Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  20

  Uncle had invited Nomari to dinner—a country dinner, of a sort that did not require the utmost in dress, but certainly Nomari’s mended coat and workman’s trousers and boots were not what one would choose to wear to table at Tirnamardi.

  It was, however, a trial of sorts, and dress was a minor thing under the circumstances.

  Manners were not. And, Cajeiri thought, manners showed a lot of things, and communicated a lot of things. But even those, Uncle seemed disposed to glance past. They had no doubt now that Nomari was who he said he was. Aunt Geidaro had met him and known exactly who he was. Aunt Geidaro’s emotional reaction alone might be reason enough for a dinner invitation. But Nomari had flaws, as well. Cajeiri had seen them. In his position, in Uncle’s house, under Uncle’s protection, he should have had confidence in Uncle. He should have shut down, and kept quiet, and maintained a quiet all about him. And he had not. That was a problem.

  That had disturbed Uncle somewhat. But Uncle had asked him to take tea. And Nomari had settled and quite properly begged pardon.

  Then Uncle had asked Nomari to dinner tonight. That was how it had gone.

  But Nomari had not had a clan lord’s upbringing, if one took Nomari’s account for the truth. His house had never been that sort—had been, really, nothing except a bloodline a little too close to the lords of Ajuri. He could have gone off to study, eventually. He could have gone into, well, those things people of good education did, and made his own living and had a family to do much the same, on into generations . . .

  Except they had lived for a time in Ajiden, a little too close to the lords, and Nomari’s father had had an opinion about the way the clan’s business was going. He might be only fortunate nine years, but he could figure that far. He could imagine that big house, with its two wings, and all of a sudden, they moved out one mecheita herd and brought in another.

  Why? Incompatible herds. One, in which a child had ridden. One in which he was not permitted to ride. The second herd was not one with a mecheita a young child could handle. That said something. That herd was protective of the house, of the grounds. That herd was there to protect—against some threat.

  And lords had died, one after the other, despite that. Nomari’s father had spoken his mind—speaking out might run in the family—and died for it.

  Nomari had to learn better than that, if he was going to take Ajuri. He had to be smarter and better than that.

  Was he who he said he was? Aunt Geidaro certainly indicated he was.

  But he could not be a fool, either. What was it mani had said? Principles make a good rudder, but a very poor sail. Do not fly them. Steer with them.

  He really had not understood when she said it. But he thought about that now, and the position Nomari’s father had been in—with no way to change what was going on, because he had not understood where the trouble was coming from. Ajuri had blamed mani, and Uncle. And Father. And now Nomari had come to Uncle for help.

  That was a change in everything.

  He wished he could ask Mother. He had never been in a position to think that, but he really wished Mother could meet Nomari. And maybe then things would be clear.

  “Nandi.” Eisi brought one of his pretty collar pins, a bright topaz jewel, but he declined it.

  “Our guest is in work clothes,” he said. He had picked his own plainest brown coat, and he was sure Uncle would dress down, too, though the food would be the best in the midlands. “I shall just take the plain pin, Eisi-ji. Please. And no, Boji, it is not a toy. You may not have it.”

  Boji was bored, stuffed full of eggs, and bored. He hung on the filigree flowers of the cage and stretched out an imploring hand.

  “Poor fellow,” Cajeiri said. “We are freeing one prisoner tonight, but it cannot be you. What would you like? Liedi, his mirror. Give him his mirror. He wants a shiny thing.”

  Liedi brought it. Boji took it and retreated to a perch, where he alternately looked in it and flashed light with it, and bit it.

  Sun was leaving the windows, so the rain spots showed clearly against the fading light.

  It was a gray evening becoming a soggy night.

  And tomorrow the grounds would be green and wet with last night’s rain, and despite any understanding with Nomari, they would still be as caged as Boji, unable to ride, unable even to go near an outside door.

  They had heard from Aunt. They knew the bus had gotten back to Ajiden.

  They did not know what it might have left in the neighborhood. But Taibeni were out in this cold rain, looking for any problems—notably Antaro’s and Jegari’s parents were on that mission, skirting far across the meadows beyond the gate, with mecheiti senses to be sure there were no Ajuri lingering in the neighborhood.

  Did Father know?

  Senior Guild would have gotten that word to Guild Headquarters, and probably straight to Father as well.

  So would the next train through Sidonin shed any additional Guild presence?

  It was very possible.

  He settled the collar pin to his satisfaction, looked at the time on a very ornate clock that had, he was sure, told the time for mani, and took a little comfort from that, because he felt his nerves unsettled, counting all that was at stake tonight.

  “We should go,” he said.

  • • •

  Nomari had managed a nice shirt under his travel-worn and mended coat. Uncle had surely provided that. Nomari’s hair was in a tight queue—it was a little unruly, but he had a nice non-committal ribbon, green satin, and a very quiet manner as he stood behind his chair, unattended except for one of Uncle’s staff.

  Uncle came in last, as he should, and they both sat down, a table of three, which needed no extra felicity; but the arrangement on the table was significant, flowers of the season, which spoke only for themselves, but grain stems and green reeds and white sprigs, too, which were Atageini, a red flower that was Cajeiri’s own color, and a sole blue flower, which honored their guest.

  Could Nomari read it? Surely.

  Wine arrived—fruit juice for Cajeiri’s glass. And everything went quietly, pleasantly. Uncle asked safe questions about Nomari’s travels, and made safe comments about the wet weather, and about the pleasantness of the season, which he often spent in the capital.

  Nomari answered. He did not ask. They went through course after course, delicate things, that tested knowledge Nomari might not have used in years. Or, being a boy in a minor branch, might never have used. He wisely watched what Uncle did, and chose that utensil, but the fact he was watching carefully, and once mistook a small gold spoon—and changed it—that said something, too. It was a trial, a test, subtle as it was. Najida never turned out such single-purpose utensils. Mani’s table might, but rarely—nonsense, mani called it, though mani could manage any of it.

  The Padi Valley clans were the heart of Ragi ways. Atageini was the very heart of the Padi Valley. And there was, indeed, a small pick precisely to move tiny pickled berries, a regional dish, from a condiment tray to the fish. Nomari did that with no difficulty at all, and laid the pick precisely across the stand, where it belonged: one never put the sticky thing back into the holder.

  It was not an etiquette ever called for in the Transportation Guild.

  But it was clever of Uncle. It was, Cajeiri thought, very clever.

  And Uncle never mentioned it. They finished with a nice meringue and curd, and Uncle, rising, proposed brandy.

  That was the scary part.

  “Honored, nandi,” Nomari said, and amended it, “One is honored.”

  “Nephew, you will join us.”

  He said: “One would be pleased, Uncle,” and they all went out into the grand sitting room, which was larger than Father’s by twice . . . not that Uncle had ever planned such an excess: it had always been that large, from the time of cavalry and armor, when the Atageini lords had used
to stand at the head of the hall and give orders.

  Now there were brocade chairs and little serving tables, and servants to move about pouring this and that on request.

  For him, there was still more fruit juice, which he was not inclined to drink: he simply took a sip and set it down still full, so the servants would not pour more.

  They sipped slowly, and the level in Uncle’s glass declined. Nomari’s matched it. And all was peaceful.

  The servants poured another glass.

  “I must say,” Uncle said, “that Atageini greatly regrets the incident today. We do not regularly subject guests to such behavior.”

  “Nandi,” Nomari said, “I am only sorry my clan was the occasion of it.”

  “Are you still Ajuri?”

  That questioned man’chi. It questioned feeling. It questioned attachment. And Nomari nodded slowly.

  “Yes. Yes, nandi. I am.”

  “It is a fatal attachment. Have you wished it otherwise?”

  “No, nandi. My mother’s clan is Purani. Puran was a pleasant place, while we were there, but, no. Purani folk sheltered me when my family died, but they could never warm to an Ajuri. And I told myself I could become clanless. But I was my father’s side of Ajuri. I could not look away from it, ever. I could not go in. But now that things are as they are—now that everybody outside Ajuri knows what was going on, someone has to do something. Someone has to set it right. If there were anybody between me and Ajuri, I would follow that person. But there is not. I will not follow Geidaro. I will never follow Geidaro. And there are hundreds who think the same.”

  “Hundreds.”

  “Hundreds, nandi. People still inside Ajuri, who have been too quiet to be thrown out. And outside. Outside. In the trades, in the guilds, in whatever living they can make. I am not the only one.”

  “But you came here. To talk to my nephew. Have you found any satisfaction?”

  “I have found my cousin,” Nomari said with a little nod in Cajeiri’s direction. “I have found one relation I am glad to meet. And my host, nandi. You have been more than generous.”

  “I take it you ask my support.”

  “I hope, nandi, that you will at least consider my claim on Ajuri. That you will at very least, take a position against Ajuri being broken. Somewhere, someone, surely must take the clan. And I would try. If you would do no more than recommend me to a hearing by the aiji’s staff, I would be grateful.”

  That was the beginning of a hearing of a legal case. Father’s staff started an inquiry. And held a hearing, with staffers gathering evidence and taking testimony and piling up papers and documents. Hearings could go on for a long time.

  “How do you think you shall live,” Uncle asked, “and, more, stay alive, during that process?”

  “Nandi, I have associates.”

  “One is obliged to stay visible and accessible to an inquiry. How will you manage that?”

  “Nandi, I shall manage.”

  “By going back to Transport and riding about the aishidi’tat hoping to make appearances on schedule? Cousin of my nephew, you underestimate Ajuri’s capacity, reduced as it is. There are, I understand, a number of Guild that Guild Headquarters is quietly pursuing. They are not in Ajuri—if the Guild knew where they were, they would settle the problem. But they are a festering wound on the aishidi’tat, and you propose to go in singlehandedly and cauterize this untidy situation?”

  “Nandi, no. I would not go in. If I were named lord of Ajuri, I would not go in. I would not be that easy to find. And I would know the people I can trust, who can operate inside. And I would hope to engage a bodyguard of my own.”

  Uncle’s right eyebrow went up slowly. “You are not naive, then.”

  “I hope I am not naive, nandi.”

  Uncle nodded slowly, and Cajeiri drew in his breath.

  “Do not hasten to leave this house,” Uncle said, and set his brandy glass aside. “There are questions yet to ask. But do not despair of a favorable answer.”

  Nomari carefully set his glass aside. “Nandi, I would be more than grateful.”

  “The upper floor is more comfortable,” Uncle said. “One trusts you would prefer it.”

  “Nandi.”

  Uncle gave a wave of his hand. “A good dinner, a fine drink, and a pleasant conversation. I think we are for bed, are we not? Nephew?”

  “Uncle,” Cajeiri said. He had hardly said a word, things had gone so rapidly in a direction he was sure now Uncle had pushed them.

  Scarily fast. And they were going to have Nomari on the same floor as themselves.

  But that was all right. Guild was going to be watching. Very closely.

  • • •

  Fried fish. Tano was pleased.

  And a very good dinner.

  There was a note from Tom and Ben, which outlined considerable progress. More, there was a message from Gin Kroger.

  The shuttle schedule is attached. We look for an on-time launch and as on-time a landing on Port Jackson runway as the planet affords. The kids are excited. The parents are terrified. Well, so is Irene, as I understand, but she is excited. Lord Geigi says even the parents are acquiring enough fluency to ask for food and towels, and to deliver basic courtesies.

  Glad to get the messages from Tom and Kate in their respective venues. I understand you’re winding down the legislative appearances. I hope you’ll take the chance to rest a bit and maybe have dinner at Lolo’s.

  That wasn’t on the horizon. An armed attendance was not quite the thing to settle Mospheiran nerves.

  But interviews, news appearances. He could arrange that.

  We’re going over the plans for the first landers. When you get back to the mainland, if you can get a firm commitment on the landing zones we’ll be able to get the numbers in order.

  Give my regards to everybody. We’re making progress on the Reunioner sections. We’ve had a few set-tos that don’t amount to much, have tagged a few petty thieves who’ve just put themselves on the very bottom of the landing list, right along with you know who.

  On a more serious note we have now had our first lottery, and we’re starting our first ten on an orientation program that will at least prepare them for domestic living. Some seem a little daunted by the notion they’ll be cooking their own food and washing their own clothes, but we’ll break the Port Jackson transport system to them very gently.

  What the lottery has done is take the pressure off. Reunioners are generally relieved at not going out to build a station over a barren, airless rock and Mospheirans are glad there’s now a timeline for getting the shortages solved. I’m not sure Reunioners have ever lived without shortages, but they’re now seeing pictures of beaches and forests, and living spaces where the furniture doesn’t fold up to let you access your closet, and where you get a choice of colors.

  Me, I’m loving it up here. Though now that I’ve booted Tillington out of his apartment my furniture doesn’t fold. I’ll be delaying his return to Earth until we’ve finished the hearings up here, and that’s fairly indefinitely.

  Enjoy whatever rest you can get. We’re doing fine up here.

  • • •

  Moving Nomari to a bedroom upstairs was no great complication of baggage and servants and such—he simply came upstairs, attended by Uncle’s security, and took the first suite by the stairs, at the end of the hall. Uncle assigned two servants to be there, and wished him good night and good rest.

  Then Uncle walked along with Cajeiri, with their aishids around them. Uncle said absolutely nothing about cautions or distrust.

  But one noted that there was a bench on the landing, and that two of Uncle’s guards had lingered in that area—likely to take up position and to be relieved at intervals through the night.

  It made Cajeiri feel a little less anxious.

  “He is no fool,” Uncle sa
id, as they were about to part, on opposite sides of the hall. “He likely would not be alive if he were.”

  That was surely true.

  He went to his room, and he was glad to have both aishids with him, the younger one, and the seniors. But he felt a little uneasy, in the seniors’ company, considering the things he had done today, and the orders he had given.

  Did they think him afraid of Geidaro?

  Did they think him too trusting, or too simple, regarding Nomari?

  He was reluctant even to meet them eye to eye, for fear of detecting that disapproval that his own aishid dreaded. He simply addressed himself to Eisi and Liedi, and paused at Boji’s outstretched hand. He had brought a little tidbit, a wrapped sweet, which was probably not a good thing to give the little wretch right at bedtime, but it was not a very large one, with a dried fruit inside. He gave Boji his bribe, and stood still while Liedi untied his queue and put the ribbon aside to be pressed.

  His aishid had gone into their area of the suite, to have a conference with the seniors. He truly hoped the seniors were not telling them he had been excessively stupid today.

  Eisi slipped his coat free, in the cool air of the room. He undid his own shirt buttons, and Liedi took that, too, to have the night staff launder it. He had gotten off without once spilling gravy or letting his cuff into the soup. He could say that for himself.

  He sat down and let Eisi pull off his boots, stood up, unfastened his trousers and stepped out of them, glad, in the cold air, that Eisi had his nightrobe ready to fling about him.

  “Did everything go well at dinner, nandi?” Liedi asked. “Was it a good outcome?”

  “I hope so,” he said, and found it was the truth. He really hoped that. But it was not going to be easy, and there were a lot of ways for it to go badly. Geidaro was not physically imposing. But there was a meanness about her that had always made him uneasy.

  He went into his own bedroom, beyond an arch with massive doors that could be closed if one wished. He did not. He liked the doors open, liked not to be alone.

  Even if it was just Boji in his cage.