Pretender

by C. J. Cherryh

  “Indeed.” An appalling notion, the whole coast at odds, and with Lord Geigi up on the station, Murini’s folk had still had to handle the Edi district very carefully. Though Maschi clan, he was a very popular lord over the Edi. “One wonders that Murini could restrain the Taisigin from running afoul of the west coast.” The Taisigin occupied the southern coast, long at odds with the Edi; but one could see, too, that the Edi had long had a network of connections of marriage and history that ran all along the coast northward, into districts on which the center of the aishidi’tat relied for food—notably fish, a staple of the diet, in quantities the south alone could not supply. “But one believes Murini may have run up against certain economic facts of his existence.”

  That drew a little smile. “Certain economic facts of the world as it has become, not the world as the Kadagidi would like to pretend it might again become. Shejidan has come to appreciate its frozen fish, indeed, nandi.”

  “Bren-ji.” It nettled him when his staff withdrew into formality with him in private, where Bren-ji would do ever so well. “One is very tired, Banichi-ji. One is ever so tired, and Bren-ji is an ever so much warmer blanket.”

  “Is it?” Banichi was amused. An eyebrow moved.

  “Than nandi, yes, it is.” He managed a smile. “One appreciates a warm blanket, now and again, Nichi-ji.”

  “That one may,” Banichi said, and added: “Salads,” which made him laugh despite sore ribs.

  “Are we safe here?” he asked.

  “One believes, yes, we are safe.”

  “It would be a good thing if one could make a phone call to Mosphiera.”

  “No, it would not be good,” Banichi said, “for the paidhi to do that so soon.”

  “Indiscreet,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then the paidhi will be entirely circumspect, as long as need be.”

  “Certainly until the paidhi has reported, officially, to the legislature.”

  He understood that was coming, and only in the weakness of exhaustion had he voiced the thought of contacting Mosphiera, which would get their reports the way they had gotten other information, via the coastal settlements, and by rumor and radio. He, on the other hand, had to be concerned how such contact would look. Not so much substance, as perception of substance, people watching the wind to see which way it would blow in what was, potentially, a new regime. “Will the legislature come?” he asked. “Is it convening?”

  “It has been called,” Banichi said. “One has no knowledge as yet, but yes, certain ones are on their way.”

  “My office staff.” The thought had gnawed at him ever since he had heard the situation on the ground. “One hopes they reached safety. That they may be induced to come back.”

  “Shall we make inquiries in that matter?”

  “Among other things that must be urgent for my staff, nadi-ji. Perhaps if we only issued a public appeal.”

  “Such things are always accomplished down appropriate and secretive waterways, one believes your expression is.”

  Through appropriate channels. He had to smile. “Indeed. Indeed, Banichi. But let the word loose, down those ways, however it has to be done. I shall need them before long—if I stay in office.” And a darker thought. “And if they have lost by being loyal to me, Banichi-ji, would I insult them by offering compensation?”

  “It would by no means insult them, nandi,” Banichi said.

  “Bren-ji.”

  “Warm blankets,” Banichi said, leaning forward, arms on knees. “One understands, Bren-ji. Warm blankets and a safe bed tonight.”

  “You should see to your own, Banichi-ji, you and all the staff. We are under the dowager’s roof. One trusts that Cenedi is well. And Nawari. And the rest.”

  “A few nicks and bruises. But Cenedi—” Banichi made a little hesitation. “Cenedi-nadi is quite done in, and will not sit down, not for a moment, except the dowager has given him a firm order, which he is contriving not to obey.”

  “He is a brave man,” Bren said, and added, relentlessly and with deliberation: “So are you, Banichi-ji.”

  Banichi glanced at the floor. It might be the only time he had ever taken Banichi so far aback.

  “Very brave,” Bren said doggedly. “And one will never forget it.”

  Atevi could blush. One had to be looking closely.

  “One had better see to duty,” Banichi said, making a move toward the chair arm.

  “One should accept praise, Banichi-ji, where it is due,” Bren said.

  “We are a quiet Guild,” Banichi said.

  “All the same,” Bren said. And added: “Very well done. One will not inquire regarding the Guild. One is very grateful to all the staff.”

  That seemed to be a poser. In another moment, Banichi lifted a shoulder. “Algini and Tano have a strong man’chi within this house. Your bringing them back to the continent was a great favor to them. They express deep gratitude.”

  Murdi. That gratitude word, different than man’chi.

  “And man’chi?” Another small silence. In earlier years, he might have hesitated to inquire into that silence. Now he was relatively sure of the facts. And of Tano and Algini. “Will they be ours in future?” he did ask.

  “They have never ceased to be of this household,” Banichi said, and folded his hands across his middle. “The Guild never discusses its internal matters. But Murini’s ally is dead, the old master has reasserted his authority. Algini is bound not to discuss it, but, Bren-ji, he and Tano are now free to continue assignment here. They wish to do so. They are not able to answer questions.” A shrug. “But one doubts that the paidhi has many questions to ask.”

  It was a shock, even so, to hear it stated. Bren cleared his throat of obstruction. “No,” he said. “No questions. They are welcome, very welcome.”

  Banichi listened to that, seemed to turn it over in his mind, perhaps trying to parse what he knew of humans and one particular human, and the faintest look of satisfaction touched his face. “Algini is required to be here. Technically, he cannot have man’chi within our household, but he holds it to Tano. And we may discuss this in this house because Cenedi is very well aware of the situation. That the paidhi guessed—one is not utterly surprised. It will not likely surprise Algini.”

  “You will tell him I know—at least I suspect—he has other ties.”

  “One is constrained to tell him,” Banichi said. Guild law, one could guess, constraints of what he, too, was.

  “One has no great concern for honesty. Tell him I have the greatest confidence in him.”

  “Indeed,” Banichi said.

  “But—” he began, had second thoughts, then decided to plunge ahead into what was not legitimately his business. “Tano. Man’chi to Tano, you say.”

  That required some consideration on Banichi’s part, deep consideration. Finally: “Tano has become his partner.”

  “Become.”

  “They are old acquaintances, different in man’chi. They have acquired one, through Tano, to this house. They have become what they are, quite firmly so. One may have more than one man’chi, Bren-ji.”

  Banichi had never spoken so directly about Guild business, about the household, about the extent to which the Guild held man’chi within the great houses. He wondered why this confidence now, except that perhaps it was only what another ateva would have known, or guessed, more easily. He had a slight reluctance to ask any more questions on the topic, fearing, for reasons he could not define, that he might learn more than he wanted.

  “These are dangerous times,” Banichi said then, as if he had read his mind. “If Jago and I were ever lost, the paidhi should know these things. Consultation with the aiji’s staff or the dowager’s would produce good recommendations, but what surrounds you now has been very carefully chosen, and can be relied upon.”

  The aiji’s selection, and the Guild’s, and, up on the station, he had Lord Tatiseigi’s man, Bindanda. Not to mention others presently out of reach. He had,
Mospheiran that he was, failed deeply to analyze the politics of early recommendations to his staff, at first. He had realized certain things on his own about later ones, sometimes having to be told—bluntly so, as Banichi had chosen to inform him now.

  “One should rely on them, then.”

  “Jago and I would recommend it.”

  “Baji-naji.”

  “Baji-naji.”

  But it was not a pleasant thought, not at all. “You are not to take reckless chances, Banichi-ji. One earnestly asks you not take reckless chances.”

  “This is our duty, paidhi-ji.”

  “I am most profoundly disturbed even to contemplate it.”

  “Nevertheless,” Banichi said calmly. “One must.”

  It was like feeling his way through the dark. “Do you recommend taking on additional staff? Ought I to do that, to provide you assistance?”

  “There is none I would rely on, except Taibeni, who would be willing, but quite lost and unhappy in the city. Best keep the staff small as it is. One is much more content inside the dowager’s establishment. Lord Tatiseigi’s is much more vulnerable to outside man’chi, even Kadagidi man’chi.”

  “Not Madam Saidin.” Madam Saidin had been their own chief of domestic staff, when they lived in that apartment. Now she would surely manage for Lord Tatiseigi.

  “Not that one. And one may trust she has looked very carefully into the associations of all persons on staff, and she will attempt to learn everything. But they are still a midlands staff. The dowager’s is all eastern, most from her own estate at Malguri, or thereabouts. They would not be influenced by Kadagidi interests, or by southern, not in the least, no more than Jago or myself. If you ever must make a choice, listen to the dowager.”

  It struck him he had no idea where Banichi’s home district was, or what his familial connections might be, and he had never asked. He was not about to begin now to inquire into what Banichi had never deemed his business. Banichi he took on trust, absolutely, in a human way—having no other way to be, not really, not even after all these years. It remained a humanly emotional decision, not based on reasons Banichi himself could exactly feel.

  It worked, however, Banichi being what he was. And he felt secure in that human judgment, for the satisfaction it gave his human instincts. Trust. Man’chi. Not the same, but close enough, however complex.

  “One understands.” He picked up his teacup, discovered the tea gone ice cold and his hand incapable of holding the cup steady—fatigue compounded with far too many emotional confidences. He drank it to the lees and set it down before he spilled anything.

  “The paidhi should take the chance to rest,” Banichi observed.

  “The paidhi is dressed. The paidhi will by no means put the dowager’s staff to another change of clothes.”

  “The dowager’s staff is accustomed to meticulous duty. Your own security staff believes you should rest, Bren-ji. Your staff insists, for all our welfare. Come. Into your suite.”

  He had already begun to listen: It was curious how the very effort of getting out of the chair suddenly seemed all but insurmountable, and the legs he had taxed running the stairs had gone very sore. But he stood up. He went with Banichi back into his borrowed quarters, and there Banichi himself took his coat and summoned staff.

  He let himself be undressed—made no protest, as he would have done with his own staff, that a once-worn coat need not be pressed. The standards here were the dowager’s, and he offered no opinions, only sought the smooth, soft depths of a feather bed, soft pillows—utter trust that Banichi and Jago and his own people were somewhere near.

  He missed Jago. He wished she would rest, but he was already so far gone toward sleep that he had no idea where the others were.

  The rest was dark, and a handful of dreams, one that lingered near to waking, that someone was rattling dishes, stirring a vat of priceless porcelain cups with a stick, and saying that they had to make tea because the ship was running out of that commodity, and that they had to grow flowers, because flowers were getting scarce, not to mention carpets being turned the wrong way.

  It was not the sanest of dreams. He thought that he was on a boat, on Toby’s boat, since the surface under him seemed to be heaving like that. He thought that Jago had come to bed, since he felt a warmth near him.

  Or perhaps he remembered it, because when he waked he was alone in the large bed, in a very soft place, and he had no great desire to move for, oh, another century.

  But duties came slithering back into his forebrain, not that he knew what, precisely, he had to do, but he was sure he ought to be ready to do it, whatever came. He lay there a luxurious ten minutes more, then dragged himself toward the edge, stuck a foot out into cool air, drew it back, nerving himself and rewarming the foot—then flung the covers off and braved the chill of an ordinary autumn day.

  In Shejidan. That was the miracle.

  They were in Shejidan. In the Bu-javid.

  Home alive.

  In the dowager’s suite.

  He found a robe on the clothes-tree and flung it on, on his way to the accommodation that pertained to the guest room.

  A servant intercepted him. “Will m’lord wish a bath?”

  He was chilled to the bone. “Yes,” he said. He wanted it, very much.

  It did take the chill from his bones. It afforded him another chance to nap, his head against the rim of a huge, steaming tub, until he had quite warmed himself from outside to in. A small cup of hot tea, offered while he sat steaming in the tub, brought his body temperature up inside, making it necessary to get out and cool off—in fact, his very skin steamed as he toweled himself dry. Breakfast—breakfast might become luncheon, perhaps one of the dowager’s luncheons, but at least in a dining room, not out on the freezing balcony, with the current chance of snipers…

  He came out of the bath to dress, at no point seeing one of his own security staff, and hoping that they had taken to bed themselves. Security present at the door was a pair of Ilisidi’s young men, in whom he had the greatest confidence, and the domestic staff absolutely insisted he have more tea and a couple of delicately fruit-flavored cakes, the paidhi having missed breakfast.

  A third?

  “The paidhi is quite full,” he assured the young lady who offered the dish. “These are quite large cakes, on the paidhi’s scale of things.”

  “Indeed, forgive the forwardness, nandi.”

  “Indeed, nadi, there is no point on which to fault anything. The hospitality is flawless.”

  “Nandi.” A deep bow, and every sign of astonishment and pleasure: One had to wonder how often the staff heard the word flawless from the aiji-dowager; and one, again, had to remember whose household this was.

  But he sat dressed, finally, rested, if sore, warm and full of sweets, and simply enjoying the play of live fire in the grate, that very earthly pleasure, when a servant brought in a silver bowl with a message cylinder.

  The Lord of the Heavens’ chief clerk, it said, begs to offer respects and esteem on the occasion of the lord’s safe return to Shejidan, and hopes that his services will again be required. The staff has preserved papers, correspondence, and records in various places of safety and is prepared to return to duty immediately at the lord’s request, beginning with the acquisition of our old offices and equipment within the Bu-javid, if this can be accomplished, with the lord’s authority. One will assure the lord of the unfaltering man’chi of the entire staff, without exception.

  God. The records, the correspondence, the mountains of paper, the translations of manuals and technical specifications, all kept safe?

  And the staff, all loyal, with all that had gone on? Amazement was the first reaction—never doubt of the majority of the staff, but all of them?

  And ready to return to work before the smoke had even cleared?

  He was deeply, deeply touched.

  “Did this come by messenger, nadi?” he asked the servant, who stood waiting for an answer.

  “One
believes this to be the case, nandi.”

  “Paper and a cylinder, if possible, nadi, for a reply. My own kit is on the station.”

  The requested items arrived. He sat down. He wrote: The paidhi-aiji is profoundly grateful for the devotion of the staff and of the chief clerk in particular. One can offer no assurances of proper quarters at this hour, but if you will provide a means and address for reliable contact, the paidhi will place this matter among his highest priorities. One leaves all other details of timely summoning and fit lodging of staff to your capable management—

  Dared one assume the paidhi would even survive in office the next few days?

  Or survive at all, for that matter?

  —and urges you closely observe current events for the safety of yourself and the staff, with profound appreciation for your honesty and service.

  He dispatched the letter, trusting staff would be able to find the gentleman who had delivered the note. He wished he could rush out to the halls, embrace the old man, assure him of his job, all those humanly satisfying things—but in the very moment of thinking of it, he heard the distant pop of gunfire, and paused a moment, asking himself how safe the Bu-javid was, or who might just have been shot.

  Guild business? Mop-up?

  He was far from confident, and had no wish to make the elderly gentleman more of a target than he had been, by bringing civilian staff prematurely into the building.

  Besides, the answering of general correspondence, which that staff handled, had to take a back seat to more urgent business, such as finding a place to live that did not impose his presence on the dowager’s generosity, such as getting some indirect word to Mospheira, to let Toby know he was alive and to let Shawn know Tabini was back in power. Banichi was quite right: Pursuing contact across the straits was a potential for trouble, something he dared not have misinterpreted or noised about as evidence of his reattachment to human interests.