Feet stamped. Faces remained impassive, but the racket had to be heard throughout the house; and it went on until Aieso got up and wrapped her shawls about her.
“Will it be agreed?” she asked, and at a low mutter from her people, she nodded, folded her arms tightly and looked at Geigi and at Ilisidi, and straight at Bren. “Kajiminda will be under our protection, the same as Najida, and our hunters range as far as Separti Township and report to us. Guild are welcome under the direction of our allies Lord Geigi and Lord Bren and the Grandmother of the Ragi.”
That was a damned major concession, and rated an inclination of lordly heads.
“Najida hopes to be a good neighbor, nandi,” Bren said.
“So with Kajiminda,” Geigi said.
“The Grandmother of Najida knows our disposition,” Ilisidi said, and Aieso nodded, rocking her whole body.
“So. We will walk,” Aieso said, “we shall go walking seaward of the brook on Kajiminda, Maschi lord, and see if there is a spot the foremothers favor.”
“Indeed,” Geigi said. Bren only remotely construed what Aieso intended, but one recalled the monuments of the Edi on the island of Mospheira, the monoliths incised with primitive, slit-eyed, slit-mouthed faces and the hint of folded arms: the Grandmother Stones, left behind—one could only imagine the trauma. Such stones stood on an isle to the north, in Gan territory. Ragi atevi, inveterate tourists, who would undergo amazing hardship to view something historic or scenic, were not welcome there, and, in turn, pretended no such stones existed. They were not on the official maps.
One thought of those stones, in territory where no outsider was welcome.
One gathered the old woman would, indeed, go hiking about the peninsula, likely with a contingent of her people—testing Geigi, among other things. Maybe establishing lookouts and arrangements of their own, for future defense.
It would be a far walk for the old woman. And a hard one. By the placement of such statues, the Edi favored difficult places.
“Najida would lend the bus for transport,” Bren said, “should you wish, nandi.”
That won a soft chuckle from Aieso, who seemed in increasing good humor, even brimming delight. “The old truck will suffice us, Najida-lord. But mostly we shall walk.” And to Ilisidi: “Grandmother of the Ragi, speak to your grandson and advise him what we have agreed. Advise him when we walk in Kajiminda, we will assure our own safety.”
Ilisidi nodded. “We wish you well, Grandmother of the Edi.”
Aieso gathered her shawl about her. Her company stood up, and Bren did, and so did Geigi and Cajeiri. There were bows on both sides, a second nod from Ilisidi, who accepted Cenedi’s arm to rise, slowly, using her cane, and the visitors quietly followed Aieso out, leaving a room full of slightly disordered chairs and a portentous silence.
God, Bren thought, done was done. The Edi were going to pick out a building site on what amounted to their half of Kajiminda Peninsula, and one could figure, up on the north coast, their fellow exiles from Mospheira, the Gan, were going to start making their own demands on the aishidi’tat for full recognition and, one hoped, membership in the aishidi’tat—that point was one on which he intended to work hard.
Well, well, the aishidi’tat was still suffering aftershocks from the earthquake of Tabini-aiji’s fall and his triumphant, popularly driven return, and in some ways that popular mandate was still empowering the regime to fix things.
It was an old, old wound, the two exiled atevi peoples from Mospheira, essentially being the west coast of the aishidi’tat, yet being governed by other, continental, clans—while coming under perpetual assault from their old enemies in the Marid—
Well, things were going to change, if change didn’t kill them all.
Certain interests were going to have a howling fit.
“Well done, Geigi-ji,” Ilisidi said. “Bravely done.”
Geigi gave a small, dry laugh. “Now we have only to inform Maschi clan,” he said, “that I have given away half the peninsula.”
“Let Maschi Clan be very careful,” Ilisidi muttered ominously. “We will speak to them, Geigi-ji, should the Guild of Maschi clan at Targai want more information.”
“Aiji-ma,” Geigi said quietly. Ilisidi was taking actions in which her grandson had not been consulted . . . actions that could shake a quarter of the continent.
But then, her grandson had left her here. With his heir. Tabini was just about on Ilisidi’s scale when it came to forcing his way on the world.
Bren had personally dreaded the upcoming legislative session, and his own part in it—which involved the proliferation of cell phones. Now he was less sure they were even going to get around to debating cell phones, once the matter on the west coast hit the floor.
And Lord Geigi said: “’Sidi-ji, I must deal with Maschi clan, and the Guild that serve there. One owes one’s clan that, at least, amid the honors Ragi clan has given. I must be the one to deliver this news.”
“Then do it by phone!” Ilisidi snapped—an earthquake of a statement from one of the most conservative, traditional forces in the aishidi’tat.
Geigi shook his head. “’Sidi-ji, you know I cannot. I must tell him. I must tell him soon. That was the price of so advising the Grandmother—and one knows Pairuti will not be pleased with me.”
“If he is wise, he will be pleased!” Ilisidi said. “Or you will take the clan, Geigi-ji. We need the vote!”
“Aiji-ma,” Geigi began to protest.
“The Marid will take him,” Ilisidi said, “or we do. Pairuti is a weak stick. This arrangement cannot lean on his good behavior.”
“Aiji-ma,” Geigi said in despair.
“And you may advise him of that by phone, if you take our advice! And summon him to Kajiminda!”
“One cannot, one cannot, aiji-ma, for my own honor, and Maschi honor, most of all, one cannot. I must give him a chance, with his dignity, for his honor, and mine.”
“His honor!” Ilisidi said darkly, and leaned on her cane and frowned at him, and frowned at Bren, and then at nothing in particular. She drew herself up then, and the cane tapped softly, once, twice, three times, and her jaw set. “He surely knows that you are back on the earth, he surely knows that Kajiminda is in distress—oh, we cannot believe that he is under-informed, and where is any message from him? We see none.”
“There has been none, aiji-ma,” Bren said.
“Well, if you must do it, Geigi-ji, prepare to do it in style. And nand’ Bren will assist. He is a persuasive sort. Will you not assist, nand’ paidhi?”
Bren bowed his head, said, “Aiji-ma,” and thought to himself—Ilisidi had just gone secretive on them.
“The lord of Kajiminda must sit in Kajiminda again, nandiin-ji,” Ilisidi said. “From there he most reasonably would depart to visit Maschi clan. Nand’ paidhi, you have a bus.”
“At nand’ Geigi’s service, and the aiji-dowager’s, of course.”
“We have some few things to arrange,” Ilisidi said, flexing her fingers on the knob of her cane. “We have some calls to make, but, Geigi-ji, you must simply rest and let us arrange them.”
“Aiji-ma,” Geigi said with a little bow. “But I must send messages.”
“One is certain they will be discreet, and wise. Nand’ Bren will assist you, making any contacts you need.”
“Without doubt, aiji-ma,” Bren said, but was not certain she even heard him.
Ilisidi was already, in her mind, setting something in motion, and it was a fair guess that Geigi’s honor would not like to know too much right now.
That, or Geigi had just made the requisite formal protest—for his honor’s sake—before undertaking something his honor found difficult. He was a Rational Determinist, a philosophy which relied less on Fortune and Chance, that baji-naji attitude of the traditionalists. In his beliefs, he could shove Fortune into motion; and he had just made his own proposal to the Grandmother of Najida, generous beyond anything reasonable.
And, what was mor
e, one suffered more than a slight suspicion that Geigi had not at all surprised Ilisidi when he had done it.
9
Lucasi and Veijico were not entirely happy. They had, of course, been listening at the door during mani’s session with the Grandmother and Lord Geigi, but they had not been pleased with being relegated to the hall.
And they had had their heads together at least twice since they had gotten back to the suite. Cajeiri noted that fact. He had very good ears—too good, Great-grandmother often said—and he knew a good many of the Guild hand-signs he was not supposed to know, because Banichi and Jago had taught him, and so had Antaro and Jegari, whenever they learned them.
There was no sign for our seniors are out of their minds and there was none for we are superior to all these people. But that was rather well communicated without their saying a thing.
“Luca-ji. Jico-ji,” he said, in the process of shrugging on a light daycoat Jegari held for him. “Are we possibly discussing my great-grandmother’s business?”
That got their attention. Instantly. And he thought, If they lie to me, they will be in trouble.
Lucasi bowed slightly, a little more than a nod. “We were discussing the events in the house, yes, nandi.”
“Do we form policy, nadiin-ji?”
A small silence. A slightly seditious silence. Seditious was one of Great-uncle’s words. Conspiratorial was another.
“We do not,” Lucasi said with a second bow.
Cajeiriwished he had a cane like Great-grandmother’s. It would be very useful with manners like that.
“You are much too smooth,” Cajeiri said. “Smoothness is just a little step from lying.”
“We do not lie, nandi!”
“What is a lie?” he asked back—seguing right to one of Great-grandmother’s little lectures.
“We do not lie.”
“Answer me! What is a lie?”
A deep, annoyed breath. “A falsehood, nandi. And where have we uttered a falsehood?”
“You try to give me a false impression. That is a lie. You talk in signs and you discuss my great-grandmother. That is stupid, by itself! And lying to me does not improve it!”
A sullen bow in reply. “If you choose to regard it that way, nandi.”
“Do you see a difference in it, nadiin? I do not. You may be called upon to lie in my service. But never lie to me. Never lie to Antaro and Jegari. And never conceal your opinions from me! But be very careful of my great-grandmother!”
They both looked as if they had a mouthful of something very unpleasant.
“Well?” he said. “Say it.”
“We are concerned,” Veijico said. “We are greatly concerned that your elders are making dangerous decisions. Your great-grandmother is aiji-dowager, but she is not the aiji. We are bound to report to him.”
“And I say you do not! Who do you think you are, nadiin? Higher than Cenedi? Higher than Banichi?”
“We report to the aiji, your father!”
“Regarding me! Regarding when I break one of nand’ Bren’s rules or get lost on the boat! But you do not make calls to my father about my great-grandmother, or you will be very sorry for it. You do not meddle! Do you hear me?”
“We hear,” Lucasi said in a low voice, and not a shred of remorse was in evidence. “But we have an opinion, nandi.”
“State it.”
“These are foreigners,” Veijico said after a moment of silence, “with their own man’chi.”
“Who is a foreigner?” he asked. “Do we mean the Edi?” Deeper breath. “Or do we mean nand’ Bren? Or do we mean nand’ Geigi, who comes from the space station?”
Another silence. Then, from Lucasi: “We are concerned about the welfare of this house, nandi. Your great-grandmother is attempting to replace the lord of Maschi clan. This will upset the whole aishidi’tat. It affects every lord. It will not be popular.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But it may be smart, if Pairuti is a fool like Baiji, or if he has made bad bargains with the wrong people.”
“And Lord Geigi and Lord Bren are considering going to the Maschi house! That is stupid, nandi!”
“We doubt it is.”
“You are eight years old.”
Oh, there it was. Antaro and Jegari took in their breath. He saw their heads lift, and saw them both like wound springs, ready to say something. He signed no.
And smiled, just like Great-grandmother. “Yes, I am at an infelicitous age,” he said, not personally using the insulting and unlucky eight. “But I understand when not to touch things. You should learn it.”
Two very rigid faces. “We were put here,” Veijico said, “because we have a mature understanding, which you, young lord, do not yet—”
“You were put here,” Cajeiri said, “because I make guards look bad and tutors quit. The only ones who can keep up with me are Antaro and Jegari. See if you can, if I get mad at you.”
That got frowns. “We can keep up with you,” Veijico said. “Never doubt that.”
“Good,” he said. “Baji-naji, nadiin. People have been wrong. And you do not call my father to report on my great-grandmother. Sometimes my great-grandmother is scary. So are her associates. You should get used to this. My father is used to it. So should you be, if you are going to try to keep up with me.”
Sullen silence from Lucasi, and one from Veijico. A scarcely perceptible bow from Lucasi.
“Are you honest with me?” Cajeiri asked. “Do you still think I am stupid and have to be lied to?”
A little pause additional. Then a slow bow from Lucasi and from Veijico, nearly simultaneous. “No,” they said.
Not: No, nandi. Just no. They were saying what they had to say. But he realized something right then that he should have felt much sooner. There was no connection. There was no man’chi. And there was no inclination toward it. They might feel it toward his father. But who knew where else—if it was not to him?
But everybody who was not his father’s enemy felt man’chi toward his father. To decide that was their man’chi—that was more than a little presumptuous on their part. Presumptuous. That was what mani would say. They thought they were in his father’s guard. They found fault with his great-grandmother and practically everybody, including him.
A lot of people in the central clans were like that. But they were from the mountains. They had made up their minds to be like that.
And he was mad.
He was very mad at them. And they knew it. It was in the stares they gave back, and they were not in the least sorry.
“You know far less than you think you do,” he said. He would never dare say that to the least of Great-grandmother’s men. He would never dare say that to the maid who cleaned the room. But he said it, and meant it, and glared at them.
He had finally disturbed them. Good.
But they were not sorry about it.
He did not like that. People in one’s guard who were not in one’s man’chi were dangerous people, people he did not want near him.
But his father had given them to him, and he was stuck with them.
He could give them one more day and let everybody cool down, and then call his father. Or tell mani. They would not last long if he talked to mani, who would talk to Cenedi, who would find someplace to put them, no question.
He was not quite ready to do that. Just upset. And sometimes his upsets went away in an hour.
“You have made me mad,” he said, “and that is stupid, nadiin.”
“Nandi,” Antaro said quietly, “they are Guild. And you did put us over them, and that is hard for them.”
“We do not need defense, nadi,” Veijico said shortly.
“Twice fools!” Cajeiri said, and set his jaw. “Give me that face, nadiin!”
It was what mani would say when he sulked. And it got their attention.
“I could turn you over to mani,” he said. “But I am mad right now. And when you do something involving my great-grandmother you had better mean it. So I a
m giving you one more chance. You take my orders.”
A deep breath from Veijico. A little backing up, from both of them, as if, finally, they had had better sense, or saw a way out. If you corner somebody—Banichi had told him once, and he had always remembered it—you can make them go where you want, by what escape you give them.
“You go,” he said, “and keep an eye on things in the house, and if anything happens about what we heard today, or if anything changes, or you even suspect it is changing, you come back to me and tell me. But do not follow me about, and do not ever be telling me what to do. You can give me your opinions. But you cannot give me orders.”
“Nandi,” Veijico said, and finally bowed her head and took a quieter stance. Lucasi did, too.
“Go do that,” he said, fairly satisfied with himself, even if he was still mad.
Only when they had gone and he was alone with Antaro and Jegari, he let go a lengthy breath and let a quieter expression back to his face.
“Do you think they will do it?” he asked them outright.
“One is not sure,” Jegari said. “But you scared them, nandi.”
“Good!” he said. “You are senior in my household, nadiin-ji, and will always be, no matter how high they are in the Guild. And for right now, none of the Guild under this roof are happy with them.”
“One has noticed that,” Antaro said.
“But we are obliged to take their orders in Guild matters,” Jegari said, “unless we have orders from you not to.”
“You have, nadiin-ji. We order you to refuse any order from them you think is stupid. Or wrong. And we want to know what they said and what they were doing. Their man’chi is not to us!”
“One perceived that, nandi,” Jegari said.
“One perceived it,” Antaro said in a quiet voice, “and was not that sure, until now. One is a little concerned, nandi. We were prepared to be careful what orders we took. At least to go to Cenedi or Banichi.”
Two of his aishid had political sense and discretion. The same two of his aishid had learned from Banichi and Cenedi, and that put them forever ahead of two who had not, in his opinion.
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