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 hap
py 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 fath
er, 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.”
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