“I am in contact with Cenedi,” Banichi said. “As is Algini, who has a certain expertise. Decisions are not firm yet. He will signal if we are needed.”
“Then we should have supper,” Narani said, from behind him.
“I think we should,” Bren said. “At least we are in control of that certainty.”
“It is,” Banichi said, “as good an idea as any at this point.”
“Advise Bindanda, nadiin-ji, that they might inquire the dowager’s pleasure in the matter, and see that the other passengers have their choice. It may be a very long night.”
9
It is taking a very long time, Bren wrote in his personal notes, using a predecessor language, Italian, in the Greek alphabet, which was at least not easy for atevi to crack. We have a signal that the train ahead of us has stopped and wants a meeting. If they are not on the siding and want to precede us into Koperna, we shall not have much choice about it. The dowager has not expressed an opinion. She is consulting with senior Guild, and we are receiving some information.
Lord Bregani’s message had reached the Guild, and thereby the broadcast center, so all of Senjin and their enemies gained more information at the same time—but at least it reassured Senjin that their own lord was still claiming control of the situation.
All they could get from Koperna was a coded report that conditions one and two had been satisfied, which Jago said meant they were on schedule and they had assured essential services and established an Order of Civilian Protection.
As for what that entailed, Jago provided a printed and fairly well-worn card from her kit, a Guild statement of martial law which, honestly, Bren had never seen even in the re-taking of the capital. It began with a request to clear the streets, shelter in place, and the final, chilling paragraph: Lethal force may be used in your area. Once in safety, please stay off the streets, and if you have shutters, close them for your own safety. If you hear movement in your area, stay away from windows and keep as far away as possible from outer walls, doors, and inner stairways. There will be an official broadcast by loudspeaker when this shelter order is lifted.
God, try to enforce that on Mospheira. There would be mass panic and people would be in the streets.
One would have expected it to be almost as difficult to apply it in the Marid, where lawlessness was endemic, where no one trusted authority, and where the Shejidani Guild did not ordinarily operate. But Senjin, like the Dojisigin, had spent years under the threats of Tiajo and the Shadow Guild, which did not compensate civilians for damages or hesitate at lethal force.
An Order of Civilian Protection is in force in Koperna. One hopes civilians in Koperna are following instructions. He continued his notes. Koperna radio reports quiet in the city. City offices have dismissed all non-essential personnel to go to their own homes. Lord Bregani’s residency had previously dismissed all non-essential and non-resident personnel to go to their own homes and lock the doors, a fact reported on broadcast radio. Relatives and other residents of that residency were encouraged to go to country estates or city houses, as services in the residency are suspended and administrative offices are closed. There has been one major disturbance, a fire at a grocery, but Koperna fire crews were able to extinguish it before it spread to adjacent buildings. The cause of the fire is not known.
Guild units have claimed the broadcast center, water plant, power plant, and the lord’s residency.
The broadcast center states that Lord Bregani is in high-level meetings and receiving reports from the Guild, who are authorized to maintain order.
That is true in essence, though they have not mentioned Lord Bregani’s departure from the city. All aboard are resting now, and considering next steps.
* * *
• • •
It was sandwiches for supper—sensible, and easy to clear, if there had been an emergency.
Now the train was on much longer run-outs, and the descents were gentler and longer. After hours of tension, a strange sense of safety settled in—completely unjustified, since they were reaching the coastal plain, and the borderland of Senjin and the Dojisigin, but the body could only stand so much panic before it began to declare a sort of truce with the situation.
“Is there any word?” Bren asked, as Algini sat down at the table with a cup of tea in hand.
“There is a sense of organization and compliance in Koperna,” Algini said, “but in Lusi’ei, no. The Order of Protection there is being violated by foreigners, understandably confused, and by numerous civilians, many of whom are intoxicated.”
The port. And the age old response to calamity.
“We shall pass close by it, shall we not?”
“Close enough for some concern. We will not be unsupported, however. We hope that the Shadow Guild and the Dojisigi currently present in Senjin may be more interested in moving and securing assets than engaging us in what is developing into a several-layered assault. Certain records have been exposed in Ajuri that give us names, and we are going after them.”
That was a revelation. The basement in Ajiden had produced some information, at least.
“Do we have general intelligence on their operations here?” Bren asked.
“No. But what we find here may shed light on what we already know. We also have an advantage. We know what we have. They do not. But they know what we could have, even if we do not. And that may stir some of them to relocate.”
Talking to Algini was sometimes like an ongoing conundrum. But after years, in this situation, one understood exactly what he meant. The dowager, somewhere between events in the north and Machigi’s approach, had found an instability, as atevi would put it. Too many Shadow Guild had died. Too many Shadow Guild assets had melted away. The Shadow Guild that had once had the aishidi’tat in its power now was having difficulty holding on to the north of the Marid. It had lost half its remaining territory, in the stroke of a pen up in Hasjuran, and Tiajo, the lord it was using for its last shred of legitimacy, was unstable and incapable of any rational help. The very characteristics that had made her a useful figurehead when the organization had been an intricate mountain of secret connections, made her a liability as the mountain turned to sand beneath them.
“We would be extremely fortunate,” Algini said, “if we could engage their first tier officers in Senjin, but they protect themselves. They always have. The elite will have run at the first cloud in the heavens. Their second or third tier is not to be despised, one would never say it; but the whole organization is fragmented . . . mosin’man’chi.”
Their man’chi was sick, in other words, the lines of who owed whom gone unreliable and unpredictable. Lord Tiajo, who should sit in the middle of it, the central point of all man’chi, the core strength of the organization . . . was herself a prisoner of a security force that would murder her if she threatened them, and a population that would murder her if she gave them any chance.
“So we will not get a chance at them,” Bren said.
“Not likely,” Algini said. “Not in the next few days at least. Right now they do not know what our force looks like. It keeps evolving, and the latest train is apparently another reinforcement. That, at least, will keep them off balance, and whether this third force joins us or simply holds the line here, Bren-ji, it will be useful. One only worries how many of us Headquarters has pulled in, and whether we have committed too much.”
“Let us hope not,” Bren said.
The train seemed to be gathering speed. Algini stood up and said, “I shall be in the Guild car. We are receiving nothing as yet from the other train, but we will be picking up speed. One estimates another hour to reach them.”
* * *
• • •
Father had not held a state dinner or even a business dinner since nand’ Bren had gone off to Mospheira, or at least, if Father had had one, Cajeiri thought, he had been off with Uncle Tatiseigi at Tirn
amardi, and had escaped it.
But then . . . since mani had left, they had not even had family dinners. Mother and Father had taken meals mostly in their own apartments and he had done the same, with his new staff and his larger aishid for company.
Tonight—tonight there was a family dinner, excepting baby Seimiro, who was off with nurse in Mother’s rooms. It being an ordinary family dinner, one did not need court clothes, but Cajeiri had wanted to be at his best. He was anxious. And one hoped the dinner was an indication things were going well, and that Father in particular was happy.
But neither Father nor Mother looked cheerful when he arrived in the dining room. Father was at one end of the shortened table, Mother was at the other, he was in the middle, and Father and Mother were both quiet, asking each other questions such as “How is Seimiro?” from Father and “How are the appropriations coming?” from Mother. The answer to both was, “Well.”
After which there was silence, while servants served a very good soup, but Cajeiri found himself without a great deal of appetite.
“How is your staff working out, son of mine?” Mother asked, and he answered truthfully, “Very well, honored Mother.” Then, fearfully, he ventured to fill the silence with: “The new rooms make everything easier, and the staff is very happy. The seniors, too. They are happy.”
“They are keeping you informed,” Father commented. It was a question.
“Yes, honored Father. They are.”
“Good,” Father said.
“Thank you,” Cajeiri said, and the silence seemed deeper.
“Have you,” Mother asked, “heard from the park director?”
Change of topic. A rescue. “Yes, honored Mother. The renovations are on schedule.” But then carrying it further seemed like unwanted chatter. Soup gave way to a dish of seasonal fish, which made one think of the port and fisheries at Cobo . . . and trains . . . while Mother and Father were talking about the park, and Boji, and he had nothing to say because he was not part of the negotiations with the park director.
Then one of Father’s security came from the door and talked to Father. “There is a query,” was all Cajeiri could hear. Father laid aside his fork and his napkin and gave a little nod to Mother and then to him.
“A matter of business,” Father said. And: “Tell cook I shall ask for a late snack.”
“Yes,” Mother said, and Cajeri returned Father’s polite nod, with two questions in mind, what the business was and were mani and nand’ Bren safe? But Father left the table. Left the room. One heard, down the hall, Father’s office door shut.
And there were still the questions.
There was a piece of fish growing cold on his fork. He scraped it off and took a drink instead.
“You should not worry,” Mother said.
“I have to worry,” he said.
“Finish your dinner. Cook worked hard.”
Which was true, and Cook had not even gotten his usual thanks for the meal.
“Please call Cook, honored Mother. I do not think I can finish. I have had all my soup.”
“Son of mine, you are fretting when you do not even know for what.”
“I have been fretting since before mani left, and I know where they are, honored Mother. I am informed. I cannot help worrying. I am sorry for mentioning business at the table. But I am not hungry. I will sit here while you finish. And we can thank Cook.”
Mother laid down her fork. And rang for Cook, who appeared in the inner doorway of the dining room.
“The family will gratefully share this excellent meal with staff, with thanks, nadi-ji, and requests, because of urgent business which has interrupted us, that the kitchen prepare a cold snack available at whatever hour.”
“One hopes the problem is minor,” Cook said.
“We likewise hope so,” Mother said, and laid her napkin on the table. “My son and I will take brandy. Advise our aishid.”
Cook bowed and went back into the kitchens. Mother rose and Cajeiri did, and Mother had the doors to the sitting room opened—a very large, very formal sitting room with just a little grouping of chairs and small tables that Father used for small conferences.
Two of Mother’s bodyguard attended. Antaro and Jegari did.
And Mother herself went to the buffet and poured a brandy with her own hands, and a tiny swirl of brandy into a new glass, and then a large dose of ice water, which she brought back, serving him herself, which she had never done since—
Forever, that he could remember.
And never brandy. That was yet another message she sent him. He sipped it. It recalled a very unpleasant evening when he had sampled abandoned glasses on a state evening. But it was just the flavor of it, and he understood what Mother was saying: it was serious conversation she meant.
Very serious. Adult conversation.
He took just a sip, and she did the same. Brandy was for uncensored conversation, even blunt truth. And he wanted more than the flavor of that. He wanted it and greatly dreaded it, though Mother was not ordinarily the person he would consult about Great-grandmother’s doings.
“What is happening with Great-grandmother?” he asked. “Do you know, honored Mother?”
“She is proceeding down to Senjin,” Mother said. “Your Father knew she would, as he expressed it, probably before she did.”
He sat and held his glass of flavored water and simply listened.
“Many of the Guild aboard the Red Train are in service to their Council,” Mother said, “so Guild Headquarters has gotten word, not steadily, but several times during your great-grandmother’s expedition. I asked to be informed for Nomari’s sake and for Uncle Tatiseigi’s, and your father agreed, and he undertook to inform you when we might know something more.”
“He did, from the beginning,” Cajeiri said. “But not about them going to Senjin. Or why mani is doing this!”
“Very plainly,” Mother said, “Lord Machigi presented your great-grandmother a situation in which he claimed Lord Bregani of Senjin was losing favor with the Dojisigin lord. To take advantage of this, he proposed a railroad spur from his capital, and proposed it link to the rail in Lord Bregani’s territory. Your great-grandmother accordingly invited Machigi to Shejidan, called the Red Train to the Bujavid, took Machigi, the paidhi, and cousin Nomari aboard, along with a considerable contingent of Guild from the capital, over all giving the public impression that she was bound for Malguri, but turning toward Hasjuran. She likewise requested a sizeable escort precede her to check the track for problems—disguised as a regular freight. That was not all it did.”
“The first train . . .”
“Went down to Senjin, where it developed a sudden mechanical problem and delayed, not unknown for a train just down from Hasjuran. The Red Train meanwhile stopped in Hasjuran, detached all its occupied cars, and the engine, with several Guild units and a vacant sleeper car, descended to Senjin. The Guild delivered your great-grandmother’s message by courier, giving Lord Bregani a very short time to agree to come up to Hasjuran to talk—or stay where he was, and explain to Lord Tiajo, who was already upset with him, why he was talking to your great-grandmother at all.”
“Which would not go well,” Cajeiri said, when Mother paused.
“It was absolutely your great-grandmother’s style,” Mother said. “Bregani would agree to come up and meet with her, and openly break relations with Tiajo doing it; or he would not agree, and Tiajo, who has been looking for an excuse to take Senjin, would draw her own conclusions as to what was going on, and act accordingly. Either way, Tiajo was bound to react. So Bregani, being no fool, went up to Hasjuran, signed with your great-grandmother, and now finds himself allied with his old enemy Machigi as well as your great-grandmother, while a Guild force sits in his capital. That should give our cousin Nomari an excellent view of your great-grandmother in operation, should he have had any doubt how
she is.”
Mother and Great-grandmother had been at odds all his life. He had been mostly brought up by Great-grandmother, so he had no doubt how Great-grandmother worked, and what chances she would take, as well as how Mother felt about Great-grandmother’s influence on him. It was not an argument he wanted to hear right now. He made his face blank, carefully blank, to wait through Mother’s expressions of disapproval, and her complaints about Great-grandmother’s politics and policies.
“She is good,” Mother said unexpectedly. “She is quite good. But she has her ideas, and when she is in pursuit of them—please, in life, son of mine, do be careful. Be a moderating influence on your great-grandmother. And learn from your father as well as from her.”
It was entirely unexpected, that direction. He felt pressed by the ensuing silence to say something, and had no idea what to say, except, “One tries to do that, honored Mother.”
“She has Cenedi and she has the paidhi-aiji to advise her,” Mother said. “And I know she and your father have had discussions on the Marid, regarding Machigi, regarding the railroad, and regarding her building an east-coast seaport. Your father, passionate as he is about human inventions, and with Lord Geigi assuring him that there are means to make it work, still believes that this port your great-grandmother is building is far more a political maneuver within the Marid than a reality on her coast, at least in the short term. But,” Mother said, before he could defend mani’s harbor and Lord Geigi. “But as much finance as she is pouring into this fantasy of a port, she has invested still more into Lord Machigi and the direction of his ambitions. I am about to trust you, son of mine, with something your father does not want reported to her or to her allies, not even to the paidhi-aiji. Do you understand?”
He did not want that burden. But he thought he had better know it. And he would break a promise if he had to. He would.
“Yes,” he said.
“Know that she has invested a very great deal in Lord Machigi, and in keeping his cooperation—not his man’chi, which he has not given, none of us believe that—but his cooperation for his own reasons. Know too, that my cousin and yours, Nomari, who has gained my recommendation and Lord Tatiseigi’s, and stands to inherit the lordship of a major midlands power—may have been in Lord Machigi’s employ. He may still be.”
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