And they had no idea what side Lord Bregani might turn to. Was he the Fortress? Or theirs at all?
“Can we tell one person?” he asked carefully. “Can we tell Lord Tatiseigi? He is mani’s closest ally. And Nomari-nadi’s ally.”
“We are not authorized,” Rieni said, “to tell any person but you; and we ask you not do it without your father’s specific clearance. Your great-grandmother’s life may rely on your discretion, aiji-meni. Please respect your promise, even with your staff.”
“I shall,” he said. He began to realize the extent of what they had told him, which was exactly what he had asked—namely everything they could find out. He was at the level of clearance of people who stood right next to the Guild Council and Father, on an official level. So was, now, his first aishid, only a few years older than he was. And he began to feel the weight of it.
“I want to continue to know everything that happens,” he said to all his bodyguards. “I want to know, even in the middle of the night, if something changes. I want to know where is mani now, and what is happening.” Something occurred to him . . . that he might have asked these men to bring him information much beyond their authority to do so. And they might get in trouble. “Shall I pretend not to know, nadiin-ji? I can do that, even with my father.”
The seniors looked troubled. “We would not ask that, aiji-meni,” Rieni said, “but we take it as a promise of extreme discretion. One is grateful, but in the chain of command, your father must never be uninformed.”
“Nadiin-ji,” he said. He had had trouble including the four seniors in the address of intimates: but he felt all barriers down, now. They trusted him; he began to trust them, the way he had to trust the people that guarded his life—not just to protect him, but to keep him as well informed as anybody could be.
They nodded, a slight bow, and got up and went back the way they had come, to their quarters in the private, secret places of the Bujavid.
“We are glad you are here,” Antaro said quietly, as his younger aishid came close and settled around him. “We are glad you are here and not there, though we wish we could help.”
“I want so much to know,” he said. “But I think that was all the truth, was it not?”
“They go where we cannot,” Jeladi said. “We would never get the answers they can get.”
“We cannot tell anyone,” Cajeiri said. “We cannot talk about it around staff. Or anywhere.”
“We cannot,” Veijico agreed. “We cannot act as if we know anything.”
“Or look worried,” Lucasi said. “We have to act as if we know absolutely nothing.”
Boji set up a screech, having seen people come and go with no egg offered. Boji was as spoiled as a parid’ja could be. And he was supposed to be working on a home for him, a place he could be. It had been Cajeiri’s distraction, that project, and he could not forget it, but right now Boji was nowhere on the scale of importance with the secrets he had been handed.
He had wanted to go to Uncle Tatiseigi, who was in residence just down the hall, and who had intended to oversee Nomari’s nomination for lord of Ajuri, a matter which had been of great importance before the Red Train left. He wanted to tell Uncle that mani was in danger.
Uncle’s abandonment by Great-grandmother, his exclusion from her current plans, began to seem not what he had thought an hour ago, pique over Uncle’s support for Nomari, and irritation that Mother had taken Great-grandmother’s transportation to Uncle’s estate and left her stranded . . . all that had seemed a reason, even if Grandmother had never in his memory let temper get between her and Uncle Tatiseigi.
Now . . .
Things did make sense, even the noise about a quarrel made sense, protecting Uncle, and he was almost certain Uncle, having much more experience with politics, was upset, and regretful, and wishing he were with Great-grandmother right now, too.
But Uncle could not be told. He had intended to visit Uncle, and now if he did, he would have to sit and have tea and pretend what Uncle thought were the reasons . . . were the reasons, which was a level of pretending he did not think he could do.
He had always wanted to know things.
Now he did. And his stomach hurt.
6
Bren exchanged his ordinary coat for his better one. He was wearing the detested vest still, and used the coat that accommodated it. Narani saw to that detail.
He debated the pistol for traversing the passageways, but carrying it in the dowager’s own premises was just a little too forward, granted there would be no shortage of bodyguards directly or indirectly under Ilisidi’s command and concentrating on her welfare.
“The dowager’s guard will take precedence,” Banichi said. “Algini and I are requested to take charge of the adjacent Guild car, Jago and Tano to escort you only to her door, Bren-ji. Cenedi and Nawari will attend.”
That was to say he was going in alone, an uncommon state of affairs. Ilisidi was issuing his bodyguards’ assignment, and keeping the meeting inside her car, allowing only her own bodyguard as audience. Very likely the maneuver was designed to exclude Bregani’s Guild-assigned bodyguard and particularly Machigi’s domestic one. If the paidhi-aiji’s guard was excluded, the other two lords could hardly protest.
“I shall do my best to gather details,” Bren said. “And one hopes to learn something substantial, nadiin-ji. This long silence is worrisome. One hopes the dowager has gathered what she needs.”
Which was to say he hoped some sort of communication had been going on, an exchange in an extremely restricted code, either with the mission down in Koperna, or with that train that had thundered past them, but, closely as his aishid on occasion worked with Cenedi, Banichi had not been briefed as yet.
“If you need us,” Banichi said, and left it unfinished.
“Yes,” Bren said, tugged his cuffs into comfortable order, and let Jeladi open the door for them. They all went out, and as far as the adjacent Guild car. Jago and Tano alone attended him past that compartment, and stayed with him as far as the dowager’s own door, where Ilisidi’s bodyguard let him in.
The bodyguard—it was Casimi, one of the regulars in Ilisidi’s company—showed him to the right, where Ilisidi sat, not on a bench, but on one of two carved and upholstered chairs that surely had been shipped aboard for her personal use. She was not tall—was in fact, about Bren’s height. She typically used a footstool for comfort, and used her cane for ease getting about. And on such a long journey, one understood it was not vanity, but reasonable provision for endurance.
Bren bowed, and at her impatient gesture, took the other such chair, while for the two other invitees, yet to arrive, the area held two full-scale couches of apparent antiquity, in dull red leather; and two side tables each, which might serve for hospitality . . . if any were to be offered.
He said not a word. Asked no questions. Made no observations.
Ilisidi said: “The signing this morning went without difficulty.” It seemed a question. And his question.
“One believes it did, aiji-ma. Lord Topari was very glad to sign and very pleased to be offered such an honor.”
A slow nod. A distracted: “Good.”
Tension? The dowager never admitted to it. But there were degrees of familiarity he did not wish to invade with pleasantry. Friendship did not apply with any ateva, least of all here, where the dowager accorded him all the respect due a high atevi official in her service. She had a responsibility toward him, in a minor way, considering the relative ranks; and he had the same for her, in a very major way, considering the same. That was the official emotional exchange. But, one of them being human, sentiments existed. One being ateva, it was possible something untranslatable and somewhat emotional existed on her side, and she took comfort in his presence. He suspected so. But it was all too easy to miscalculate in such circumstances and go a step much too far.
“You have had lu
nch,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“There will be some delay,” she said. “Lord Machigi is the first arrival.”
The silence went on then, punctuated by the working of the train.
“One is concerned,” he said finally, “aiji-ma, to be of the greatest possible use—such as I can be. But I am at a loss as to what I can do.”
She glanced directly, sharply, at him. “Is this my grandson’s wish?”
“Aiji-ma?”
“In your interview with him, before we left.”
“His order was to be of service to you. My wish, aiji-ma, is the same.”
“Are you afraid, paidhi?”
“Not since the first cup of tea, aiji-ma.” It was a risky, a brash answer. “I have drunk every cup since that without question.”
It amused her. A touch of it reached her expression and she nodded slowly. “That you have, paidhi, every one, and I have abused your hospitality beyond measure.”
That might refer to Najida, or possibly his first meeting with Machigi.
Or the ruin of the garage. There were so many instances.
“Aiji-ma, the windows you provided are the glory of the house.”
She gazed at him a lengthy time. She looked, to his eye, tired. But one dared not say so.
“Did my grandson have specific orders?”
“No. He did not. He was concerned. I betrayed nothing of your business, knowing nothing of it at the time. And still—not as much as I might wish.”
Ilisidi gave a very, very slight smile, quickly faded. “He does not wish to know the details. Nor should he. Two Shejidani guilds know our immediate business, and we rejoice to say, the leadership of both the Assassins and Transportation is reliable. One can also add the Treasurers’ Guild and the Merchants’ Guild, the Builders, and the Physicians to those we can trust in most matters. Things being as they are, we are relying on several guilds’ integrity, and we have relied uncommonly heavily on Transportation in this matter. We have been gathering the components of this train since your own visit to Mospheira. We were reserving them, we claimed, for the future transport of the Reunioner folk from the spaceport to Cobo.”
The surplus of human population coming down from the space station, a principal piece of business in his recent trip to Mospheira. The operation had been granted the unprecedented dispensation of landing on atevi territory and shipping across to Mospheira’s Port Jackson—Mospheira having only one shuttle available, and the need for transport being urgent.
So the aishidi’tat had gathered special rail cars for one purpose, and Ilisidi had apparently diverted them to her own use in this venture to Hasjuran. Landings at the spaceport were a problem for the future.
This one . . . was clearly urgent.
“You are puzzled,” Ilisidi said.
He was never inclined to go stone-faced with her. It was far better for the aiji-dowager to read him than for her ever to guess.
“Only as to whether you prepared this mission to forestall a move by Lord Machigi, aiji-ma, or whether Bregani was expected to desert Tiajo.”
Ilisidi heard that with a slight amusement. “We promised Machigi defense. He never used the word protection, but he has had it. The issue over which Lord Bregani and Tiajo had a falling out was one of those completely trivial things—a collision in Amarja’s harbor. But it blossomed into an extravagant demand, as so much Tiajo does is extravagant, often without coherency. But in this—Machigi says, and we think correctly—Tiajo’s Shadow Guild advisors arranged that collision and fed Tiajo’s reaction. They have maneuvered to bring Senjin under their direct management, in response to Machigi’s agreements with us . . . and the aiji-consort and Lord Tatiseigi’s overthrow of the last vestige of the Shadow Guild in the north has truly excited them.”
“That,” Bren said in surprise.
“Yes, that. Nomari. Nomari, with a claim on Ajuri and official backing. Geidaro was murdered, and before the smoke of Ajuri had quite cleared from northern skies, lo, Tiajo took issue with Bregani, and Machigi broke with all habit and came personally to Najida to offer us an opportunity disguised as a railroad. The Shadow Guild in the north is in disarray. The Shadow Guild in the Dojisigi intends to move into complete control of Senjin, likely to pressure Machigi from his northern border, and it is a moment of vulnerability and opportunity. We shall foreseeably be dealing with Tiajo, too. And we have so desired to deal with Tiajo.”
“Hence Nomari’s inclusion on this venture.”
“Hence my interest in knowing whether he is Shadow Guild.”
“Surely—”
“There is a darkness in that young man,” Ilisidi said, “that we still have not penetrated. But it does not seem to correlate with the Guild. Cenedi has observed him closely, and your own aishid agrees, that there are certain small habits and behaviors that suggest training. Behaviors he has not manifested in major matters. If he is lying, he is doing it very well indeed.”
“Do you in any degree favor him for Ajuri?”
Ilisidi hesitated. “Perhaps.”
“But not unreservedly.”
“The next events will tell.”
“And that train this morning, aiji-ma. May one ask?”
A second hesitation. “We are not sure. I believe my grandson, who has thus far stayed out of Marid matters, has moved to protect us.”
“Not personally.”
“No. We do not commit willingly to the same field. But there is one spot I am not entirely reluctant to have covered.”
“The bridge on the approach?”
“That.” Ilisidi nodded slightly. “We shall see to it. But most particularly that abandoned rail spur, a siding and a switch point, which could cause problems. There is a siding where they could pull off and hold that, quite helpfully. I do not believe they intend to enter Koperna. But if they stir up trouble from the Dojisigin, and block the track, I am prepared to be outraged.”
Surely, Bren thought, she did not intend to launch an attack on Tiajo while trying to stabilize Senjin.
But before he could ask another question, someone had opened the passage door, and staff was meeting some arrival behind him. Cenedi moved to that door, with Nawari, firmly dealing with the arrivals. There was a minor issue. Lord Bregani had brought his wife, who was not invited, and Nawari queried it.
“She will be welcome,” Ilisidi said, smiled nicely and added a gracious: “She will satisfy the felicity.”
Meaning that Cenedi did not need to sit in to solve the infelicity of four—but he would be present. Their fifth arrived, Machigi himself, who wanted his bodyguard to be present, but did not persist in arguing.
It was, then, five of them in a circle, Bren and Machigi on one couch and Bregani and Murai on the other, with a quiet exchange of greetings, and the pouring of tea, as Ilisidi’s acting major d’, a staffer from the Bujavid apartment, managed the courtesies. The numbers were favorable, even balanced nicely by the little natural arrangement of branches and stones that sat in a nook behind the dowager.
There was tea. There must be tea, and light conversation, while the train was clanking and braking its way downward on the switchback, a process that had become uneasy routine.
“Welcome,” Ilisidi said, and smiled pleasantly. “We are on our way as promised, though a little late. The descent off the escarpment is not so trying as the interminable descent off the divide in my own province, though this is claimed to be the worst. It is a rare experience. None of you have used this route before, we understand.”
“I have not,” Machigi said.
“The upward route only,” Bregani said, with some irony, “nandi.”
“Well, well, we are likely the longest train ever to take this route, but they assure us we are just within tolerance, and we did not need to drop a baggage car. It will only be slow and noisy.”
&nb
sp; They slipped. Bren swore they slipped a little, not for the first time. He took a sip of tea, while his heart steadied.
“We do not receive much freight from the north,” Bregani said. “Certainly nothing of bulk or weight.”
“You do have the convenience of two routings for rail,” Ilisidi said, “the lowland and the highland routes. But we are pleased to see possibilities for Hasjuran, to their advantage. How did you find Lord Topari, nandi? One trusts it was a good meeting.”
“It was,” Bregani said. “I had heard he was a reasonable sort. He seemed so on meeting.”
“He was very happy,” Bren said, doing his duty, diverting conversation toward the signaled topic, and peaceful, pleasant things. “He was entirely pleased by the agreement. He will certainly abide by it.”
It went on in that vein a space, until tea was done.
“So then,” Ilisidi said, setting down her cup, signaling a turn toward business. “Regarding sea trade, nandiin. The Dojisigi may extend their displeasure to refusing Senjin’s port and its trade. But with Senjin’s cooperation with our plan, Senjin need not care. Trade with the Taisigin will expand. Iron will have to come on the lowland rail, but other goods from my province can find their way down from Hasjuran, for Senjin to ship south, so Senjin will find it loses nothing substantial at all in a revision of routes. You draw from the south, Lord Machigi. And the Isles and the Dausigin stand to benefit, as well as your capital of Tanaja. In my own region, in the East, nandiin, I am well familiar with the effects of isolation, and having markets nearer than Shejidan and Cobo is a benefit to us. Agreements on trade with us should follow this building of a rail, trade in which Senjin will by no means lose.”
“Trade which can begin,” Machigi said, “immediately. The fisherfolk southward will consider themselves within our agreement. If your waters seem safe for their fishing boats, you will see them, and they may wish to trade directly for supplies. We would not oppose that trade. You have a harbor, but no ships of your own. We have a shipyard. You have supply we need. We can do business. If no Dojisigin ship visits your port for a hundred years, nandi, you will not want for trade.”
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