Resurgence

by C. J. Cherryh

  Machigi had frowned during much of that, but now he laughed. Nomari maintained a sober expression.

  “I do not say I shall approve you to Ajuri, nadi,” Ilisidi said with a wave of her hand, “but thus far we find no cause against you. Nandi, you will definitively release him?”

  “I shall cut him free of all man’chi and obligation,” Machigi said, and looked at Nomari. “You are not going to a safer place, nadi. If Ajuri becomes untenable—well, we southern folk are a welcoming lot.”

  Not a welcoming lot in the experience of the north, but had not Tanaja, capital of Machigi’s Taisigin, welcomed all sorts of people not welcome elsewhere—especially if they did not agree with the Dojisigi? Notoriously so. One could only imagine the scoundrels at Machigi’s beck and call through its various ports.

  “Good,” Ilsidi said. “Now go away. We have things to think on.”

  Machigi was not the sort to be dismissed with the wave of a hand, but he took it in good humor, nodded and gathered himself up. The paidhi-aiji and the candidate for Ajuri could hardly do otherwise.

  * * *

  • • •

  “What was that?” Bren wondered to his bodyguard, when they were back in their own car. “Is Machigi questioning Nomari himself?”

  “They have talked,” Banichi said, “but always with Guild present, and with monitoring running.”

  The exchange regarding Ajuri and Nomari’s man’chi had seemed dangerous and strangely aimed—Ilisidi and Machigi exchanging blunt statements that, at the end, only incidentally involved Nomari.

  “Are we similarly monitored, nadiin-ji? One assumes we are.”

  “We control it. As Cenedi and Nawari control monitoring of the dowager’s quarters. We will not turn it on unless there is some visitor in the premises.”

  At least they were still in the dowager’s trust.

  “Have we any direct contact with Tabini-aiji?”

  “At the moment,” Algini said, “he is as aware as he wishes to be. We can contact him, but have not.”

  Which was to say, Tabini wished not to touch this arrangement, thus retaining the option of rejecting the outcome. That was how Tabini and Ilisidi had operated in various enterprises. Tabini still had not officially recognized Ilisidi’s trade agreement with Machigi. And need not, until Machigi himself had resolved what he wanted that relationship to be.

  So the paidhi-aiji and his aishid were Tabini’s eyes and ears on this train, no matter that they also served the dowager and took her orders—and he could at any point, he was relatively certain, call a halt and commandeer the Guild post on this train, either to protect the dowager or even, should he want to risk his usefulness to Tabini, to stop her from some action.

  Could he countermand Cenedi and Cenedi’s forces?

  Technically, maybe. In actuality—he would have to gain Cenedi’s consent. And that was not likely.

  “In the interests of everyone’s safety,” he said, “especially hers, we should talk to Cenedi, constantly. I trust Cenedi. I trust the Guild.” It was only lately that he could say that with some confidence. “And I trust those the Guild Council has assigned to Nomari. Beyond that—I do not trust the security of Hasjuran, no matter the good intentions of its lord, and I certainly do not trust the lord of Senjin to steer any straight course.”

  16

  Eisi and Liedi were happy about the changes and about their appointments, Cajeiri saw that in their faces. They had put on their best suits to go out about their orders, and they had stayed gone a while.

  When they came back, from the front door—Eisi entered first, bowed a little in Cajeiri’s direction—they both did. Then Liedi opened the door again and let Eisi usher in two people, both young, male and female, both in staff dress, both looking worried.

  Cajeiri stood up and received earnest and proper bows.

  Boji bounded about in excitement, not much liking intruders, giving one ear-splitting alarm shriek.

  “Aiji-meni,” Eisi said, “these two have volunteered, and have the skills, should you approve them.”

  “Nadiin,” Cajeiri said, himself trying not to look or act the fool. He gave a second little nod, and the pair bowed. “One hopes to have this arrangement approved. One hopes you yourselves approve.”

  The young woman bowed a third time. “Aiji-meni, we are very happy in the major domo’s recommendation.”

  He was relatively sure he had seen them in the halls. There were half a hundred on staff, in this and that duty, counting Father’s staff, and Mother’s. He knew the names of all the heads of staff of this and that sort, and all their assistants—well, most of them that had any rank. And these two were known faces, to do, he was fairly certain, with cleaning and arranging in the private rooms, but they were not individuals he quite knew for certain.

  “You are—?” he asked.

  An energetic little bow. “Tariko, nandi.”

  “This is your brother?” Siblings often served together.

  “Husband, nandi.” That was to say, not a contract-match, then, but a marriage, like Father’s with Mother. “Dimaji.”

  A bow from the young man.

  “They only need one room,” Liedi said.

  “We do,” Tariko said. “We can manage laundry, rooms, serving—we have done all those things.”

  “They have a security clearance for your father’s presence,” Eisi said, “and Dimaji can drive.” That was not a skill everybody had. “Tariko is Benaji clan and Dimaji is Anari, both sub-clans to Dur. They have been on your father’s staff this last year.”

  Dur was his very favorite, along with Taiben and Atageini. His first true ally besides Uncle had been Reijiri, the younger lord of Dur.

  “Dur has helped us when we most needed it,” he said. “Do you know Reijiri-nandi?”

  “No,” Dimaji said quietly. “We are from the villages. North of the Isle. We have seen him once. Only that.”

  “We are a little household,” Cajeiri said, “and sometimes there is a lot of work. And then I have my tutor. And it is fairly boring and shut-in. But we do travel sometimes. We hope to.”

  “Yes, aiji-meni.”

  “They do understand, nandi,” Eisi said. “We have told them—even the space station is not a foreign place to this household.” Eisi said it with a note of pride. “And they say they will go wherever they need to.”

  “Is everything settled, then, nadiin?”

  “The major domo has signed the transfers,” Liedi said, and produced papers in a stiff folder. “And copies are in your father’s office, along with the request for space, and the household budgets and accounts will be adjusted—unless you object, or your father the aiji does.”

  “I by no means object. And I shall send my father a note. He will answer by this evening.”

  “We shall put cots in the storeroom until we can arrange better,” Eisi said, “and their baggage will come the back way. It is only one room,” Eisi added, as a matter of particular pride in economy. “And the major d’ approves.”

  “Well,” he said, feeling as if things were suddenly in motion without him, “I hope everything works out.” They were so sober, so anxious. “We laugh, in this household. I hope you do not mind a joke.”

  “No, aiji-meni.” Nearly together.

  One room, he thought. It really did disturb very little, and got them a great deal more help. And he thought—he hoped—the changes would make as nice a place as Father’s and Mother’s servants had. With television. He decided he would not put one in his bedroom. He was trying to impress his parents with his character and his studies—everything, so that he could take days away, and travel, and go out to Najida, or up to Tirnamardi, and have—well, guests. As often as he could. His recreation was going to be at Najida every chance he could make.

  And a plan was taking shape. Not a stupid plan, the way he had slipped abou
t to do things he should have thought better about. No. A plan that involved a senior bodyguard and the ability to say his lessons were perfect. He could do that. He could go to Father’s office and ask to travel.

  If only—

  If only mani did not start a stupid war. If only the midlands could settle down and things could be safe.

  If only. If only. If only.

  He watched as Liedi took the pair back toward the servants’ passages by way of his bedroom.

  “We all could have died at Tirnamardi,” he said quietly to Eisi. “Do they understand?”

  “All your father’s staff died in these rooms, nandi, before our time. No one escaped. We know. And we are determined that we will not have it happen again. Liedi and I are very careful, and we listen to your bodyguards. I hope they give a good report of us in that.”

  “Boji is going. To a happier life, I hope. I am very sorry about the baggage car.”

  “We had some good times, Liedi and I and Boji. A brandy flask and a store of boiled eggs.”

  He had had no idea. But it had been a cold ride. “I shall not object.”

  Eisi smiled. “After hours, nandi. And we shall miss the little creature—not to the point he should grow old in that cage, but say that he has enlivened our duty.”

  “One hopes so, nadi.”

  “Nandi.” Eisi gave a little nod and left in the same direction as Liedi and the two domestics. Antaro had just come in, from the same route.

  Liedi left, Antaro arrived, and Eisi left. His household moved like that. There was always someone within call.

  “Have you met the two new people?” he asked Antaro. “Do you know them?”

  “A cheerful pair,” Antaro said. “We have seen them about. But we will make our own inquiry.”

  “Do,” he said. “One hopes this is a good idea.”

  He went to his desk, uncapped the inkwell, took a small sheet of the better paper and wrote a note to Father.

  We have received a letter from your staff encouraging—

  He had to look up that spelling.

  —us to bring in help for Eisi and Liedi. Eisi and Liedi have brought in two of your staff, Tariko and Dimaji, domestics, who will share one room, if you approve of them. I am assigning Eisi as my major domo and Liedi as doorman, even if we do not have an office for them, so they will make sure all the forms are filled out. Also I hope the hammering will finish soon and I am glad if we can settle the hallway without too much more—

  Another spelling check.

  —construction, which I know disturbs everybody.

  I am also sending to my tutor to start my lessons as soon as he can. I have already made a list of things I want to learn.

  Please let my senior bodyguard have a refrigerator for our security station. They also need a television to keep track of the news. I think a samovar would be good, too, though no one has asked for that. Likewise may I have the same for staff, and set aside a room for them, with chairs? They have to go to the kitchens or go through my bedroom to get a pot of tea for themselves. I promise everything will be proper in that area, with Eisi in charge.

  Thank you very much.

  He sanded it, slipped it into one of his better cylinders and used his seal.

  The fact that Father had not called him in today about the two new staff said to him that he might be having one of Father’s lessons on management, and Father’s lessons . . . some so simple, and generally unspoken . . . were more important than his tutor’s, by far.

  Rely on your aishid. He had heard that one from the day he had taken Antaro and Jegari. Trust your aishid. Trust your staff.

  He would bet that Father’s major d’ had consulted Father on all of it. And that Father had already approved his senior Guild’s request.

  He would even bet Father was waiting for him to send a proper note to ask permission. He also bet that a message to Mother would not be unappreciated.

  He sent Liedi with the message, to go downstairs. He had just sealed another note to go to Mother, when a message came back, the first to land in the enameled copper bowl Eisi had set by the door. Eisi brought it quite proudly, a letter in his father’s red and black cylinder.

  It said, simply, Well and sensibly managed, son of mine, and felicitations on your sudden initiative. Your mother and I thought you and your staff would choose properly, and we are not disappointed. Your well-considered requests are approved.

  Well-considered. That was more than just approved.

  He did not simply put the letter in the bin for Eisi to file. He slipped it into the left drawer, where he kept his personal things, his small treasures, not for staff to deal with.

  They did not need to know anything but—approved. He kept the letter for himself, a treasure he might want to read again not so long from now, when he had to send Boji off, or if, his deepest concern, anything went wrong in Hasjuran.

  He was not stupid. He was not a problem to his parents. He deserved to be with mani. It was just that—right now—he was obliged to be here to decide certain things that he had to decide.

  He sat there a time, thinking, imagining mountains, still wishing he was there.

  But knowing fairly surely why he could not be.

  * * *

  • • •

  There was one window in Bren’s car . . . one small, high window in the exterior door, at convenient height for atevi—not for a human, whose view out that window was a cloudy sky. It was an honor, this particular car. It was extravagantly comfortable, extravagant also in security provisions.

  But the Red Train, having passed the junction at noon, had turned south now, and begun to climb. There was surely scenery to be had, and one very much wanted to see the mountains.

  There was a portable step in the sleeping compartment, a simple matter to take it to the door, step up and stand on a level with the window.

  It was a little foolish, perhaps. But it was a view of the southern mountains, closer than one ever had except in landing in Shejidan.

  He loved mountains. The happiest days of his childhood had been on the slopes of Mt. Adam Thomas. Noburanjisu was the Edi name, the atevi name, a mountain sacred to the Edi and the Gan folk, when Mospheira had been theirs.

  He understood that sacredness. The peace it had. The strength. It cleansed the soul, that place. It took away the anger and the stress of a household with problems, and let him and Toby laugh and race and play boyish pranks in the snow. Their mother had a patience there, a freedom and tolerance for foolishness she had had nowhere else. Their mother laughed there.

  And everything was clean.

  He had no idea of the name of the mountain peak framed in the little window he had now. It was glacier-carved, a sharp fang of a mountain, its geologic history certainly written large in the diagonal band of gray rock—he’d sworn he would learn that sort of thing and he had never had time in Linguistic Studies to take that side course, never had the time to read aside from courses, never had found the impetus and the moment since . . . well, partly because mountains were no longer available to him on the continent. They were a distant, out-of-reach horizon.

  But they were so close now. They were the destination.

  He should find some geologist and ask about that dark band that serpentined along the foothills. That was simple enough. He should get a detailed map. Such things were easily within his reach. But—such projects just never managed to be critical at the moment.

  Maybe they would be. He’d never have thought he’d need to understand the path of a starship, either.

  How planets formed. He had picked that up in consequence of where life might be. Which was another thing he’d had to think about.

  Gravity pulled planets into round shapes. Were mountains just too stubborn? Or what? He was remarkably ignorant in some areas.

  He managed to miss, he thought, t
ruly significant things in his life, just because they were not an emergency. Probably the children who’d landed here would be amazed at the things they knew that he had missed along the breakneck course he’d set . . .

  Downhill skiing had been his temporary passion. He’d almost been good at it, had at least managed not to break anything fatal. He’d often thought since that it had been a good thing that he had gotten the appointment to the mainland, because without him there, Toby had given up the sport, before he broke something critical.

  Sad, he’d thought, at the time. Toby had gotten mired in marriage and kids, given up skiing, and then, in a brother’s lengthening absences, Toby’s marital relationship had gone down in flames. Toby had answered all their mother’s distress calls until she’d died, while he was off across space with no guarantee he’d ever come back—Tabini’s government had fallen, disastrously so, and people had died, and the Mospheiran government had gone from unwelcome neighbor to the aishidi’tat—to its ally and rescuer.

  And there had been Toby and his boat and his own ex-girlfriend Barb plying the waters back and forth, running risks, delivering goods and messages, and generally helping atevi resistence to the coup to stay alive. . . .

  Toby’s path from the mountain had been down to the sea, by a considerable detour through family breakup. Thank God Toby had stayed in one piece to be there, taking his absent brother’s place, doing what he could—because his fool brother was off doing something else.

  He had to face it. Much as he’d loved it, his own dealings with that mountain had not been wholly healthy. Healthy, hell—he’d had a crazy sort of death wish, challenging the mountain. It had been a dice roll, every descent, speed and risk wiping out the need to worry about anything or anyone. It had been his way of obliterating the Department, the University—the needs of his family—everything, for the few moments it took to do that one thing the fastest, the best that he could. It had been the most unfairly oblivious defiance of all the holds on him.