Resurgence

by C. J. Cherryh

  It will be a good thing, he would tell Boji, if he could communicate that far. No more cage. No more leash.

  You will have associates with you. Furry ones. You will have to dig your eggs, and they will not come boiled.

  Perhaps I shall tell the keepers you like them that way, sometimes.

  Screech.

  It was dinnertime. That was one thing in the world Boji understood very clearly.

  * * *

  • • •

  Drinks had preceded dinner, plain wine and ale, nothing that extraordinary, and while the crowd milled about and conversation grew loud and louder, Lord Topari on his own had found a well-padded wooden chair for the dowager, and several slightly less well-cushioned chairs for the rest of them.

  Topari hovered constantly near, supervising, personally keeping a clear space around them, seeing to it that guests wishing to be presented to the dowager whisked near and away again in fair order.

  There were merchants, tradesmen, craftsmen, and town dignitaries, and a small solemn band of townsfolk back at the edge of it all, which seemed to change from time to time, people in heavy furs, having come in from the cold, and then going back out into it. Topari advised them, too, there was another contingent coming in who would take some time getting here from the villages, but they were coming, and hoped to arrive before the dowager left.

  The news of their arrival getting out to the villages might not please the Guild, but it was hard to prevent. Meanwhile Ilisidi seemed perfectly pleased, at her gracious best with the ones introduced and untroubled by the onlookers. Lord Machigi and Nomari had settled near the dowager, not courted, but definitely observed—anxiously.

  A human sitting by them had to be one reason for the furtive stares. Bren left his chair, ostensibly to speak to his aishid, but also to catch a little detail in the conversations beyond. He naturally drew anxious stares, and some darker, worried looks—he could not blame them: between Machigi’s presence and the unprecedented appearance of a human in Hasjuran, strangeness and threat had arrived in their midst on very short notice and with no explanation. They might not even be sure which of the two men was Machigi, but one was, and that was a southern neighbor with a reputation for retaliation.

  And the aiji-dowager, twice aiji—was power of a kind that received visitors in Shejidan, never appearing in such places as Hasjuran. Yet here she sat, and Ilisidi, unlike Machigi, smiled at them. Those paying personal respects to Ilisidi arrived mostly shy and anxious, while Topari hovered at their shoulders, supplying names for the tongue-tied, trying to manage protocol, while Ilisidi herself radiated a grandmotherly serenity that dealt equally with the shy mill owner and the more assured head of the Merchants’ Guild, and sent people away to join the dinner crowd in a kind of stunned relief.

  It was over all a rustic and traditional community on display, a gathering which, Bren thought, explained a lot about Lord Topari—anxious to better his standing, but also anxious to better his people; ill at ease in the formality of the Bujavid, but among his own, protective, trying to make things work, and not sure anything was safe. Children, rarely seen at a Bujavid state dinner, cycled through with the fur-wrapped onlookers. A parid’ja, or something reasonably like it, scurried into the hall and dived under a table, to the consternation of serving staff, and then retreated to the exposed rafters. Topari waved off those trying to retrieve it and tried to resume his introduction of the local numerologist. The smell of wood smoke overpowered everything but the evergreen, not unpleasant at all, after the initial waft of melting snow on furs, which had been hastily carried off by servants. The room was beyond warm. Nomari in his light coat was surely faring much better than he had on the way from the train.

  And all during the introduction and drinks, servants had begun carrying in perilously full and steaming soup tureens, noisily bringing in an extra table, arranging tableware and runner. Superintending all the fuss, the major d’ kept running back and forth, occasionally carrying dishes himself.

  Bindanda was somewhere behind all that confusion, Bren trusted, along with the dowager’s own cook and her physician Siegi, doubtless interfering back there, lifting pot lids, sniffing sauces, asking locals to taste a dish, and generally giving the local staff fits of anxiety, making them aware what should not be served to the paidhi-aiji, and what the aiji-dowager preferred to be served.

  It was a risk, accepting a dinner invitation, but with late notice to Topari, mischief had had very little time to plan or act.

  A human was, however, in serious danger of innocent mistakes, and was wiser not to eat or drink anything he could not identify down to the spices. Bread was, Bindanda had generally informed him, the best recourse under chancy circumstances, and so long as he was resident on the train, he stood in no danger of starving.

  Jeladi had reached him from Bindanda’s side, however, as their host began to direct people to table. “Nandi, the seasonal game dish is simple, and is safe, likewise the yellow pickle and the winter root vegetable are safe. Do not add the red spice.”

  That was good news. The aroma of roast had been mingling with wood smoke and evergreen ever since they had come into the hall, and Bren was glad to be able to take that item onto his plate, along with the roasted winter tubers. It was a feast that made no apology for its rustic simplicity, and he found himself in a massive chair—his feet did not touch the floor—in an overheated hall, with a plate of far more abundance than he could eat and an assurance he would not die of it. It was not wine they poured, but ale, which he had never had in lowland dinners, a drink Jeladi poured for him; and a very good ale, at that.

  The spectators continued to cycle through, with occasional wafts of an opened outside door. And the noise of conversation made it hard to hear anything distinctly. He had Nomari on his left, Topari on his right, the dowager and Machigi beyond them, in an order he was fairly sure the dowager had chosen, and there seemed no intention of speeches to get in the way of food and drink.

  Only after they had been well-fed, Topari banged his knife against his metal charger to gain quiet in the hall, and proclaimed, “Welcome to the aiji-dowager and her guests!”

  That was a fairly diplomatic way to navigate tricky protocols.

  “She is our aiji-dowager, our firm ally, and forever welcome in Hasjuran!”

  Cheers went up. Ilisidi acknowledged them with a nod and an uplifted hand. “We are extremely appreciative of the hospitality of Lord Topari and all of Hasjuran.”

  Another cheer.

  A second uplifted hand. “I shall trust the paidhi-aiji to remark on our purpose here and to arrange certain meetings. You will have noted the departure of the Red Train this evening, on a mission we hope will open further dialogue. If it does, this meeting will go one way. If it does not, it will go another. In either event, we have confidence in the man’chi of Hasjuran. Nand’ paidhi?”

  God. The chair was a trap. He attempted to push it back and stand, respectfully, trying to gather his thoughts.

  Banichi saved him, together with Jago, pulling the ironwood chair back a bit, so he could slip down and set his feet on the floor.

  “One is honored,” he began, the universal start to a polite request, which gave him two seconds to frame a reply, and to start with the obvious anomaly in their midst. “I thank the aiji-dowager, and Lord Topari. I thank Hasjuran for a warm and excellent welcome. I am personally grateful for your welcome of the first of my kind to visit this highest point of the continent. In my capacity as an official of the court in Shejidan, in service to the aiji-dowager, I thank you for your welcome for the two guests of the aiji-dowager, who are here in support of her efforts. Her mission here will, with you, await the return of the train tomorrow, and hope that it brings an answer favorable to you and to the aishidi’tat. May good fortune attend, may luck be with us all, and let us thank the provider of this excellent food and drink—Lord Topari.”

  Which obl
iged Lord Topari to take the floor himself, which let the paidhi-aiji settle back into his chair without too obvious a move to achieve a too-high seat, as his bodyguard eased the chair back into place at the table.

  “Honored guests,” Lord Topari began, and began elaborating on the scope of the honor Hasjuran was given, among them the novelty of a human guest—fairly graciously done—and the unprecedented visit of Lord Machigi, a new power in the southern Marid, as Topari described him, and a close ally of the aiji-dowager . . .

  Machigi could not be displeased by that. Topari was doing rather well, in his own element, supported by his people.

  Then Topari finished with the introduction of Nomari as potentially the lord of Ajuri, and potentially an ally of the dowager . . .

  Well, that might be true, granted Nomari survived the honor. Bren darted a glance at Ilisidi’s reaction to that statement, but Ilisidi had chosen that moment to take a sip of her cup, and remained unreadable. Nomari’s glance in the same direction was not quite expressionless. One might say—dismayed.

  Topari went on to cite history going back to the first rail to reach the mountains, and the building of the descending rail to the Marid “despite assassinations.”

  There had been no few, and it was not a history useful to raise now, since it was part of a general war with the Marid.

  Intervene? He had no leverage on the damned chair, on the rough stone cobbles.

  “Lord Topari,” he said, and Banichi and Jago quickly assisted. He gained his feet. “Surely the part Hasjuran has had in the expansion of rail and communication will be a forecast of its future, as Hasjuran itself will come off well if things go smoothly. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He glanced about, trying to catch a signal from Ilisidi, and saw a clear cue in a slight nod. “Your hospitality is extraordinary, your table in no wise disappoints, and the dowager is pleased. But it has been a long journey, and the dowager will retire now to rest. We shall surely have some news tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” Topari said. “Of course, nand’ dowager.”

  Cenedi and Nawari moved Ilisidi’s chair back, and Cenedi handed her her cane, with which she ably slipped down to her feet and lifted a hand glittering with rings. “We shall see to our own needs until the train returns, nandi, nandiin, nadiin, and then we shall see. Offer up favorable thoughts, and perhaps tomorrow we will have information. Favor and fortune on this house, and on the people of Hasjuran.”

  That pleased everybody.

  “Coats!” Topari called out, and staff—one assumed they were staff—made shift to bring coats to their owners. Bodyguards took them, and deftly assured themselves they were proper, even while they assisted their principals to put them on.

  And, without any fanfare or explanation, a heavy fur was found for Nomari, a little large, but very fine quality, and his bodyguard helped him with it, doubtless informing him whom to thank.

  Bren fastened his own buttons, Jago standing very close. He had managed, quietly, to shift his small pistol to Jago in shedding his outdoor coat, and now, quietly, that weight slipped back into his right-hand pocket. They had an agreement about that gun. If trouble happened, the gun was not to assist his bodyguard. But there had been moments he had been glad to have it.

  And he would be carrying it in every outing, with the same arrangement. Hasjuran, with rifles generally resting with the coats during dinner, rearmed itself, and the Guild, in heavy attendance, and waiting their own dinners back aboard the train, never disarmed, never sat, never left their individual charges.

  Was Hasjuran made anxious by so much presence? It was the aiji-dowager. It was the touch of Shejidan and the Guild, it was—

  Well, one hoped it spun out as pageantry and not as the threat it could become in an instant. Certainly the people seemed happy enough, buzzing in conversation, people still approaching the dowager to bow and offer felicitations, and as the doors opened to a waft of cold wind that fluttered the fire in the fireplace, everybody moved right along with the dowager’s guard, apparently intent on escorting them all down the several flights of stairs and back to the train platform. Ilisidi could prevent that with a word, but Topari himself had donned his coat and his gloves and hurried to go with them—a slow matter, the dowager’s negotiation of the several flights of stairs, but there were young folk out with brooms clearing the steps, adding sand, providing woven mats down certain places the dowager would walk and whisking them away to use again on lower levels.

  In that fashion they reached the broad snowy courtyard under a dark and snowing sky. There were electric lights, fashioned to look like torches, and the picturesque buildings had their lights, as well as the train platform. As they came up onto the platform, the Red Car opened a door to welcome them, a rectangle of paler, foreign light.

  They climbed aboard, the very last of the Guild filed in and closed the door. Ilisidi shed her cloak, bright-eyed and with snow still melting on her hair.

  “Well!” she said, “we are none of us poisoned. Nand’ paidhi, you will stay a moment; Lord Machigi and Nomari-nadi, we shall bid you good night, and we have ordered brandy for you in your separate cars, which may take the chill off.”

  That was a fairly quick dismissal. Something was up, Bren thought, something Cenedi might have passed to her.

  The disinvited guests filed out, with their bodyguards. Bindanda and Jeladi went. Ilisidi, having handed Nawari her cane, sat at the end of a bench seat, taking her gloves off. One of her own servants put a brandy glass on the table beside her hand, and Ilisidi picked it up, murmuring, “One for the paidhi. Sit.”

  Bren took his own gloves off and, bulky coat and all, sat down on the end of the opposing bench. A brandy glass arrived in front of him.

  “One is concerned, aiji-ma. Are you well? That was a long stairs.”

  “Pish. The air is thin and my cloak is unreasonably heavy. We are quite well.” Ilisidi took a sip of the brandy and drew another deep breath. “Cold is not a difficulty. How are you faring, paidhi?”

  “I feel the thin air, but the mountains are a pleasure. And it is an interesting place. Have you a concern, aiji-ma?”

  “Topari, as ever, entertains us. And is innocent as a babe. But we are informed that these neighbors of his, the ones he says are coming in tomorrow, are delayed by the potential for avalanche, and one is tempted to assist one to happen, given the back country routes that may run down to the Marid. We are just as glad they have not arrived, and may not arrive.”

  “The same that came to Shejidan with him?”

  “No. Those were present tonight, causing no difficulty. I have advised Lord Machigi of these less felicitous neighbors, and he understands. They are not smugglers, but they sit in dangerous proximity to routes such people use. We are informing Lord Topari that he will find a way to engage and divert these people if they do brave the avalanche to get here, or we shall, quietly, discreetly, comfortably, but definitively. We shall likewise, by tomorrow, either have Lord Bregani with us, or we shall have him sending to the Dojisigin to seek help of that young fool Tiajo. Were he to ask me, which perhaps he will, he will have a far longer life trusting Machigi—granted Machigi himself can be persuaded to forego revenge.”

  “His father’s assassination . . .”

  “. . . May have launched from Senjin, but the organization and origin was Dojisigi. This entire maneuver is Machigi’s notion, his idea that Senjin has come in play—” Ilisidi coughed and took a sip of brandy. “Dry air, paidhi.”

  “It affects me, too.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “I am pleased to be. I admire your fortitude, aiji-ma. I do extremely admire it. But please, be cautious of your health. Send me wherever I can be sent.”

  Ilisidi nodded. “We shall conduct business here, and possibly in your car. Our two guests are reported to have met cordially—Machigi has invited the prospective lord of Ajuri to his car, and they have had a
quiet meeting, not at all productive of much information, however. Machigi is uncommonly cordial, Nomari anxious, but perhaps he is aware that he himself, if he survives this excursion, will become a power in his own right.” A cough. A sip of brandy. “He seems a modest fellow, this Ajuri candidate. He has been so with his appointed staff and bodyguard. His staff has had to correct him. He has thanked them quite nicely. We assume he knows he is watched, likely that he is monitored. But all the same, modesty is a becoming trait, until it needs to become authority. Can he make that step, paidhi? And will he cast his own shadow?”

  “I find common sense in him, thus far. Modesty, yes. Common sense, and a sensible awareness that his is a dangerous situation. He is aware of your dealings with Machigi. One believes he knows that Machigi’s relationship to the aishidi’tat is uneasy; and one believes he knows that there is a delicate situation in his having gained Lord Tatiseigi’s approval without gaining yours.”

  “To put it delicately.” A sip. “Does he think my acceptance is guaranteed?”

  “I think he believes it is far from guaranteed. I think he wishes to have it. I am not sure he understands the intricacies involved in his association with the aiji-consort in that regard.”

  Ilisidi gave a short, soundless laugh. “Say it. He is standing on a faultline, and the aiji-consort has made a very wide move to establish herself in Ajuri.”

  That was to say, Damiri’s offering her daughter as Tatiseigi’s heir.

  “I think in all of that there are two people you may trust to guard your interests: Lord Tatiseigi and your great-grandson. And your grandson as well, I strongly believe, aiji-ma.”

  “And this pretender to Ajuri?”

  “He would make a serious error to widen that gap on which he stands, aiji-ma. I have hesitated to advise him on the point, hoping he will acquire that understanding on his own. He knows that without your approval, his gaining the lordship is almost impossible. He surely knows that Ajuri is a difficult and dangerous lordship, in which he will have to change the course Ajuri has followed for decades, or become another murdered lord. He would surely wish your approval—and he may be increasingly aware that his two most essential associations are dangerously at variance with each other. Machigi is the least of his worries.”