Peacemaker

by C. J. Cherryh

  “You’ve been good beyond any expectation. Carry this evening off for him and there’s an outside chance we can send you somewhere you can have some fun, maybe with the Taibeni.”

  “The mecheita-riders?” Eyes went large.

  “They’re completely loyal to Cajeiri. A very safe place. And I’ll do everything I can to arrange it, if you just do everything you’re asked, be patient with delays, and don’t mess it up. Twelve more hours, and if the aiji’s enemies don’t create a problem, you’re out of it and clear. Jase will be here in a moment, and he’ll fill in the rest for you.”

  God, he hoped he was telling the kids the truth. The combined force of staring, believing eyes went right to the nerves, while his if was still a very big word.

  • • •

  “Nandi,” the major domo said, welcoming Cajeiri and his bodyguard into the foyer. Jase-aiji paid courteous nods and immediately left, going back up the hall. “Welcome home, young gentleman.”

  “Nadi,” Cajeiri said with the requisite little bow. Servants were close about them—until the ones near the inner hall folded backward in startlement, ducking heads, as his father arrived, his father likewise in court dress, and solemn, and accompanied by two of his bodyguard. All the servants backed up, clearing room, and Cajeiri gave a deeper bow.

  “Son of mine,” his father said solemnly. “You look very fine.”

  “One is gratified, honored Father.”

  “And everything is going smoothly?” his father asked, coming very close to him.

  “Yes, honored Father.”

  His father took him by the arm very lightly and maneuvered him so that he could speak close to his ear. “Son of mine, you look particularly elegant, and so does your aishid—a credit to your great-uncle’s household, but one needs to forewarn you. Your mother is already having a difficult day, and so is the staff. Your mother had secretly ordered a coat and vest from your regular tailor, and she was not willing to deliver it to your great-uncle’s house, but your tailor is greatly out of sorts about this, and this being her present to you—it has set her out of sorts. If you wish to please your mother—and one advises you this would be very desirable today—send staff to your suite and have them bring the black and red brocade instead.”

  He liked his black and gold brocade coat, which his mother would call too old for him, but he was nine today, and he had three red and black ones, besides. He said quietly: “Uncle had Master Kusha come in because of my guests, honored Father. They had nothing suitable, and Master Kusha and his staff worked very hard.”

  “One will do everything to honor master Kusha’s efforts, but you would not be politic to ignore your mother’s gift, son of mine. And besides, the ’counters have figured red into the numbers.”

  He was not happy. But he understood. “Yes,” he said, and to Jegari: “You know my coats. Can you recognize the new one?”

  “Assuredly, nandi,” Jegari said, and with a bow to his father, hurried off through the servants and down the inner hall toward their suite. Cajeiri began sadly unbuttoning the elegant black and gold coat, and his father helped him, with that and with the vest, right there in the foyer in front of everybody. He was sure he blushed, and he was angry about it, but his father was on his side, which was the important thing. And he knew how much politics with his mother mattered, for everybody’s good.

  Next time the ’counters did the numbers, however, he swore he was going to have his say in it. And wear black and gold if he wanted to.

  But it would be his thirteenth birthday before he ever got another festivity, and his fifteenth before another big one, which he swore was not going to be public, either. He was verging on a bad mood. And could not afford to sulk.

  “Very well done,” his father said, handing off his favorite new coat and vest to the major domo, who gave it to the servants to deal with. “Be agreeable, do not frown at your mother, and thank her nicely for the new coat and vest, if you can possibly manage it. Count it training.”

  “Yes,” he said. By then Jegari was back, with the new coat and vest, which at least went well with the black trousers and boots, the new vest being shiny black with glittering red woven in, and the coat being nearly all black with a little red—the vest at least fit well, as it should, and the coat fit, and his father with his own hands helped him do all the buttons, in front of all the servants and their bodyguards.

  “One is very impressed,” his father said. “You have grown in more than height this year, son of mine. One is very proud.”

  That was twice for blushing, but this was for a different reason. He gave a little bow as his father finished the last adjustment of his lace cuffs. “Thank you, honored Father. One will try very hard today.”

  “Come to the sitting room,” his father said, and showed him the way as if he were an adult guest in his own home.

  His mother was there, in black and green, Ragi and Atageini colors combined. She looked pleased as he came in, and mani had taught him how the game was played. He bowed to his mother, who did not get up—getting up was increasingly hard for her—and bowed a second and a third time, and said, without any sulking,

  “Thank you for your gift, honored Mother. One was quite surprised.”

  “You look very fine,” she said, looking extremely pleased. “How grown-up you look.”

  “One is happy to be a fortunate age,” he said. “Thank you, honored Mother.”

  There was, of course, tea. There were very fancy teacakes, one of a flavor he did not like, but his mother did, and he got it by accident. He took one bite, and nerved himself and swallowed the rest of it, smiling and washing it down with tea, thinking it was rather like the change of coats. One could get through anything, if there was a reason.

  “The numbers of the day are fortunate,” she said. “And the whole country has turned out to celebrate the day, son of mine. The banners are out and the whole city will be in festival. You may see them from my windows.”

  “I shall look,” he said. He truly had no desire even to go into the nursery, which had all the windows, but he thought perhaps he should, at least once, so when he had had his tea, he did go, and stood with his mother looking out past the filmy lace of the nursery windows. Very small and distant, there were colorful banners, and the tops of the tents, and the main street, even farther, crowded with people.

  “The city is happy,” she said, with her hand on his shoulder, “and so should you be.”

  “One is indeed happy,” he said dutifully, already wishing to be back in the sitting room. “One is very happy.”

  “Your father favors you,” she said, and her fingers pressed his shoulder hard. “He favors you so extremely your sister will rely on you for the least scrap of his favor. Say to me that she will not go wanting.”

  He did not look at her until one fast, wary glance, and she was gazing out the windows, into the hazy distance.

  “I shall take care of my sister,” he said, and her hand pressed once, then relaxed. “Have I not told you I shall? If she relies on me, I shall be her older brother.”

  “As you should be,” she said. “Always remember that.”

  An uneasy thought struck him. “You will be here, will you not?”

  “That is always at your father’s pleasure. But someday it will be at yours.”

  “You are my mother,” he said with complete determination. “I only have one.”

  “That is good to know,” she said. “Shall we return to the sitting room?”

  He was only too glad to do that.

  • • •

  Getting three kids into unfamiliar garments and giving them a meaningful lesson on how to keep the cuff lace out of the soup and the soup from landing on one’s collar lace was no small undertaking. Turn your wrist to the outside covered the first; and Keep your chin up was the other. They practiced with water, as less damaging than soup
.

  “Very well done,” Jase said. “I shall try not to be the one to have soup go astray. You all have your speeches, if you need them.”

  “Yes, nandi,” Gene said, with a very proper bow. “And one will pay very close aggravation to persons.”

  “Attention,” Bren corrected quietly. It was a very easy mistake. “Elegantly done, Gene-nadi.”

  “Attention,” Gene repeated, a little chagrined. “Yes, sir.”

  Bren set his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “You three are extraordinary. Keep up the manners just until midnight, and don’t panic if you make a mistake. You’re all three very small, people won’t possibly mistake you for adults, and while children have all kinds of leeway . . . everyone’s very impressed when they get things right. So just bow and apologize, and if you really have an accident, you have several spare shirts in my apartment. We can rescue you if we must, but we’d so much rather not. And the farther we get from the apartment the harder it becomes. Security’s extremely tight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gene said in ship-speak. “We won’t mess things up. We really won’t.”

  “Good. Good.” Bren let the boy go and cast a look at Jase. “We’re about due. Dur’s just made it up to the floor. I need to go. If you can follow with the youngsters, we’ll expect you in about ten minutes. Kaplan and Polano are ready?”

  “Suited up and ready,” Jase said. “We’ll be right over.”

  “See you,” Bren said, and went out to the hall. Staff told staff, and his bodyguard showed up a moment later, Banichi with them, without his sling, at first glance, but then one noted the black, slim support for the injured arm.

  Good for that, he thought. He had his hair arranged to hide the stitches, had a little paper of pills, not for atevi consumption, in his right pocket, and a second number of pills, not for human consumption, in the inside pocket of his dress coat, nicely done up, not to mention the discreet little pistol he had in his right-hand coat pocket . . . he had not carried it to the Guild. It did not mean he could not carry it to Tabini’s apartment.

  “Nichi-ji,” he said as his aishid joined him. “We are agreed, are we not, each to take a rest as appropriate?”

  “We are agreed,” Banichi said.

  “Do we have a promise, Nichi-ji?”

  “We have an agreement, Bren-ji.”

  It was as good as he was getting. Narani opened the door for them, and they walked out and down the short distance to the aiji’s door—which, as it chanced, was still open, Lord Tatiseigi having just arrived with, as it proved, the aiji-dowager.

  One simply stood a bit back and let that party sort itself out. There was some little hushed and prolonged to-do involving a coat, about which neither was pleased. But Ilisidi said, “It is the boy’s event, Tati-ji. He will wish not to affront his mother.”

  “His mother,” Tatiseigi muttered, but said no more of it.

  One didn’t ask. One was simply glad to get through the door, past the foyer, and into the enforced civilization of the dining room, where, indeed, the younger and the elder Dur were already present, and the formalities were a welcome relief.

  The dining table was at full extent, with places for thirty-three persons, including Jase and the three youngsters, and an assortment of lords and spouses. It was diplomacy at full stretch. Even Lord Keimi had come in from Taiben—very, very rare that he put in a court appearance; but it was a pleasant arrival. Haijden and Maidin were there. And Jase and Cajeiri’s guests arrived, Jase resplendent in the borrowed coat and the youngsters in immaculate and proper court dress—shy, and a little hesitant about getting to seats, but Jase, who could read the name tags, settled them properly, and sat down in a seat of high rank next to Tatiseigi, who was family—with the youngsters at his left, as Cajeiri’s guests. As minors in Jase’s care, they were seated far higher than their rank would have allowed.

  But good-natured Maidin was next to them, and Dur was across the table, which was a very deft bit of diplomacy. The servants brought a cushion for Irene—the boys being just the little degree taller that made a cushion a bit too much; and the youngsters sat with their hands tucked and their eyes darting about the glittering table and the glittering guests—very, very quiet, the three, on best behavior.

  Other lords arrived, the Calrunaidi, strangers to the aiji’s inner circle, but on the rise; the Brusini and the Drusi, with current spouses. The company stretched to the end of the table with other arrivals, and the noise level even of quiet conversation became significant.

  The youngsters sat staunchly silent, already stuffed with little sandwiches and teacakes, and shyly responding to servants’ questions or deferring them to Jase, who ordered them small glasses of fruit drink . . . which they very judiciously sipped without much tilting.

  The table was full. Conversation remained polite. Bren and Jase had followed their own prescription of sandwiches and teacakes to assure they had enough to eat before they had to deal with a full-blown state affair of thirteen courses, three or four involving gravy.

  The doors to the hall opened, and Tabini, Damiri, and Cajeiri joined them, the boy in a black and red brocade he had not been wearing when he had stopped by the apartment to drop his guests off. No. He had definitely changed coats. That had been the controversy.

  Bren rose, as they all did except Ilisidi. He seated himself when everyone sat down, and the servants began moving about, supplying more wine, or a change of drinks as the kitchen readied the first plates.

  There were introductions all around, Calrunaidi being new to the aiji’s table, and Jase not having been at such an event in years. Cajeiri was experienced in state functions—he sat primly proper, kept a pleasant face, accepted the appetizer and didn’t touch it . . . the proper fate of that appetizer in Bren’s own opinion, but Ilisidi relished it.

  They had twelve more courses to survive. He ate a very little of very mild things, he was careful about the wine, no matter how tempted, and he listened far more than he spoke. He had the edge of a headache already, and dared not take another pill. The youngsters pushed food about on their plates and only ventured a taste now and again of something which would not drip.

  Typical of very large gatherings in Tabini’s apartment, only Tabini’s bodyguards and Cenedi were in evidence: Jago and Tano had sworn to him that Banichi was going to commandeer a chair in the security station and stay there—at very least.

  He wished the paidhi-aiji had that option. But he sincerely hoped Banichi was doing exactly that.

  They served the seventh course, pickled eggs—one thought of Kaplan and Polano, and Bren wished they had the ones he was served.

  Artur made the mistake of moving a dish to accommodate a servant’s reach, and a water goblet nearly went over. Conversation stopped, Artur turned bright red and apologized very quietly. The servant bowed profoundly, embarrassed, and Jase quietly reassured the boy. More, Lord Maidin engaged the youngsters in a kindly way, and the conversation continued, a welcome distraction.

  Near the head of the table, Cajeiri relaxed, let go a pent breath, and the dowager kept Tabini and Damiri engaged without missing a beat, while Tatiseigi listened.

  Artur remained nervous and quiet, but disaster, thank God, had not happened. Down the table, meanwhile, one of the adult guests had a red wine droplet slowly inching its way down the side of the glass, which Bren watched in dazed, edge-of-headache fascination—until a watchful servant, during service, deftly blotted it with a folded napkin.

  Luncheon continued, relentless, to the very last sweet and elaborate confection, a sort of fruity cookie with icing, which the youngsters did not resist; but crumbs were no great calamity.

  They had lived through it. And no one had gotten into an argument. The dowager and the aiji-consort had sat across the table from one another without so much as frowning. Lord Tatiseigi had managed a much better mood than he had in the foyer, and he was about to become the
center of attention as they moved on to the next event of the day.

  It was a great relief.

  “We are due in the lower hall,” Tabini said from the head of the table. “We are gratified by the attendance of our intimate guests—and by the unexpected grace of our great ally, one of the ship-aijiin, who has visited our table for the first time in years, and by the attendance of our son’s guests, who have braved the journey itself and behaved very sensibly under extremely trying circumstances. Let us welcome them.”

  “Indeed,” most said, while the youngsters looked bewildered—until Jase cued them to bow in place and accept the compliment.

  “Now we shall go downstairs,” Tabini said, rising, “and we ask our guests to observe security and keep themselves and staff within the secure area.”

  That was the standard request for a formal affair in the lower hall. Events were—one surmised, without looking at a watch—proceeding exactly on schedule. He rose as the others did. Irene slid off her chair with a thump and tried not to look responsible. Bren smiled at her—it was far less racket than most of the heavy chairs made. Over all it was a good show they had made, and he wanted to tell the youngsters so, but there was Lord Calrunaidi looking to renew acquaintance and to comment on the delicacy and manners of the human youngsters—“They are the young gentleman’s age? So very small, so nicely mannered.”

  “I shall relay it to them, nandi. Thank you on their behalf. They have worked very hard to acquire court manners to honor the young gentleman.”

  “Excellently done,” Calrunaidi said, and nodded to the youngsters across the table. “Excellently done,” he repeated, a little more loudly, as if volume would help understanding.

  “Thank you, nandi,” Irene managed to say, and everyone bowed.

  “So grown-up!” Lord Calrunaidi said. “Excellently, excellently done!” One thought distractedly that if he could have come by young humans as guests for his own remote household he would have ordered a handful of them. It was one conquest made, and of a rising star at court.