And if mani really was going after Tiajo, it was to everybody’s good. Machigi was no ally of Tiajo’s, that much was very certain. So if there was a cause that would get everybody together—Tiajo might be it.
It was just not his to do. Not his matter to solve. What he did have under his control—was a parid’ja that needed a home and a staff that had suddenly gotten older, and larger. And in an hour or so there would be more hammering and sawing in the servants’ passage trying to make room, the consequence of all the changes in his life. Poor Boji hated it, and bounded around rattling his cage in complaint—
But there was no helping it. Even if the laundry was late and the servants’ hall became a dusty mess, they had to do it.
He sat at his desk, looking through his notebooks and his studies, and his little stack of correspondence. And to console himself till breakfast, he took up a pen and began to write.
I was very glad to get your letters. I am back in the Bujavid now.
He could not say what mani and nand’ Bren were doing. That was deeply secret. He could not mention Nomari and the appointment, because that was probably secret until it happened or failed, which he truly hoped would turn out to favor Nomari.
He wrote: I am trying to find a place for Boji. That was safe to talk about. He is getting too big for his cage, and it is unfair to ask Eisi and Liedi to go on riding in a baggage car.
I am trying to get back to my studies. My tutor is going to come in, maybe tomorrow. I have been collecting questions for him.
I did get to see Jeichido recently. She is beautiful. Uncle says she needs her own herd. So I may have more than one mecheita and you can ride.
I hope you are comfortable in your new apartments. I wish I could be there. I once landed at that airport, when we first came down. I heard what happened there and I am very sorry, but one also hears that Mospheirans are sending you gifts and they welcome you. I hope the Presidenta is doing well.
Nand’ Bren tells me you are safe where you are. I hope you will please mind your security and do not explore on your own. Please keep yourselves safe and advise your parents the same. There are very good people watching you and if you ever have a misunderstanding about something, still trust them and do as they ask. If you have any problems tell them to call nand’ Bren.
And if you can get a camera, take pictures. I want to see where you live and what sort of things you do. Tell me about the people you see and tell me about your tutors: nand’ Bren says they speak Ragi, and you should speak Ragi too, every chance you get.
It was a stupid letter, full of holes and saying nothing useful. He wadded it up and then, because he did not want even his staff knowing how stupid it was, he smoothed it out, folded it and tore it into tiny pieces.
I want to travel again. I want to go to Najida and I want them to come there, but Father is going to insist I do my lessons, and if what mani and nand’ Bren are doing starts a war with the Marid—
He remembered all too vividly being in Najida when it came under attack. When mortars had sounded across the hills. When enemies had gotten inside.
He could not travel to Najida if the Marid situation went wrong. His associates might come to the capital. He supposed so. But—
Everything should be better, now that they were about to solve the problems in the Padi Valley.
But now they might be starting up again in the Marid.
He was not used to sitting still while mani and nand’ Bren went off into trouble, that was one thing. He was not used to knowing that his associates were just a train ride and a boat trip away—and he could not even talk to them. He had to go about his lessons and his routines and just ignore the fact that they were that close.
But—he had the freedom now to travel. Or at least—he had enough bodyguards that his parents thought he was safe, even if that had been tested. He was home. He was safe. Everything had worked out.
And Father was pleased with him, at least, for telling him about Machigi; and Mother was pleased with him for—well, he was not sure, except that he had not been a fool at Tirnamardi. Maybe that was all it took, after all. He had just done what he needed to do—he had stayed put and looked to his guard to protect him, because there was nothing else he was supposed to do. Maybe it was just that easy.
Only nothing ever was. His household had changed and he had not chosen the changes. They were not bad men, Rieni and the new aishid. In fact—they had made his aishid happy. Only—
Eisi and Liedi, besides taking care of Boji, now had to do everything for eight Guild, not four, and Rieni and his unit wanted an office. And a television. Which probably, regarding the news, was a good thing for them to have. But Antaro’s unit had no television—and was that fair?
He had no television. Mother had none. Father had one in his private rooms, but now it seemed a necessity his senior aishid wanted. He was not sure what considerations Father had promised the senior unit to get them to come into the household, but evidently they could get whatever they asked for, and a refrigerator in their office was another of those things.
It was not such a bad idea. It made it unnecessary for staff to run the long route to the kitchen at whatever hour. He had just never thought of needing such a thing—until, of course, he had his own apartment.
Which he could not have for years, being only fortunate nine.
But he had an aishid actually senior to Father’s. So having to run to the kitchen for this and that was something juniors should do for them, but for his insistence that the actual senior unit in his ranking of things was Antaro’s, which would never be understood among the general staff. It was all tangled up in an upside-down seniority, and in four extremely senior Guild who were used to comforts and conveniences.
At least Rieni was not asking Antaro’s unit to run errands, or laying another task on Eisi and Liedi, who had already been inconvenienced and overworked and moved out of their original quarters to let his senior aishid be closest to his bedroom.
It was all very complicated. And they were going to start hammering and sawing in the servants’ passage. And everything was going to spread out larger and larger.
Eisi and Liedi had stayed up late trying to organize what had gotten out of order in their traveling. And they had missed the laundry, for which Eisi had apologized, but it was not their fault. They were exhausted, doing every small thing for five people and answering the whims of a spoiled parid’ja.
He had been awake half the night thinking these thoughts. And not knowing what to do, but to go back to work on his lessons and stay where he was and not be involved if mani and nand’ Bren got into trouble. He just was—
Not happy, that was what was truly keeping him awake. Not happy. In spite of so many things going uncommonly well, he was locked in like Boji in his cage. As many eggs as Boji wanted Boji could have. But—it was still a cage. When Boji had been small, it had been enough. It had been safety for a foolish young parid’ja. Now—it was just a cage.
Sorry, he thought, looking back at the little black face looking at him through bronze filigree, the metal imitating flowers and vines Boji had never seen. If I let you into a forest now you will just sit and wait for eggs to come and starve to death. I am sorry. I think I am doing much the same.
Waiting for eggs. Foolish of me. I cannot stay like this. I am outgrowing my own cage. But there is no place for me, yet, either.
15
“The dowager is not displeased,” Banichi said in the morning, just that, which was a relief, after one had been put to improvising the night before, and without knowing whether the dowager’s retirement to her own car had signaled disgust for the entire enterprise or a wish to have a fresh encounter this morning.
And this morning, she was extraordinarily—late. Which one could suspect was because she had been reviewing the interesting parts of last night’s security recordings.
They were let through—there ca
me word from Cenedi that the passageways of his car and the dowager’s were both unlocked, at which point Bren, long since dressed for breakfast, ordered the passageway in his car unlocked, and the other two guests advised that they might come through. Nomari had waited to be advised; Machigi had met a locked passage door in Banichi’s car; and now with everything open, everybody could go through the galley car’s passage all the way to the Red Car.
Bren went first, quietly, thinking that the dowager might be in the Red Car, already at table, but no. He was the first to arrive, except two of Cenedi’s young men and four of Ilisidi’s servants. They had a round table set, a moveable affair from some source: it had displaced some of the usual seating, which had vanished as mysteriously as the table had apppeared—the first time in many journeys Bren had ever seen the car transformed. The table was linen-draped, with a service set for five persons. One seat was likely for Cenedi, to bring the company to a fortunate number. The rest of the bodyguards would stand, waiting for their breakfast until afterward.
Machigi arrived, with half his bodyguard, most likely by instruction; Nomari came, with two of his.
“I would, nandiin,” Bren said, “expect that this is the dowager’s place, mine to her left, her Guild-senior to her right.” It left Machigi and Nomari sitting side by side. “But wait.”
He remained standing. They did. And in no long time at all, the dowager herself arrived with Cenedi, Nawari, and two more of her usual bodyguard, so there was an overwhelming force of Guild on her side—should it be needed, which one sincerely did not expect.
“Nandiin, nadi,” she greeted them, and sat, as expected, in the nearest chair, arranging her napkin and smiling, while they took their seats. Back at the entry, servers from the galley brought tea and wafers to start.
Bindanda was, Bren was sure, assisting Ilisidi’s chef, and Nawari and Jeladi were helping with service, possibly yet to appear, or not. Ilisidi’s chef was in charge, and one only hoped she intended no tests of manners, loyalty, or tolerance for poisons.
She was still smiling, and specifically welcomed Nomari with, “We have a stranger to our table. The candidate for Ajuri. We trust our invitation has not inconvenienced you, nadi.”
“One was surprised, aiji-ma, and honored to be included.”
“Aiji-ma,” she said quietly, looking quizzical. “Indeed.”
The term of personal loyalty—which Machigi continually dodged. And she wickedly challenged it, for openers. Nomari looked far from oblivious, maybe not grasping the whole context involving Machigi, maybe taking it as a personal question, to which there was no useful answer, and wisely he did not try.
“Nand’ dowager,” Machigi said, smooth as silk.
“Well, well,” Ilisidi said, and picked up her teacup, after which they all could do the same. “A good morning to us all. You know where we are going. Do you, Nomari-nadi?”
“One is informed, yes, aiji-ma.”
“Have you ever visited Hasjuran?”
“No, aiji-ma. This will be the first time.”
A sip of tea. “Tell me,” she said, “have you ever been in the mountains, Lord Machigi?”
“No, nand’ dowager,” was the answer.
“One hopes you brought a warm coat.”
“A moderately warm one,” Machigi said, “but I would expect there is indoor heating.”
“Well, well, one hopes it will be adequate. And you, nadi?” This to Nomari.
“Aiji-ma, I shall manage.”
“Pish. We have called you into this chilly event with absolutely inadequate wardrobe, and alas, little forewarning for your staff. On the train, we shall manage, and we may use it as a refuge: we have electric heat, assuming the local station has the means to deliver power. I shall have my staff scour the local market at least for a winter coat. There is no need to suffer.”
God, she was playing the beneficent grandmother to the lot of them, himself possibly excluded. Something was on her mind.
Conversation ran on to the snow pack, the advent of winter in the highlands, and a query after the fishing in Sungeni this season, granted a severe and early storm front.
Breakfast ended, and as she took her cane from Cenedi’s hand and rose from the table, she said, ever so primly, “I think we shall detach the first several cars and send the train down to Koperna with an invitation, once we arrive in Hasjuran. Should we say you are here, Lord Machigi? Is it something Lord Bregani’s spies are adequate to learn in advance, or not?”
Machigi was not set off balance. “I could in no wise say, nand’ dowager. Perhaps we should ask the candidate for Ajuri to venture a guess.”
There was silence. Ilisidi turned a questioning look in Nomari’s direction. “Should we, or should we not, nadi, assume that the lord of Koperna is that well-informed on our business?”
“Lord Bregani might be made aware the Red Train had arrived in Hasjuran, but one is not sure the news would come very quickly, aiji-ma.”
“And will he tell Tiajo?”
“He might. But—if I were in his place, aiji-ma—”
“Go on.”
“She still might assume he was not to be trusted. He could offend you and refuse to come and still not make her happy.”
“Do amplify your thought, nadi.”
“If he ignores the invitation, he offends you. If he comes—he can always claim he was just looking for information. But even so it might not move Tiajo.”
Ilisidi arched a brow. “Indeed, nadi. And aside from your own choices, what do you think Lord Bregani is apt to do?”
“I think it would not go well, aiji-ma, whichever he chooses, but that is only my opinion.”
“Your opinion was our request, nadi.” And to Machigi: “And what do you think of his situation, nandi?”
“That would depend on Tiajo’s mood of the hour,” Machigi said. “He might run to her instead, but that would afford him no protection, and he has enemies in her court, as likely you know. Her advisers pull her one way and another, she trusts no one, and her extreme temper fits take lives she may later regret, but then—there is no way to mend an assassination.”
“Indeed not.” Ilisidi nodded thoughtfully. “How is Bregani? What of his stability?”
“Bregani is scared,” Machigi said, “and though he has played the fool to survive, reports are—are they not, nadi?—that he is not a fool, though he is certainly not my ally. Will eliminating Tiajo make him a threat? One cannot entirely predict.”
“Hasjuran,” Ilisidi said, “seems the sort of place where spies may come and go. The question remains to whom they report. There are so many choices.”
* * *
• • •
The hammering had started up again in the servants’ passage, and there was music playing down the hall, his mother’s defense of Seimei’s naptime. Nothing in the house could be settled with that going on, and now a drill had added itself to the racket, which set Boji off. Peace and quiet had fled the house, Father was working down on the first floor, in his formal office, and Mother was considering moving herself and Seimei down the hall to guest with Uncle Tatiseigi. Cajeiri thought he might himself take refuge with nand’ Bren’s staff.
But that seemed a desertion, since his household was the source of it all. He felt responsible for the disturbance, and he felt that, whoever fled, he should be the last. He simply sat down at his desk and opened his book on laws and regulations and tried to remember where he had been when everything had gone wrong and he had left his regular lessons with his tutor. He had, besides, a list of things to ask, that he had written down from as diverse places as the space station and Uncle Tatiseigi’s estate, things about history and things about the treaty that had atevi and humans sharing the station.
And things about Ajuri. A great deal about Ajuri, and the history of the Nichono line.
Someone came to the door, no
secret, since they had no proper foyer, but it was fairly unusual. Perhaps, he thought, Mother really was leaving him in charge.
Back came Eisi from the door, bearing the message bowl, and a single cylinder, with Father’s sigil on it.
He opened it. It was not from Father, but from Father’s major domo, to him.
It said: Considering the burden of expanded personnel in your residence, young gentleman, and a point of decision regarding the revision of the servants’ passages, it would be appropriate for you to request an increase in domestic staff. Your esteemed father concurs. Be assured of my cooperation at all levels.
It did not say, Consult your father.
It did not say, precisely, what to do or what sort of increase to ask for.
He sat at the writing desk he maintained in the sitting room. He could go to his small office—but it had no resources except the means to phone Father downstairs and ask, and what the major d’ had sent him actually had the flavor of one of Father’s messages: this is a test . . . do something.
He understood about household budget. Sometimes he was included in it. Sometimes, as when he had new wardrobe for an event, he heard about payment, but he had never in his life handled money, and he was not sure even Father had. Papers went back and forth and drew against the house account, which Father said he meant to keep within limits.
But he had no idea even how much it cost to have one servant, and he could not just send to the major d’ and say, send me servants. He supposed, like Eisi and Liedi, they would just be reassigned to his household, but how many—he did not know.
The persons who really might know such things were the seniors, he thought; but the persons who should most have a word in the matter were Eisi and Liedi, who were the ones most affected. He thought about it. And he rang for them.
They came from the back of the suite, where everything was going on, and where both sets of his bodyguard were apparently involved with the hammering and sawing. They stood by his desk, two grown men, not nearly as old or as experienced as the seniors, but like his younger aishid, they had seen a great deal of the world, attending him.
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