus continuing?”

“There was some concern,” Jago said, “in the sudden departure of Tabini-aiji. There was speculation of some incident involving Lord Machigi. Lord Tatiseigi has told them it is a Bujavid security concern and does not involve Lord Machigi.”

“Excellent.” That sort of issue would be rated severe, but the sort of thing that, once attended at high levels, would cease to be a threat. And it was the sort of disturbance that routinely happened around important events. “Brilliant. Lord Tatiseigi deserves credit for that one.”

“Lord Tatiseigi’s bodyguard will certainly meet his displeasure,” Banichi said, “once they admit the content of that message.”

One of Cajeiri’s pranks gone awry, maybe. Maybe an attempt to leave the apartment and go to the signing.

Or maybe not.

With all else that was going on in the world…it was not safe.

Not with the rejection of a bouquet in the Taisigi mission foyer, and not with the arrival of the Taisigi lord, and not with Damiri-daja’s grandfather inbound and her great-uncle, in that meeting downstairs, just having shifted the conservative balance over to a side not profitable for that gentleman.

There were just too damned many pieces in motion for a good-hearted boy to have any room for mistakes.

“One is quite concerned about the timing, Nichi-ji.”

“We are concerned,” Banichi said, “but the aiji will be in the apartment in a matter of moments.”

Tabini would handle it. Being in the blast zone would not be a good thing.

“Dur is on his way to the Bujavid now,” Banichi said.

“One is grateful for Dur,” Bren said. “Do we have any information on the Ajuri’s whereabouts? Or Machigi’s?”

“Machigi is having supper,” Jago said. “The Ajuri lord is only now leaving the airport.”

“We are expressing concern to the Guild,” Banichi said, “about Ajuri’s intended visit and, taking a little on ourselves, we would advise the Guild on the situation in the aiji’s apartment. We believe any directive to delay Ajuri’s arrival in the Bujavid will have to come from Cenedi. With your authorization, Bren-ji, on such a matter.”

“Send to Cenedi,” Bren said.

Damn, court intrigue and Guild maneuvering. Ajuri’s own bodyguard, if the Guild directed, might be able to put the brakes on the old man and keep him quiet. But it was not guaranteed they would do it, if push came to shove and the Ajuri lord put pressure on them.

It was not even absolutely guaranteed where their sympathies were within recent Guild politics.

Damn again. It was not the time for a domestic quarrel in the aiji’s house to play out. And it did not need witnesses.

The last thing the aiji’s household needed was outside interference.

18

Things had been very quiet for quite a while. Boji had ceased hopping from place to place and clicking at every point of vantage in the cage.

But they were no calmer, Cajeiri thought. His mother had the servants all in a stir, probably to do with the nursery, coming this way and that down the hall, and they had had no word from Lucasi.

Then they heard the front door open.

It might be Lucasi with an answer from downstairs. It might be Uncle Tatiseigi, coming to take up for him, and maybe Uncle could just sit in the sitting room and drink tea with Mother and reason with her.

If Grandfather did not show up for dinner.

But it was a lot of people that had come in.

Uncle’s bodyguard, he supposed, listening with his ear against the door.

Then steps came toward their door, just one person, which was, he was sure, Lucasi. And sure enough, the knock came, the signal, so he got out of the way, and Veijico opened the door, with Antaro and Jegari standing close in case it was a trick. Lucasi squeezed into the room and set his back to the wall as Veijico shut the door and locked it.

“Is my uncle here?” Cajeiri asked Lucasi, who could have used his communications to tell his partner what was going on, but hadn’t. Possibly, Cajeiri thought, that had been because he was trying to keep the whole business as quiet as possible.

But Lucasi had dropped his official face and showed a very upset expression. “Nandi, it is your father.”

“My father.” That was good and bad. “By himself?”

Lucasi gave a little bow. “One regrets. I gave the message to your great-uncle’s bodyguard, and the senior of that guard talked to your father the aiji’s senior; they reported it to your honored father, and your father immediately left the meeting. Lord Tatiseigi has stayed there, and your father’s bodyguard was not in contact with the guard up here on their way. He asked me, and I told him everything that has happened, while we were coming upstairs. Your father is angry, nandi. He is very angry. He told me to come here, keep the door locked, and to stay out of the way. And not to let you leave, either, nandi.”

“Are we in trouble?” he asked with a sinking heart.

“One has no idea what is going on, nandi.”

Father, and not Uncle Tatiseigi. Uncle and Mother would have just shouted at each other, and everybody would have blown off the heat of their tempers, and that would have been all right—tempers were always better once everyone had yelled at each other.

But with Father here, and telling him keep the door locked, serious things could be going on.

“Would you care for tea, Jeri-ji?” Antaro asked him. But he said no.

“All of you may have some,” he said, and walked back over to Boji’s cage, worried, just worried.

Scared.

He really did not know what might happen if his father came in mad from being pulled out of the meeting and ran into his mother when she was mad about Boji. Father could agree with Mother and order him to send Boji back to the market, that was one thing that could happen. But far, far scarier things could happen.

He even thought—he had had nightmares before in this place—about people shooting up the apartment, and how the old staff had been killed in this apartment, right in the sitting room. He had seen far more shooting and dead people than he ever wanted.

He wished he could make a break for it and just go down to mani’s apartment, or next door to nand’ Bren.

“Can you talk to nand’ Bren’s guard?” he asked Lucasi and Veijico. “Are they there?”

“We are no longer permitted to use communications, nandi,” Lucasi said. “Regrettably, we do not have that access.”

“We should have it!” he said, telling himself he was going to talk to his father about that. But he dared not go out there.

He stood there, thinking these things, and aware that his bodyguard could do absolutely nothing to stop anything, not when it came from his father.

He heard the footsteps, his father and his whole aishid, by the sound of it, coming toward him, and he got back from the door, anticipating his father’s bodyguard to knock on it.

But they went right on down the hall, to about, maybe, the security station. And he immediately pressed his ear back to the door.

His father was going to ask security what had happened. That would be first. And with Lucasi and Veijico both here, his father was going to get only what Lucasi had already told him.

He hoped it was enough. He was in trouble. He was in really big trouble. And he tried hard to control his face and to look nonchalant about the situation in front of his bodyguard.

He went back to Boji’s cage, and Boji put his arm through the cage, reaching out with little fingers. He let Boji grasp his index finger, and Boji tried to drag it closer to his face, up against the filigree. That was not a good idea. Boji might still be in a bad mood.

He had no idea why it was so important to him to keep Boji. Except—Boji was his. Boji was alive, and noisy, and without him—this place would be like being locked in the basement in Najida, with no windows, nothing. He was not going to give Boji up. If the way his mother and his father could make peace was at the cost of Boji, he was going to appeal to Great-grandmother to take care of Boji for him. She might do that. Nand’ Bren might do it.

He wanted to be all the way to mad: he was always happier being mad than scared. But he was scared as a little baby. He was ashamed of himself for that, and he kept trying to be mad, but he was not succeeding well at all.

His aishid sat at the table, nobody making a move to fix tea.

And waiting went on, a long, long time. He finally went over to the table and sat down, too, at the head of it.

Then he heard more footsteps, going further away. His father was going to his mother’s suite, and he had his bodyguard with him.

That was not good. That was definitely not good.

Time to dress.

There was absolutely no word from Tatiseigi’s apartment.

“They are shut down over there,” Algini said, while Supani was helping Bren dress. “They are receiving advisements from outside, but they are outputting nothing.”

“Perhaps you should stay here,” Bren said.

“No,” Algini said. “No, Bren-ji. We will be with you. We are determined on that point.”

That was definite enough. His bodyguard was attending him downstairs in full force.

Tano said, quietly: “The guest list downstairs has widened.”

“Indeed,” he said.

“The conservative caucus is seeking an invitation,” Algini said. “There are logistical problems, primarily in chair arrangement. There are other inquiries afoot. There is a request to adjust the venue, and members of the Liberals are requesting a statement from Tabini-aiji, which is not immediately forthcoming. The Liberal Caucus will be hearing that the Conservatives are being admitted, if this is the case. They will be accommodated.”

“Damn,” Bren said. The meeting size had tripled.

“Accordingly,” Tano said, “you will have all of us. Narani and Bindanda will communicate with us.”

“Keep me informed, nadiin-ji,” Bren said. “And inform Lord Geigi. And Tabini-aiji.”

“His aishid is being kept aware of the situation,” Tano said.

Dur had landed. Ajuri was due in, but for the aiji’s apartment, not the event, and with extraordinarily bad timing for events in that household.

He slipped on the vest and held out his arm for Supani to fasten it.

“They are shouting,” Antaro reported, her ear against the door. “One cannot quite hear. One believes they have the sitting room doors all shut.”

Antaro set her back to the door, saying things had quieted. But with what outcome Antaro could not say.

A time passed.

And he was very glad Grandfather had not arrived yet, and he was sure now the signing downstairs must be getting organized, so at least mani would not come bursting into it.

For a long time it was quiet. Then steps, lighter as well as heavier, sounded in the hall, and seemed to go off to the sitting room.

But if his parents had gone to the sitting room, it might be to have tea and to sit for a moment. And talk.

That could be good. Or not.

He decided he should clean up. He had a complete change of clothes, with Jegari to help him, and had his queue redone, smart and smooth and pulled tight, with a new red ribbon, and he had his almost-best coat, to give his best impression if they called him. It was not just of defense of Boji. It was defense of him. Of his whole aishid.

It was court dress to the nth degree; the flash of jewelry on Bren’s person was limited to a single pin, but Geigi turned out with an impressive flash of jewelry, most of it diamonds, which had traveled with him, brought down to the world for any chance state occasion.

It was the paidhi’s business to be in the reception hall before Lord Machigi, and Machigi before the dowager—the same order of things as at any formal dinner.

Getting there, however, was not without obstacles. The whole main hall was filled with onlookers—lords with their own bodyguards, other Guild officials, even Bujavid staff. Bujavid security kept the hall where the lifts were located completely controlled, and at the turn to the left, toward the great doors and the display cases, they had established a line along the wall and displays, keeping spectators back. News cameras were there, a knot of them, and another nearer the reception doorway.

“The paidhi-aiji!” the shout went up, and “Lord Geigi,” the rumor went through the crowd; the years spent in space had made Geigi less recognized among lords, and a rare sight for the Bujavid. There were Bujavid staff in the crowd, lesser officials, and just the general public and tourists, who tended to show up for the spectacle when there was anything afoot on the hill; if one was in town, and there was some pageantry accessible to the public (and the lower hall of the Bujavid was,) the public came, dressed in their best, and partaking of whatever commemorative cards and ribbons the Bujavid might be passing out for the occasion.

On the left, the Lesser Hall doors stood open, and the guards there, armed, let them and their bodyguards into a more organized sort of crowd, glittering lords and ladies in their household colors, all milling about in the pre-event social, a rainbow interspersed with the black and silver of bodyguards in great evidence. Chairs were at some remove, near the walls. There were three tables set up at the head of the hall, for the signing, and at the side of the hall long tables with offerings of flowers and piles of refreshments.

One of course toured the floral arrangements, parsing them for origin and meaning, and they were always set out, with the exception of sponsoring parties, in order of receipt, so being first mattered. The arrangements all looked thoughtful and fortunate, and one trusted they were properly fortunate: that was the province of the kabiu masters.

One read Prosperity frequently and prominently in the flower choice. One read Peace. That was good. One read Welcome, and one brave Offense Forgiven on the part of the Oturi, south of Sheijidan; the kabiu masters of the Bujavid had let that one in, but anything of greater controversy would not have made it. The next one read New Things. And Good Fortune and Auspicious Skies.

One refused a cup of fruit drink. One wanted no accidents, either of spills or of poisoning. The occasion was, for the paidhi and all his staff, pure business.

But not without pleasure. “Nandi!” he heard near him. Adigan, elder lord of Dur was there, and the new lord of the Maschi, with their respective bodyguards; and young Dur was there as well, grinning with complete delight—they had not parted that long ago, but now their meeting meant success.

“Lord Machigi is on his way to the train station, nandi,” Banichi advised him.

Immediately after there were polite greetings for them both from the legislators of the Commerce Committee, who were very glad to have a word with Lord Geigi, in his capacity as representing space industry, and the members of the Library and Records division offered polite felicitations. Behind them, a traveling backdrop, were the official secretaries of that department and their assistants; and there was a very discreet television presence—one did not miss that. The event was not going out live, but it would be out with a half-hour time delay and be done before the west of the continent went to bed this evening, and sent to the East by radio.

One sat, in one’s almost-best coat; one even attempted to do one’s homework—anything to make the time pass—but one had no concentration on it, however one tried, with ears pricked for any sound at all from the rest of the house, the coming and going of servants, the heavier tread of bodyguards, the opening and closing of doors.

Boji, exhausted, had had his egg and curled into a furry knot on his perch. Boji was the only one who had had supper.

And Cajeiri was hungry, but he had no appetite. He supposed everybody was in the same state. His bodyguard were all sitting at the little table, Antaro and Jegari playing chess and Lucasi and Veijico giving advice to them. But he was sure they were all listening for what they could learn.

It grew quiet. It stayed quiet for a while. He looked at the clock on the shelf, and he was sure mani and nand’ Bren and everybody had gone down to the signing by now, so he was really all alone up here, whatever happened.

And it still was not good, outside. He was sure it was not. Hardly anybody was stirring, just occasionally a servant going past on some errand, but very, very seldom. When staff got quiet, things were bad.

Once he had heard his mother’s voice. And not since. At least he had not heard his father shouting.

All the rules could change. He could be sent here or there, or forbidden this and that, because everybody in the world had a theory on how he ought to be brought up.

At least Grandfather had not shown up in the middle of everything, and that was good. He told himself he just had to be quiet while his father settled things, if they could be settled, and if he had a punishment, he could hope it was just a talk, and maybe a sort of an apology to his mother. He could do that. He was sorry to have upset her, and he was sorry about the baby things.

He was thinking that when Lucasi said, suddenly, pressing a finger to his ear: “Nandi, we are back in link again. Your mother’s staff is dismissed from the Bujavid. They are being sent back to Ajuri. Tonight. This instant. They will leave from the servants’ quarters. They are not being allowed back on this floor.”

His heart began to beat very fast. He hardly knew what to think.

“And my mother?”

“There is no word, nandi.”

He nodded and sat there a moment, not knowing what to do with himself, or what he had touched off, or what he even felt, if it turned out his mother was moving out.

Maybe his father had ordered her to go home, with the new baby about to be born and all. He was not sure what he thought about his sister being born in Ajuri. He was not sure he wanted that.

But it would mean Ajuri would have a Ragi in their midst, and not the other way around.

He had not wanted a sister.

But now that there was a strong likelihood of never seeing what she turned out to be for years and years, and having her grow up Ajuri instead of Ragi, he was more than a little upset about that.

And he decided he was upset about his mother going away, if that was what was going to happen. He wished he could make everything be all right, just not with Grandfather. But he began to think maybe even his father could not do that.

“We have a second communication from security,” Lucasi said. “Your mother and your father are in the sitting room. They request you come there.”

He had no choice. Whatever would happen—he was not in control of it.

“I shall go,” he said. “All of you…stay here.” That was ordinary, for them not to witness when his father was reprimanding him—and he thought that was probably to the good.

19

The room acquired a few more committee heads, Ilisidi’s frequent allies, and an uncommon smattering of the Conservative Caucus—among the first of whom was Lord Tatiseigi, resplendent in the white and pale green of the Atageini, with an impressive emerald pin nestled amid a very great quantity of lace, and with emeralds and tourmaline in every shade on his black fingers—it was an amazing show.

He made an impression with his entry; and he went from person to person of the Conservative Caucus, doing his political best.

He came then to stand where the principals were gathering, near the tables where staff set out pens and inkstands, and waxjacks, gleaming brass, were ready to be lit. A writing stand was set up with lesser seals, pens and inkstands, a vast stack of special cards for the attendees, and ribbons of the requisite colors.

Light conversation went on. And Algini said, quietly, at Bren’s elbow,

“Nandi, Machigi has arrived at the Bujavid train station.”

Not that much longer, then.

Father’s bodyguard was present. Mother’s was not. They were both calm and formal, at opposite ends of the couch. Cajeiri sat on a small decorative chair sipping his tea. There had been teacakes offered but he had accepted none, nor did they. He was starved to the point of shakiness, and yet he had no appetite, which was an unusual and upsetting feeling.

“Have you had supper, young gentleman?” his father asked. Meaning, perhaps, had he stored food in his room, which he was not supposed to do.

“No, honored Father. None of us have had.”

His father had a muscle tight in his jaw; it was not quite jumping, as it would do from time to time when he was extremely angry, but it was tight. His mother did not quite look up, and Cajeiri did not, either, not wanting to be glared at by either of them.

The servant offered another cup of tea. Cajeiri’s stomach was already upset with the first. “No,” he said, “thank you, nadi.”

His father set his teacup aside, then. His mother did, very quietly and almost untasted, on the small side table on her side.

“Have you anything to say, young gentleman?” his father asked.

He was calm. Numb. He said, quietly, “One very much regrets, honored Father, honored Mother. It was an accident. We attempted to get Boji back.”

His father asked: “What, in your briefest account, happened?”

He took a breath, took a firm grip on the chair arms and gave a polite, time-consuming nod while he was thinking where to start—mani always said, the courtesies were a good way to stall and think. “Honored father, honored Mother,” he began, “I was feeding Boji when Metiso-nadi opened my door. Boji was scared: he broke free and headed up. Metiso-nadi kept the door open. We shouted at her to close the door, but she didn’t, and he went out right past her.”

His father said. “You had given particular instructions to limit the servants coming to your suite.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You so instructed Eisi that he and his cousin should be the only persons to come into your suite for any reason.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I shall stay out of this,” his father said, settling back and folding his arms. “Talk to your mother.”

“Yes, Father,” he said, with a lump in his throat.

“Understand,” his mother said, “that I did not instruct Metiso to enter your room.”

“One is very sorry for what happened, honored Mother.”

“Let me explain, son of mine. My father, your grandfather, has been told he will now not have dinner here, tonight.”

“I am very sorry for that, honored Mother!”

“Listen to me. Hear me. As of this hour, my major domo, Lady Adsi, who has been with me since I was born, and all my servants, and my bodyguard, are all sent back to Ajuri.”

“Honored Mother!”

“One has had to make a choice,” his mother said with icy calm. “My servant heard that there was something going on in your apartment and was attempting to gather information, coming into an area not assigned to her. It seems superfluous to point out that you are not a foreign enemy and I have no need to spy on my son.”

His heart was beating very fast. He knew sarcasm. He knew mani’s kind of expression. And a boy was smarter not to say a thing.

“Your father’s security has checked the phone records between my household and Ajuri. Metiso-nadi’s calls have been frequent and direct to her male cousin, on my father’s personal staff. She does not call her mother nearly so frequently. More, she has continually gotten phone access, which is under Lady Adsi’s supervision—and my bodyguard, which my father sent this year, has said nothing.”

He hardly knew what to say.

“I have, at this point, the choice,” she said, “between Ajuri and marriage to your father.”

Words stuck in his throat. He looked at his father, at her lastly.

“So I ask, son of mine, your sentiment in the matter. Answer me. Is your man’chi to your great-grandmother or to your father?”

That was a scary question. A very scary question. When it got that scary, the truth was sometimes the best way. “One has never seen a difference, honored Mother.”

“And have you,” his mother asked, “man’chi at all to me, son of mine?”

“Of course I do!”

“And to your grandfather?”

He was caught with his mouth open. He hesitated. And it was too late.

“No, honored Mother. I am sorry.”

“And if I were not sitting here, would you have claimed it to me?”

“You are my mother! One does not want to lose you!”

“And if put to a choice between your great-grandmother’s instructions and mine, which would you obey?”

He drew a deep breath, and told the truth. “Wherever I would be,” he said. “Either one of you—I have to obey, honored Mother!”

There was a lengthy silence, with his mother looking straight at him in a degree of upset he had never seen her show.

“You would have launched your guard at mine…to protect an animal.”

“To protect us, honored Mother. To protect us.” He said it accusingly, to have her understand. “You frightened us.”

“You felt something in that room. In my staff.” She shook her head. “Son of mine, we have wondered if you pick up certain signals…brought up as you were, with humans.”

“There is nothing wrong with humans!”

“One understands nand’ Bren is your particular associate. And you have gained permission for your young associates to visit.”

“Yes, honored Mother.”

“And you prefer your great-grandmother’s household to me. What am I to think?”

He hardly knew what to say. “Great-grandmother is—” he began. “I was with her. I have been with her all my life. I want to be respectful toward you, honored Mother. I am not a bad son. Great-grandmother never thinks I am a bad great-grandson.”

His mother said nothing to that, for a long, long moment. “I have never called you a bad son.”

“But you think it. You think I meant to ruin the nursery! You think I would harm my sister!”

“I believe you,” his mother said. “I have been worried. I have been listening, perhaps, to servants who have not offered the best advice.” His mother’s face looked very sad, very tired. “I never wanted to give you up.”

“I was too little to have any choice, honored Mother. But one still wants to understand my Ajuri side! And my Atageini side.”

“Your great-uncle,” his mother said with a sigh and a shake of her head. “And your grandfather.”

“Your grandfather,” his father said, suddenly, “is ambitious. One could forgive that. But one cannot forgive other activities.”

“One cannot forgive,” his mother said sadly, “his spying on my son. And on me. I shall miss my staff. I shall be quite alone here. I wish my son might understand that.”

“I am here,” Cajeiri was moved to say. “I do not mind being here. But—”

No, it was probably not the most auspicious time to argue about Boji. With luck, his mother would just let the matter fall.

“You have had a large life,” his mother said, “and this is a small apartment.”

“Yet I am happy in it.”

“You want that creature,” his mother said. “Will you keep him in your suite?”

“Beyond any doubt, honored Mother! I shall be very happy to keep him in, and train him, so he can be safe with my sister!”

“Do you want a sister?”

“One hopes to,” he said. “One hopes to be a good son, honored Mother. One truly does. And you will have a baby to take care of, and we will all be especially good, honored Mother.”

“I have no lady servant now,” his mother said, suddenly upset. “I have no lady servant.”

“We will mend that,” his father said. “We will mend that tomorrow. One promises.”

She leaned forward, hands clasped on her knees. “Son of mine, shall I stay married to your father? Or not?”

“You have to! My father relies on you! And neither of you should be alone!”

“You constantly tell me how your great-grandmother does things. You consider her advice ahead of mine.”

“I have lived with you very little, honored Mother, but I think you are very smart, or my father would not listen to you. And he does. So I should.”

His mother looked at him without saying anything, seeming upset. Or not. He was not sure. “You are assuredly her handiwork,” his mother said with a shake of her head, “and your father’s. What a pair you are!”

“Yet—she should stay, should she not, honored Father?”

“We have told her so,” his father said. “And I have agreed your sister and you will take separate paths. Your sister will not be turned over to your great-grandmother. She will be completely in your mother’s charge, so do not campaign for her to go to your great-grandmother.”

“If you will defend your little sister,” his mother said, “we would be grateful. And we hope you will not instruct her in how to slip past security until she is at least felicitous thirteen.”

His face went hot, but he knew when he was subtly being reprimanded, and laughed at, however gently.

“Yes,” he said. And could not help adding: “But she will be my sister, honored Mother, and one is quite sure she will be clever. Just I shall always be ahead of her.”

His mother smiled gently. “Then be sure to keep ahead of her, son of mine. And keep her safe.”

“You have not had supper, have you?” his father asked, gently.

“No,” he said. “Nor my staff.”

“Nor your mother nor I. Come.” His father stood up.

And his mother held out her hand, as if he had been a tiny child. He took it the way he took mani’s when she dispensed with her cane, and wrapped his arm around hers, with her hand atop.

So his father muttered to Jaidiri that they should have supper and let everyone out of his son’s apartment.

And nobody had ordered Boji sent back to the market or told him he could not have his birthday party.

And he did not have to have dinner with Grandfather. It was mean and selfish to feel happy about that, but he honestly, truly did.

20

There came a commotion of another group entering, and a little whisper of feminine voices attended. Bren did not even need to turn his head to know whose party had entered the room, to such universal interest from the ladies.

He went immediately toward the entry to meet Lord Machigi, who was there with only his bodyguard—Tema’s crew, with light arms, was immediately about him, and a second team, like an outer shell of dark planets, was positioning themselves starting at the door.

“Nandi,” Bren said, and bowed, and Machigi met him with a bow—another man might have worn a grim face and a wary look at walking in among former enemies, but Machigi wore charm like a garment—his face was relaxed, his bearing easy, and he had the look and grace of a lord in his own element.

“Paidhi,” he said. “A pleasure. Lord Geigi.” Two old enemies met with gracious nods. “You do me honor, nandi, even though one is certain it is for the aiji-dowager’s sake.”

“I hope to accumulate reason to do it for your own, nandi,” Lord Geigi said. “Let us hope for the future.”

“Indeed.” With a gracious nod, Machigi moved on toward the tables. Bren stayed with him, the massed dark knot of their security carving a passage through the crowded hall. There was old-fashioned lamplight, the glitter of the world’s treasures in jewelry, and, where figures grew more shadowy around the perimeter, the reflecting gold of atevi eyes, like so many more jewels in the dark. Every eye was on Machigi, every ateva present reckoning and measuring every move he made, his attitudes, his state of mind—his honesty. And every ateva present knew what the paidhi-aiji’s role had been in getting him here, and what his role was now, welcoming the lord of the Taisigi, providing small talk, marking time until the aiji-dowager herself might come downstairs and make her entry. Everything now was a dance, a precise order of moves that had to be made, a sequence that had to be followed, and with which everybody present would settle their minds, knowing exactly what came next.

Next—seemed like forever. “Did you have a smooth trip, nandi?” had to be asked, and Machigi was gracious enough not to say simply, “Yes,” and make his substitute host fish for another question. He said, “Quite smooth, but you are quite right about the airport road, nandi—badly in need of repair.”

“Najida would be pleased to meet your crews halfway, nandi. Our crews are, however, Edi folk.”

“We shall have some understandings to create,” Machigi said. “Guild in the area would reassure my people.”

“And the Edi are increasingly inclined to view their presence favorably,” Bren said. “I would have members of my house staff to supervise any area of contact, if that would suffice.”

“A very good notion, nand’ paidhi.”

“And your comfort in Najida?”

“Splendid. Quarters in the Bujavid could not be as comfortable.”

“Or as secure, one hopes. If you have any concerns at all—”

“Nandiin,” Banichi said, “the aiji-dowager has reached the lower hall.”

Machigi simply nodded and glanced toward the door.

Guild was clearing the crowd back. That usually produced a little subdued commotion.

Banichi said: “There is a situation. “Lord Komaji has shown up, from the public entry, demanding admission. Guild will admit him and sequester him, physically, not to delay the dowager.”

Komaji. Lord Ajuri. Damiri’s father. From the public entrance?

Bren’s heart rate ticked up a notch.

“The aiji has withdrawn the supper invitation,” Jago said, as Banichi’s attention focused tightly on the door. “Geigi-ji, will you go to the doorway, immediately, with your guard? Divert Lord Ajuri.”

“Yes,” Geigi said, and moved.

“We have an incident,” Machigi said. It was a question.

“Stand fast, nandi,” Bren said, “one begs you. You will not go near that trouble. A domestic matter—a missed message, perhaps. The lord of Ajuri thought he had a dinner engagement with his daughter and grandson in the aiji’s apartment. He has entered by the public entrance.”

That part was wrong. Very wrong. And wrong behavior in the Bujavid translated immediately to suspect.

“Relay to Cenedi, Jago-ji.”

“Cenedi is aware of it. The aiji-dowager does not wish to be delayed.”

Ilisidi and Komaji didn’t get along. Increasingly, considering the aiji-dowager’s affiliation with Tatiseigi and her taking Cajeiri into her orbit, they did not get along.

“Inform Lord Komaji’s bodyguard that the aiji is not present at this event,” Bren said quickly, thinking that if Ajuri were completely distraught, he might be coming into the Bujavid with the intent to seek out Tabini-aiji—and a major event downstairs was one place Tabini might be suspected to be in attendance. “Inform Jaidiri.” That was Tabini’s bodyguard. “And the door guards.”

“Yes,” Algini said.

But then a voice rose above the rest: “We are not among the invitees here, either? This is remarkable, nadi!”

“One has to meet him,” Bren said, and went, regardless of his bodyguard’s expressed opinion. He had to. Until the dowager arrived, and before the two could encounter unaware, he was in charge. Lord Machigi was under his protection, and Machigi’s bodyguard had every reason to be on a hair trigger. He headed for the door at his fastest walk, with his bodyguard around him, Lord Geigi left where he had stood, and doubtless both bodyguards in rapid communication, with Geigi’s bodyguard, with Machigi’s, with the door guards, and with Cenedi.

Komaji. Lord of Ajuri. Cajeiri’s grandfather had made it through the polite line of servants at the door; he was not making it through the line of Bujavid guards. And Cenedi, one hoped, had stalled the dowager inside the hall with the lifts, which was virtually clear, and not let her get delayed in the crowded main hallway.

“Lord Komaji,” Bren said with a bow, and to the Bujavid guards: “Please let him through, with his guard. I shall take responsibility.”

“Nandi,” the senior of that guard said, and signaled his unit to stand aside.

“Where is the aiji?” Komaji asked abruptly.

“He is not here, nandi. One begs you and your guard stay only a moment. This is the aiji-dowager’s event, and she is about to arrive.”

“I am impatient of discourtesy.”

So, one assures you, is she, was what popped into his head, but what he said, gently, was, “One entirely understands, nandi. May one offer you the courtesy of the event, pending—”

“I need nothing from a human who has interfered repeatedly in the upbringing of my grandson, who has provided the worst of advice to the aiji and to my daughter, who is the focus of the most pernicious influences in the court!”

There was, surrounding that outburst, an increasing and deathly silence.

And amid it, from the doorway and inward, the distinct tap-tap-tap of the dowager’s cane.

The gathered lords and ladies and bodyguards moved out of the way like a living wave, ahead of a dark little figure whose black lace sparkled with drops of red ruby and garnet.

Lord Komajii sucked in his breath, and bodyguards froze in place. Bren froze, thoughts racing, whether to get physically between—no. If bodyguards needed to move, they would. Cenedi was on Ilisidi’s left, Nawari on her right, and six more were at her back.

“Well,” Komaji said. “Well. A gathering of unlikely allies for an even less likely association with bandits, plotters, and human influence.”

“And without a drop to drink, as yet,” Ilisidi said in a low tone, into a dead hush in the hall. “Esteemed father of my grandson’s wife, one thought you were due upstairs at this hour.”

“You know precisely the situation, and you delight, clearly, in making such a provocative remark, nand’ dowager. Such a calculated statement is beneath you.”

“Ah, so acting without calculation is your preference, clearly. You are out of place and uninvited here as well, nandi. We recommend you retire quietly, before matters go less in your favor. Do so quietly and with dignity, and witnesses will have far less to remember of our meeting.”

“You have worked against my daughter from the first! You were the agency that took my grandson from his mother, to bring him up under your own influence! You encourage the boy to defy his mother, and you will not be content until you have driven a wedge between my daughter and her husband, for your own advantage. Your ruthlessness with a child you directed into misbehaviors is incredible!”

Ilisidi rested both hands on her cane, with a slight waggle of her jeweled fingers. “Do go on.”

“Oh, I can go on, nand’ dowager. I can go on! For years you have schemed to get the aijinate into your own hands, in actions going back long before my time! You have dictated the policy of the aishidi’tat while your own district stands apart from its institutions, and now you make independent treaties as if you ruled the world! You have made independent agreements without consulting the legislature or your own grandson! You have done every underhanded maneuver within your power to bring your great-grandson under your influence, you have connived with Mospheira to elevate this human beyond his capabilities, and in circumventing the legislature, you have insulted the lords and undermined the stability of the aishidi’tat!”

“How interesting,” Ilisidi said in a silence in which one could hear a pin drop—and with Machigi and his bodyguard likewise afforded a clear view across the hall. Three times her jeweled hand opened wide and closed on the knob of the cane. “Lord Komaji—I do not call you Lord Ajuri, not to involve your unfortunate relatives in this unfortunate moment. Your frustration is truly pitiful, but we cannot mend your failures.”

“Failures! Where are your successes, lady? In this agreement with the enemy? In the corruption of the aishidi’tat? In the stealing and corruption of a child?”

Bang! went the cane, so loud in the hall people jumped, yet Ilisidi seemed hardly to have moved.

“Failures, Lord Komaji, failures to support your own daughter and her husband in the aftermath of the coup. Failure to rally to the aiji’s side until my grandson and your daughter had gained Lord Tatiseigi and Lord Dur and Taiben as allies and were winning! Failure to protect your grandson or his mother until the shooting stopped!”

“You confuse me with my predecessor!”

“Oh? Were you not related to my great-grandson before you took over the clan? Were you held prisoner? Could you not have mustered at least yourself and your bodyguard, when a handful might have made a difference—and did? Do not lecture us about forwardness in defense of the aishidi’tat, Komaji-nandi!”

“You endangered my grandson in the midst of conflict, you subjected him to human influence and have set his unskilled hand on agreements with an uncivilized rabble of smugglers, wreckers, and pirates!”

“The ancient peoples of Mospheira, nandi, who did defend your grandson! Where were you? You do have a history of showing up at the tail end of any fight, claiming a right to decide the outcome, when you have done nothing to win the war. Here we have won a peace—and a regional agreement; and here you are again, at the last moment, unwelcome in manner, irrelevant in opinion, and useless to the outcome. Good night, Lord Komaji, and do not hesitate to give my regards to my grandson, once you are readmitted to his premises.”

“You are a disgrace!” Komaji shouted.

“Oh, that will quite be enough,” Ilisidi said with a wave of her hand, and Cenedi stepped to the fore.

“Banichi,” Bren said, and very quickly there were Cenedi and Nawari, Banichi and Jago, Geigi’s Haiji, Lord Tatiseigi’s man Rusani and Lord Dur’s Jusari, all moving to separate Komaji and his guard from the dowager.

Komaji drew in a breath, spun on his heel, and stalked out with his bodyguard, headed God knew where.

The company present watched that retreat with a low murmur of dismay and astonishment, picked up by the onlookers in the hall, but they had no leeway for speculation. A second, quieter bang of the cane, and Ilisidi gathered her bodyguard and walked, easily and cheerfully, toward Lord Machigi, red-sparkling black headed for a handsome young man in green and blue, in the witness of all.

Bren hesitated to move. Hesitated to breathe—except it dawned on him he was in charge of the hall, and he needed to be with the dowager. He went, with his bodyguard as smartly organized as the dowager’s, and he took his station by the tables.

“Lord Machigi,” Ilisidi said, and the meeting of the two of them—the perfectly correctly little bow from Machigi, the correctly timed and gracious nod from the dowager—drew its own little stir, a whisper of people beyond the front row of spectators all trying to see past the bodyguards of those in front, and the news camera crew trying not to be outmaneuvered and to signal those crossing in front not to obstruct the view.

“One hopes,” Ilisidi said, “that you had a very smooth trip, nandi.”

“Indeed, nand’ dowager.” The absolutely correct address, not the emotionally driven aiji-ma, but correct, in protocol. “Thank you for the sentiment.”

“You are most welcome, Lord Machigi. Having dealt at distance and through agencies, we are very pleased to meet our future partner in trade.”

“Mutual, nand’ dowager.”

“One trusts you have had a copy of the agreements.”

“Indeed, nand’ dowager.”

“And are we agreed to sign, nandi?”

“We are agreed, nand’ dowager.”

“Then let us proceed to a plain reading of the document, shall we?” Ilisidi gave a wave of her hand, and a quiet thump of the cane shocked the anxious hall to silence. “We shall read the document’s salient points, for the assembly, if you please, chief clerk.”

The chief clerk, clad in clothes of two centuries ago, fussed for a moment with his more modern glasses, then read out, in clear, classic form, the headings and summary of the document. The single allowed news feed took that in—one could only reflect that they had had an unanticipated event in the presence of Lord Ajuri, and now presented a lengthy, cold reading of the document, while the adrenaline was still flowing in the veins of all present—and probably across the nation.

There were twenty-one articles, each briefly mentioned; provincial news would deliver text in greater detail and offer the entire document as public record—but the cameras centered on Ilisidi as she sat down at one end of a small, ornate table and on Machigi as he sat down at the other, bodyguards in evidence, but with the close attendance, now of other lords, the heads of Commerce, and Trade, notable among committees present.

Ilisidi, as the party initiating the agreement, took up a reed pen, and an assistant opened the inkwell in the set before her. She dipped the pen and signed the document. Meanwhile, a lesser clerk of the Bujavid, also in ceremonial dress, lit the first waxjack, an ornate brass affair used for such events, with the end of a red wax coil in the region of heat. That red represented Ilisidi’s Malguri. At the other end of the table, a second clerk lit an identical green one that represented the Taisigin Marid.

Moving with slow deliberation, the first clerk’s first aide positioned at the end of the document both red and gold ribbons, the colors specifically of Malguri, by Ilisidi’s signature. Then a second aide poured wax from the small pan that collected the red wax drip and conveyed it to the first, who poured the wax for the dowager’s seal impression.

Ilisidi removed her ring and affixed the seal into the soft wax. The chief clerk, holding open the document that now trailed red and gold ribbon, conveyed it down the table to lay it before Lord Machigi, who likewise dipped a pen in a matching inkwell, signed, and was similarly assisted to affix his seal over blue and green ribbon. The first and most official document was then conveyed to the chief clerk and conveyed to another small table, where the Master of the Archive waited with yet two more clerks and another waxjack, this one also with red wax, to affix yet one more red ribbon, and atop it the seal of the Archives, signifying the official recording of the agreement in the records of the aishidi’tat.

A little murmur of applause went about among those invited. The cameras took the event into most of the provinces of the aishidi’tat.

Not to the Marid, unfortunately, where television, even radio, was a rarity.

Not to the East Coast, where somewhat the same conditions prevailed.

But that would begin to change, one hoped. Schools, electricity, communications, trade, and prosperity…one hoped. The whole room hoped. But reservations were as universal as hope, on every hand.

Four more copies followed, one apiece for the signers’ own archives, and one apiece for public display.

The dowager rose. Machigi rose and gave a gentlemanly bow to age and rank.

A clerk moved to collect the last papers and knocked a pen off its stand. The twitch on the part of security and on the part of lords expecting trouble went through the room like an electric shock.

“Ha!” Ilisidi said, and banged her cane against the floor, with nearly as abrupt an effect. “We have ordered refreshments! Bring them! There will be signed cards in a while. My new associate—” She held out her hand, as she would for her accustomed companions, to move closer. “Walk with us. Lord Tatiseigi, Lord Geigi, nand’ paidhi, —join us.”

It was nothing less than a triumphal procession. Ilisidi walked her handsome young prize a wide circle about the room, introducing him formally to Lord Geigi…

“You will be very useful to each other, nandiin-ji. Rely on Lord Geigi, nandi: you have many things in common, and if Lord Geigi sees you as his ally, he will be your ally in the most difficult of circumstances.”

And to Tatiseigi: “We three all share traits, nandi: respect for the old ways, appreciation for regional diversity, the belief that our people should live better because of our decisions. We three have very, very much to talk about. Lord Machigi, on Lord Tatiseigi you may definitely rely, for honesty, for steadfastness, and, fortunate third, for fearlessness in defense of his allies.”

They progressed to the head of the legislative Commerce Committee and on to Transport and to the head of the Merchants’ Guild, and slowly, slowly there spread through the room a sense of relaxation in the moment, and a sense that things were going well. Souvenir cards were being distributed in the outer hall to the crowd who had attended there; those were without ribbons and seal or signature, merely giving the event and the printed Bujavid seal, but they would be important mementos for those folk and their families. The cards given out in the reception hall itself were signed and ribboned and sealed, a hundred and thirty three of them that would be important displays in the homes of the attendees, cards eventually taken about the room to be signed by various of the participants in the negotiations and by personally significant persons present. Bren signed cards until his hand ached; Geigi did; Tatiseigi signed with a brush, in the Old Alphabet, no less. The principals, including Ilisidi and Machigi, had to stay at the table, apart from the refreshments, signing and signing—a courtesy to the attendees which was not required, nor even expected. Machigi’s willingness and his quick good humor and winning ways, as Jago reported, were gaining good report throughout the room.

“We take encouragement,” a lord of the Conservative Caucus said to Machigi in Bren’s hearing, “in this meeting and in your welcoming of the guild structure in the Marid, nandi. We are most encouraged.”

“We are very pleased, nandi,” one of the Liberal Caucus said, “that you are bringing technology to the Marid.”

“Technology,” Machigi said, “and education. One has read the history of education in the North and foresees a similar set of obstacles, but we are prepared to undertake it. We actively seek advisement.”

That man was so engaged it took a reminder from the event marshals, part of Bujavid security, to move him on.

It was going well, it was going very well, and Tano turned up with a cup of punch, not innocent of alcohol, which he set carefully on the table.

“It is sworn safe, nandi,” Tano said, on best formal behavior.

Bren took a sip, in a momentary lull in the proceedings.

“The Bujavid guards,” Jago said quietly, leaning her hand on the table on Bren’s other side, “have sent Lord Komaji downtown by way of the train and the aiji’s car, and they are at his hotel. Tabini-aiji has ordered him and his entourage to leave the capital. With Damiri-daja’s former staff.”

God. “Damiri-daja.”

“Is still in residence,” Jago said.

That was a relief. And a development. A serious one.

But it was nothing to discuss where they were.

It was nothing to discuss during the long social that followed, a session in a back room of the lower floor, with the dowager, with Machigi, with Geigi, Tatiseigi, Dur elder and younger, and involving more specifics on the first steps in the new agreement, shared over a glass or two of brandy.

It was a happy occasion. It was optimistic.

And the event was of far greater moment than a frustrated power seeker headed for an unwilling train ride to a minor clan holding in the North.

Damiri had stayed by Tabini, rejected her Ajuri staff, swung over to her Atageini heritage—which her father had never favored.

One understood why a contract marriage was a dangerous undertaking in an ateva’s life, and why a lasting marriage was among the greatest. So much changed, over a lifetime.

So much had changed. And the year was still young.

Bren sipped his drink, set it down, and listened to Lord Geigi and Lord Machigi discussing the southern climate and fruit trees.

So very much had changed.