Resurgence

by C. J. Cherryh

  Stay overnight under Topari’s roof? He truly did not think so. But apparently some sort of dinner was planned, and he had packed for the worst—or Narani and Jeladi had. He had coats, not the latest style, since his last brush with winter weather had been some time back—but in Hasjuran, in Hasjuran’s definition of cold, the latest and fussiest style was not that great a concern.

  He enjoyed a late cup of tea with the dowager, who had apparently grown bored, a sociable, quiet cup of tea in the Red Car, and without significant information on any hand, the dowager talked about wildlife, and hunting, and a landscape they had no ability to see.

  During that session they ceased steady climbing and gathered speed on long level track, which proved, if his tracking of their course was correct, that they had finally reached the high valley, with occasional climbs, that foretold arrival in Hasjuran. Indeed, Tano reported they were about two hours from the station, and presumably—a little more than two hours before dinner.

  Late afternoon, Jago had predicted. At least it would still be daylight, though the lack of windows could hardly inform them.

  “The word has passed, Bren-ji,” Banichi said when he returned to his own car. “The aiji-dowager has officially informed Lord Topari of her visit—he was not informed until now.”

  “A considerable surprise to spring on him,” Bren said. Topari was excitable to say the least, and granted his security was informal, the dowager had good reason not to have given him more warning.

  Or told him she had invited herself and her entire entourage to dinner.

  “Indeed,” Banichi said, “and she has expressed the wish to dine under his roof, should he extend the invitation. He has replied that he is delighted and will welcome her.”

  “Has she happened to mention Lord Machigi?”

  Banichi put on a wry expression. “One does not believe that that information was in the message. But Lord Topari has invited her and her party, and she has expressed interest in seeing his hall. We are informed this will not be an overnight visit. Your security is thankful for that. But there will be supper, and one is certain Topari will do his best, but do have care, Bren-ji. These people have never seen a human.”

  He thought of Malguri, and cups of tea, and resolved to eat and drink only what he could absolutely identify. He had very much hoped she would pursue her interviews inside the comfort and safety of the train—with Bindanda on guard in the galley.

  But was he utterly surprised? It was Ilisidi’s nature to place herself where she could directly view and assess, stake out a position and challenge another lord face to face. And if Hasjuran was rustic, well, her own Malguri was little changed from the feudal past—excepting its security systems. The plumbing and the lighting in Hasjuran would certainly not be of the current century. Fireplaces. Live fire for lighting.

  And plenty of shadows, one could expect. A great many shadows and pillars and dark hallways where trouble might move.

  If they were not closer than usual to a region that would wish to kill them all he might muster the fortitude to call it picaresque and enjoy the novelty—while being on his guard regarding the menu.

  Since, however, they were within reach of Senjin and Tiajo’s Dojisigin, and since they were about to stir that nest with a stick—

  “Rani-ji,” he said, finding Narani near the wardrobe storage steaming wrinkles from his winter coat, “—did you chance to pack the contents of my second dresser drawer?”

  A discreet nod in the affirmative. He had not carried the gun to Mospheira. He certainly did not routinely carry it about the halls of the Bujavid, or Najida.

  “Good,” he said, and was comforted to know that would turn up in his outside coat pocket. Bodyguards, his and the dowager’s, and the Guild unit protecting Nomari—had enough to do, and no telling what their situation might become, if there chanced to be any other guests.

  * * *

  • • •

  Onami had talked to Father. Father had approved. It was nearly certain, then. And Cajeiri went down the hall, just with Antaro, informally, to knock and then wait outside while he met with Mother.

  Beha, Seimei’s nurse, answered the door, met him with a little bow.

  Seimiro’s crib was gone from the sitting room, with its tall, filmy curtains and its wonderful windows. It was all chairs and small tables again. The hammering and sawing had forced the move. He was sorry for that.

  “Is my mother receiving?”

  Beha widened the gap and let him in. He had come unattended—it was the inmost hallway, the most secure place in the Bujavid. Nothing moved here that the security station failed to note.

  “Come in, aiji-meni. Wait a moment.”

  “Yes,” he said, and Beha went back into the inner rooms.

  Manners said he should simply wait where he stood, but the windows were a rare view of the outside—closed, now, when before they had admitted summer breezes and flared the curtains in a wonderful way. They were the greatest beauty of the whole residence, in his opinion, something he so wished he had. Mother and Father both had windows, and Seimei had enjoyed them for a while.

  But probably it was not only the noise. Perhaps they were beginning to think of fall, and cold air—morning chill off the southern mountains was fairly brisk. Mani, who owned another set of windows in her apartment, was very happy in a chill wind. But it was a bit much for his sister.

  Or maybe being the heir to Atageini clan had changed her life, and deepened her security. He hoped it would not close too tightly about her.

  There was still a view, however, of the fairground and some of the hotels, and the sitting room had gone back to being his mother’s sitting room, for visitors. If Mother had visitors—which she never did, since Grandfather was dead and all her Ajuri household was lost.

  Maybe, once Nomari held Ajuri, there would be visitors. He had not thought before how isolated Mother had been—until he had seen her at Tirnamardi, so definite and so assured, and dealing very well with Uncle . . . and then here, back in her apartment, seeing no one that was not one of Father’s guests, and the only visitors all wanting to see the baby. Uncle had not come, and he had most interest. He had not invited Mother, either, or Mother had not accepted.

  She just did not travel—except that one venture to Tirnamardi, when she most had to. She had been anxious to be back here, anxious to have everyone back under Guild protection.

  Now Mother had pulled Seimei deeper into her apartments, no more visitors for Seimei, and still none for Mother.

  Beha had not even offered tea while he waited.

  That was—well, that was not right. That was not healthy. Yes, he was here on business, but Beha had no inkling of that. And yes, he was living under the same roof, but he was not dashing in and out again to deliver a message Antaro could have brought.

  Mother arrived, wearing a plain green coat with a deal of lace—she always looked beautiful, always dressed for company, always that Cajeiri could remember.

  “Son of mine,” she said.

  “Honored Mother,” he said, and gave a little bow. “Might there be tea? Have you time?”

  “Indeed,” Mother said, and rang a bell. Beha entered, and at a signal, quietly set about the making of it. “It seems quieter in your area today.”

  “We are nearly settled, Honored Mother. There will be plastering and painting, and cabinets. So I understand. But it will be quieter. I am so sorry about the noise. But we are mostly down to noise on the lower floor, now. They are giving us a storage section. Just a small one.”

  “The new servants?”

  “Seem very good. They are mostly learning right now. Eisi and Liedi are very particular.”

  “Eisi and Liedi are good people,” Mother said. “They have taken very good care of you.”

  “Eisi is to be major domo in my household,” he said, “and Liedi the doorman, has Father ment
ioned? Eisi says it is a good thing these new people are younger. So when Eisi and Liedi are old and retire, there will be a succession.”

  “You are looking ahead. And your new bodyguard, the cause of all the hammering and the dust . . . I understand they are setting up their own security station.”

  “We are doing very well, Honored Mother. Everybody is getting along. How is Seimei?”

  “Sleeping more peacefully in the farthest room,” Mother said, and Cajeiri felt a little warmth rise to his face.

  “One is so sorry.”

  Mother shrugged. “Well, it cannot be helped, can it? As you say, it will pass and things will settle. I hear you are looking for a place for Boji.”

  Considering his mother had disapproved of Boji from the beginning, it was a moderate thing to say.

  “Onami, fourth of the new guard . . . Onami knows a park that wants him. Where there are trees, and visitors will be behind a window, so he will be safe. Father approves the idea.”

  “It sounds like an excellent solution.”

  “And, Honored Mother, the park wants to advertise he was mine. And for me to write something for a plaque, to bring visitors.”

  “Are you sure the visitors will be protected? It would not be favorable publicity if he bit someone.”

  “One would not want that. One would not want Boji scared, either.”

  Mother smiled a little. “Honomiri Park, is it?”

  “You know it.”

  “When I was very young. It is a very little park. Not as well-kept as one would wish. But, well, for your first public gesture to be a gift to a park—there is very little controversy about that.”

  “I just want Boji to be taken care of. To have as many eggs as he ever wants. And I do not think he could take care of himself if I just turned him loose in the wild. He is not wild.”

  “No, he is not. But perhaps we should ask knowledgable people to take a look at the place and make suggestions, those egg-farms who keep the creatures, among the first, one would think, and perhaps biologists, and the park keepers. The enclosure should be proper.”

  “With trees. They say there are real trees.”

  “Exactly.” Mother signaled more tea.

  “With more of his kind, they are saying.”

  “A small colony. However shall they fence them in?”

  “High walls. And there will be sand with eggs to dig. The director says they can bury them.”

  It was a happy conversation, none of it serious enough to put down the cups. It was the first absolutely trouble-free conversation on his business they had ever had, and Mother agreed if they could create excitement about the park, it might merit support from the city, as a public attraction. Other exhibits gained grants, and sponsorships from businesses who then put their names on plaques. And if his name was on the plaque—

  “Can I sponsor him?” The thought came to him. “I do not know how one does that, but might I?”

  “Talk to your father. If your name is going to be there, it cannot be shabby. One is quite sure the park knows that, and will use it. But again—it is not a bad thing, is it, not bad for Boji and not a bad way to become a presence in the city. Your grandfather in his early years made himself notorious with his private entertainments. A gift to this park, in your own name, is a wholesome, modest sort of thing. But talk to your father. Be sure this thing is done well, and responsibly.”

  “Honored Mother, I shall. I promise.”

  “He has been, over all, a good creature,” Mother said, which was the nicest thing she had ever said about Boji. “And a good influence.”

  An influence, Cajeiri thought. He had had to look after a creature very talented at escapes and mischief—which had greatly limited his own. He had learned, on his own, the folly of going off against the rules. So he had never gotten to show it was not all Boji’s influence. But it was at least partly Boji’s influence. He had learned what it was to worry about a silly, escape-prone parid’ja.

  So in just this summer, this wild and dangerous and now fading summer, he had found himself growing up, and he was not sure he wanted it. He was not through with being a child. He had not had enough of taking chances as he saw them. He would like to be completely irresponsible for just a little longer, but there was no choice about it. He owed so many people so much, he could not go on being Boji, and silly, and self-centered, could he?

  18

  Snow. That was the first impression as Bren, behind Banichi and Jago and ahead of Tano and Algini, stepped down from the Red Car.

  Wind and thin, cold air.

  A mountain face, layered with snow, casting premature dusk on the town. The eave of a wooden structure and the open deck of the platform.

  He had loved skiing, in his youth. There had been a bus, and offloading all his gear from the underside had been exciting, a prospect of pure enjoyment. Now it was atevi faces meeting them in the steam of the train, atevi in furs and heavy coats, and he was not on a snowy outing with Toby . . . but with a comfortingly heavy complement of Assassins’ Guild black.

  Topari was there to meet them. Topari was in his own element, here, when all their meetings before had been in the halls of the Bujavid. One could read the man’s extreme anxiousness—and very strangely, his undisguised relief to recognize a pale human face . . . a known quantity, to mediate between him and the towering prestige of the dowager as a guest. In all the uncertainty of the visit, it was a strange and mutual relief, despite past moments . . . despite Topari’s uncertainty as to whether humans were, well . . . really people.

  “Nand’ paidhi!” Topari cried, breath frosting. “Welcome! Is she here?”

  She. Of course, the dowager, who did not favor being shouted about across a train platform.

  Bren gave a little bow, waited until Topari had reached conversational distance before answering, in a tone just above the chuff and hiss of the waiting engine. “Yes, nandi, the aiji-dowager is indeed here, and she will be pleased to see you. She will be along any moment now.”

  “This is a great honor!”

  “Indeed it is, nandi. And there is a good prospect for you in this visit. She has chosen your town for a very important meeting, one in which you may well benefit, if you can please her and play the discreet host to very uncommon circumstances. Just let her unfold the details in her own way—in her own way, nandi, at all times, and at her own pace. That is very important.”

  The man, bundled in furs, was all but shivering in his uncertainty. “Shall I speak to her directly? Do you advise it?”

  It was amazing: cornered in his own element, this was not the brash outsider Topari had been in the halls of the Bujavid. Here was reserve, and caution. Perhaps it had been nerves, in that environment.

  But more people were crowding onto the platform, a disorder that threatened their orderly debarkation.

  Bren cast a glance around about and spied one of Topari’s guards, only two, inconspicuous in their fur-edged coats, carrying rifles, not that different in that respect from a number of other armed bystanders on the platform. In all this anonymity of dress, non-Guild guards and bulk of furs, he could read the anxiousness of his own aishid, while a number of other black-uniformed Guild were coming off the train, beginning to move the crowd back.

  “Nand’ Topari, you shall indeed be presented to her when she comes out, but let me urge you—the dowager’s presence, even unannounced, presents a risk to everybody, given her enemies—please take advice from me, have your guard constantly about you during her visit, and let them discourage onlookers pressing too close to her. There is ice, she is elderly. She is a stickler for protocols, an absolute stickler and should not be touched, excepting her own bodyguard. She is Eastern, extreme in her observance of her customs, and this is a moment of greatest hazard and greatest opportunity for you. She has things ultimately she will say, but her custom is to go through the courtes
ies first, many of them, probably with no information forthcoming this evening.”

  He was gently moving the man back from Ilisidi’s likely path, trying to manage the encounter.

  “Paidhi, what things has she come to say?”

  “One would never dare speak for the dowager,” Bren said, no hesitation to turn that question. They were standing very close, breath frosting about them, and he said in a very low voice, “Nand’ Topari, I do not see but two bodyguards that I recognize. Are things well here, in terms of security? Do not hesitate to tell me if they are not.”

  Eyes widened. “Yes, paidhi. Amdi and Reni are here. The other two are coming at any moment.”

  “Observe protocols. Keep your bodyguard very close and on alert until the dowager departs, and order them very strictly to tell one of our Guild if they spot anything in the least out of order, anything in the least suspicious. I tell you, nand’ Topari, there is great gain you can make in the next few days, but security surrounding the dowager’s presence and that of everyone with her is absolutely mandatory. Of course you have your habits and your customs, but you must guard yourself as well as her. Any persons with Marid associations are particularly to watch, any strangers here are to be watched, and her security must be made aware of them and their whereabouts at all times. I need not tell you the seriousness of any injury to her, or to any person under her escort. As well as yourself, nandi, so please take due precautions. I cannot overstress the immediacy of the threat her presence brings, or the importance it is about to accord your house and your town.”

  “I shall, paidhi, I shall protect her! My guard will be here!” Topari rushed aside to the guard he called Amdi and issued fervent orders close to the man’s ear. Amdi spoke to his partner, then pushed an old-fashioned communications contact under his own collar and started, one presumed, ordering the other half of his team to get here at all speed and do their best.

  “One believes the lord has just understood,” Banichi said, close by Bren’s right. “One hopes so.”