Resurgence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “One almost dreads their assistance,” Algini said. “Probably they are very good marksmen. The question of knowing when to shoot and what to shoot, however, is a matter of concern. They are not within our communications system.”

  “We should obtain a link at least to their senior,” Banichi said. “Bren-ji, the dowager is awaiting some sort of organization in this meeting. One does not see it developing. Who are all these people?”

  It was a question. Topari was giving orders himself, with Amdi and his partner right beside him, waving some people away, beckoning others, trying, one saw, to organize the platform and sort the mere onlookers from persons who might have some special function.

  “Chaos,” Jago said under her breath as they stood watching regular Guild establishing a clear perimeter for the dowager’s exit, while two workers strewed gravel on the walk and steps and people beyond the platform shoveled to make a path, and someone—bizarre as it was—seemed to be selling food to the onlookers. A confused flurry of people was being moved off by Topari’s guard, Topari himself shouting explanations, waving his mittened hands and trying to add courtesy to the orders.

  “I think these are notables of the town and some sightseers curious about the train,” Bren said. “They are moving off. But two of Topari’s guard are still somewhere below the platform, if they are that close. Clearly this is not Shejidan’s way of doing things.”

  “The people seem only enthusiastic,” Tano said. “There seems no harm intended.”

  “We should keep close order,” Banichi said. “And you will ease our minds, Bren-ji, if you wait right where we are.”

  “One agrees,” Bren said. “I am reluctant to seem appalled and retreat back into the car. But they will surely settle this before the dowager trusts herself to this crowd.”

  “You are a sight most have never seen, nandi,” Algini reminded him—which was true. Nobody in Hasjuran had ever seen a human. “The whole business offers sights never seen.”

  “Clearly, crowd control,” Jago said dryly, “is a thing this capital has never seen.”

  Two tall men with rifles made their way up the wooden steps against the flow of persons being urged down them, a further moment of confusion.

  “The bodyguards,” Tano said. “There.”

  “Well, they are trying,” Banichi said. And indeed there was beginning to be a sort of order, and a clear space, with only Lord Topari, several elderly folk of some presence, and Lord Topari’s bodyguard finally distributed in something like order.

  Algini said something into communications. Presumably someone had asked a question.

  “The dowager will come out and meet Lord Topari before the others,” Banichi said.

  One was not surprised. The dowager was not going to escort Machigi or Nomari as if they held some equivalent rank to hers They were each on their own. And meanwhile the paidhi-aiji and about sixteen Guild of various units held a fairly clear space for her appearance.

  “Nand’ Topari,” Bren said loudly. “Come stand close, if you will.”

  Topari came and the elderly dignitaries wandered uncertainly behind.

  “They will be welcome,” Bren said. “May one ask, are these members of your house?”

  “My paternal uncle,” Topari said, “my maternal aunt, my cousin, my wife, my third-eldest son.”

  There were bows, a fixed and anxious stare on the part of the uncle, as if the uncle expected the human to take flight or do something equally bizarre at any moment. The boy, about mid-teens, likewise stared. Bren put on a friendly but reserved expression, bowed liberally and remembered the names he was given—apparent that blood and kinship governed in Hasjuran, and he was not that surprised. It was true in various out-of-the-way holdings. Old-fashioned. Fairly stable, unless there was a falling-out in the family, and Lord Topari seemed protective and courteous to his household, a point in his favor.

  Eyes darted to the train. And indeed the door opened, and more Guild came out, then Ilisidi herself, wrapped in black furs, her redoubtable black cane in hand—a diminutive woman, with her attendant security, eight in number, with Cenedi in charge. She walked forward, across gravel-flecked boards, the cane marking even steps and a deliberate course toward them.

  Bren bowed. Topari bowed. Guild never did. And fur-trimmed hunter folk with old-style rifles faced black-clad Guild in a spreading wall of presence.

  “Nand’ dowager.” Topari’s voice seemed thin as the air. “We are greatly honored. Please join us. We have had only two hours’ notice, but my staff and a number of households in the town have been cooking up a banquet as best they can. Please.”

  “Well,” Ilisidi said, both hands on her cane, gazing about her. “A lovely view you have, nandi. And one of the few extant wooden great houses, we understand.”

  “We have, we have, aiji-ma. And yes, it is.” Topari recovered wit enough to use the honorific of personal allegiance. “Please come view it. We can offer you seasonal game, and a great deal of it. We can offer you our warmest welcome.”

  “Excellent. We shall use our train for lodging, as it suits us, but we shall be glad of a tour. How do you rate your security here, for a walk to your door?”

  “Everybody is honored. Everybody is absolutely honored. You are our guest—our welcome guest. We are your allies, your strong supporters.”

  “We are delighted.” Ilisidi stayed standing as she was, but her bodyguard stirred, as more armed men came from the cars, some in Guild black, some in black with green. Machigi was arriving among them, conspicuous in a green coat, and with him, escorted by Shejidani Guild, Nomari, likely shivering in a fine but inadequate coat. “My guests,” Ilisidi said. “Lord Machigi of Tanaja, in the Taisigin, and Nomari of the line of Nichono, candidate for Ajuri. We are here for a conference that may bring benefit to your district, nandi.”

  Bren had angled himself so as to see both the arrivals and Lord Topari with a shift of the eyes, and indeed, Topari had outright frozen where he stood, confronted with arguably the most dangerous man in the neighboring Marid, enemy to his nearest southern neighbors—and a northerner suddenly reported as a candidate to represent a key district in the heartland of the aishidi’tat.

  Topari seemed not to breathe for a moment. And then recovered with an intake of air. “Indeed, aiji-ma.” Possibly too much breath. He tried again. “Welcome.”

  That was the dowager in full flower, no question. One could not have warned the man. Topari was off-balance and wondering surely what the game was with Machigi and whether he was to be handed a war and the blame for it.

  Just then the Red Train’s engine puffed into activity, setting into leisurely and distracting motion. Two cars—only two cars, a baggage car and the spare sleeper—moved along with it, headed southward in a lingering cloud of steam, toward the steep descent to the Marid.

  “We shall stay nights aboard the train,” Ilisidi said sweetly, “but we shall be ever so glad of a good meal, and a chance to view the exquisite premises, nandi. What a beautiful snowfall! We so enjoy the mountains.”

  “Are they going to Shejidan, aiji-ma?” That was, likewise, Topari—the blunt question. Were the dowager’s cars being left here indefinitely? Was the train, now lightly composed, going the long way round the entire rail system, when there was a perfectly good chance to turn around here at Hasjuran?

  “No, no, nandi,” Ilisidi said, “our conference has one more invitee. We are not granting him too much forewarning. In fact, we would appreciate Hasjuran’s not gossiping about our being here, or at least, not intimating that the train will turn around in Koperna.”

  “Who is coming?” Topari asked and added a breathless: “Aiji-ma.”

  “Well, we do not know he is coming,” Ilisidi said. “How are your relations with Bregani of Senjin?”

  Another intake of breath, smaller, and a third. “Well enough, aiji-ma, that is, trains come and go, an
d we do trade with Senjin, both directions, and that is all. We have no occasion . . . that is, we have never met Lord Bregani. Or anybody of note, from Senjin. We have never exchanged messages, except—except the railroad office. If there is some problem we have exchanged notes.”

  “Well, well, we shall benefit by a brisk walk and a warm welcome to your extraordinary house. Show us this pretty scene, will you not?”

  * * *

  • • •

  Cruel woman. She could be that—but never idly, never pointlessly—well, occasionally, yes, and recklessly so, Bren thought, when she was in a mood to test someone she expected to be a problem. He had had his own experience of that, but she had been at odds with Tabini on that occasion, and doubtless felt strongly, improperly challenged. The point was, still, in spite of it, he freely forgave her for it, and to this hour, he would throw himself between her and an attacker, to the absolute distress of his bodyguard. She meant well for Topari—if Topari was the ally he represented himself to be. One could feel sorry for the man—who probably could not truly advantage himself of her favor: he was too much a creature of impulse, and she was calculating to the extreme.

  But he had come to believe there was nothing of ill intent in Topari, who truly had been oblivious to the fact creature was not the nicest way to refer to the human paidhi-aiji.

  In very fact, seeing what Topari was, and where he was, and how very asea he was in the dowager’s rising tide of plans and intentions—nor likely to gain enough wariness fast enough—he concluded he ought to look out for the man, and help him look out for his people’s interests in what was about to land on his doorstep.

  He walked behind the dowager now, a little ahead of Machigi and Nomari, both of whom, being warier and better-informed, had more direct worries about what the Red Train might bring back—or not—than about Lord Topari’s actions.

  Snow came thick, a veil across the public square. Piles of snow lined the area where shoveling had cleared a sort of public space, and defined a pathway leading toward the great house, but not a lonely great house with extensive grounds, as most were. A good many buildings of the same wooden style, with curving eaves, crowded close about it, some even seeming to share roofs, making sheltered walkways. Children and adults alike climbed up on the snow piles to watch their progress, and children, oblivious to the ceremony of the occasion, began to pelt other hills with snowballs and to run about in high spirits unchecked by their elders.

  A few such darted across their path, and three danced about in high spirits. Lord Topari’s guard waved them off. They ran away, shouting and throwing two snowballs, at which elders near one of the snow piles tried in vain to lay hands on them.

  One began to see that this was not, in any regard, the formality of Shejidan, let alone the Bujavid—but it did not seem to disturb the dowager. Nomari seemed wary, but not upset at the children. And Machigi was, well, not Ragi, to say the least, and he was the one frowning. The crowd certainly made security harder, and it was fairly clear this place had never seen such a Guild presence. Guild surrounded them, a black lance driven into the white of Hasjuran, heavy with armament, troubling what in many ways seemed an innocent place, old-fashioned, lacking stone monuments, but having that massive wooden hall, centuries old. If there was threat here it veiled itself in the snowy air, and stayed out of their path for the moment.

  They reached three sets of wooden steps, each with a railed terrace, and now Ilisidi took Cenedi’s assistance on one side, but she made the stairs with the aid of her cane, and had to make the descent tonight as well, Bren thought, somewhat worried, but she would do what she would do.

  And they were going to trust a strange house’s cuisine.

  But not quite. He was well sure that, while Narani and Jeladi and others were remaining aboard the train for security reasons, Bindanda was somewhere behind them, in Ragi black and red: a Guild uniform would not suit Bindanda’s girth, though it indeed had, some decades ago. He traveled in plain clothes, he had not brought his chef’s gear, nor would he be their principal cook on this venture, but he came equipped with a discerning nose and a knowledge of recipes and ingredients. He would manage to be in Topari’s kitchen, lifting lids, asking questions, introducing himself to staff and answering their questions about the dowager’s preferences, while watching—to be sure, also, that Hasjuran did not poison by accident the sole human Hasjuran had ever seen.

  It was a mission of some professional delicacy—cooks being cooks—but Bindanda had his charming side, and knew how to use it.

  Third terrace, and more stairs. It was not yet winter in the mountains, and it was possible that that snowy commons out there might become quite deep in snow in midwinter, making the entry the second terrace, even the third terrace, at worst case. There were, one understood, seasons where the trains simply did not run, and winter would settle here long before it arrived in Shejidan.

  Two beautifully carved doors stood before them, a motif of mountains and clouds. These opened on a firelit corridor and walls half rough stone with wooden beams, reminiscent of Malguri, but larger. Ilisidi would surely be pleased with the sight, would take delight in the smell of wood smoke, and the harmonious wooden pillars.

  “This is lovely, nandi,” Ilisidi said. “We compliment you on this hall.”

  “Nand’ dowager—aiji-ma—we are beyond honored.” Poor Topari was having a little difficulty with his honorifics. He truly was trying to do the right thing.

  They walked deeper into the hall, with a good many mounted heads and horns in evidence along the walls, and entered a grand wood-pillared hall, with a fireplace that could have roasted an entire beast, and a very large table laid with white cloth and set with metal and wood and pottery, all rustic, but very festive, a great three-sided arrangement of tables and linens. Iron chains held the live-fire lighting suspended in the center of the hall, well-anchored—Bren looked up at the anchor points, on a stout column, a single evergreen trunk, one of twelve holding up the roof-beams, noted the chain that let it down so that the oil lamps could be filled—effective oil lamps, with faceted glass chimneys that cast a jewel-case lighting about the hall.

  It was, indeed, an architecture he had never seen, strong and rough, but harmony was in the design. Bundles of fragrant evergreen lay up and down the tables—a kabiu arrangement clearly not anticipating all the guests, but it was honest and local, and a few attendants were scurrying about adding proper elements of kabiu at the head table at a frantic pace, small and larger stones and here and there an additional sprig of berries.

  One was not sure of the interpretation—the symbology varied regionally; but by the last-moment haste, one supposed it took into account the presence of Machigi and Nomari—a courteous gesture, considering the relations between the Taisigi and the north, and the fact Nomari as yet had no rank but guildsman.

  There would be another scurry tomorrow, granted the Red Train’s mission succeeded down in Senjin.

  But if that mission failed, they would have to have another sort of discussion.

  * * *

  • • •

  “The park will take Boji,” Onami reported. It was past the time Father usually came upstairs after a day in the downstairs office, and there had been calls back and forth all day that Cajeiri understood to be involved with Boji—a very disturbing lot of calls, when one knew that Father had other things on his mind. The park director wanted Boji. That was in no doubt. But the park biologist had laid down changes that had to be made, and that were going to involve construction.

  As if there was not already construction everywhere Cajeiri touched.

  Perhaps we should postpone it, Cajeiri had sent down to Father, and Father had sent back, Of items worrying me today, this is the smallest and most reasonable, and halfway pleasant to deal with, since it actually seems capable of resolution within this century and does not involve lives. It is a relief, between other actions on my desk. I
shall have it before supper.

  “And Father is happy,” Cajeiri asked Onami.

  “As seems, there is a plan already drawn up for a general expansion and improvement,” Onami said, “and it seems mostly a matter of making a current cost assessment and substituting modern materials. Which is to say—”

  “I understand,” Cajeiri said. He did. It was old, and the prices of things changed. And there were new materials from space. “They are going to do it.”

  “Your father is offering a loan, without interest, to be paid back after twenty years. And in your name, a gift, for the parid’ja enclosure.”

  “But Father is paying them to take him,” he said to Onami. “I truly had not wanted that.”

  “He is not paying them to take him, aiji-meni, but paying them to keep him in. Your father’s concern is Boji getting loose in the park and being far too ready to approach people. Your father will not have an event of good fortune turned into a bad one all because the enclosure was not able to contain a creature who has become skilled with latches and good at theft. The teaspoon . . .”

  “. . . Is still missing.” That was only the most valuable thing that Boji had deposited somewhere.

  “Whatever is shiny,” Onami said.

  “One understands,” he said, envisioning Boji going right over roofs and up trees—to carry out one of his bounding thefts on a tourist. “I am glad, then.” He added, envisioning the park of his imagination, a place borrowing some features from the space station. “I would like to go there when he is let go. I have never been to a place like that.”

  “I think your bodyguards would all support that idea,” Onami said.

  Onami left. He sat there thinking—maybe it was freedom for Boji.

  And for him. He could travel now—given Father’s permission. He could see Malguri. He could visit Najida, definitely. He could do that.

  He looked across the room, at Boji, who looked back at him. Boji had been uncommonly quiet—as if he knew something was going on. Boji could read him at times.