Resurgence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “I can also assure my neighbor,” Machigi said, “that I have no intention of occupying Senjin. That leaves, of serious worries, only your allies in the Dojisigin.”

  “Nandi,” Bregani said, acknowledging the remark, but nothing more.

  “And Murai-daja,” Ilisidi said, “you are most welcome this evening. We should not be surprised at your arrival. We hear you are a wise and able aid to your husband—and have been these eighteen years.”

  “We are a firm marriage, nand’ dowager,” Murai said quietly. “Not a contract.”

  “And a well-chosen partner, as we hear, contributing strength and stability to the district. Together, too, you have given the world a very accomplished daughter. Lady Husai, we hear you are quite the artist.”

  “One would not dare claim it, nand’ dowager.” It was a faint little voice. “But thank you.”

  “Pish, girl. Practice. Practice. Then claim everything you can. And become what you will.—A fine family. And we have heard little untoward about you, Lord Bregani, even from your adversary to the south.”

  “One is astonished to hear it, nand’ dowager.”

  “Well, well, you have favorably impressed us. We shall not begin our business before dinner, but over brandy, afterward.”

  Small talk. And little disposition to talk much at all. Ilisidi took up the matter of weather in Hasjuran, and the trip from the capital, and weather in Malguri, from which she had come. She segued to the disturbance in the midlands, and her great-grandson’s visit to Tirnamardi—“Joined by the aiji-consort,” Ilisidi said. “Which, however, stranded us in the capital for want of transport—so, seeing things there were dealt with, we took the opportunity to meet the paidhi-aiji, returning from his own trip. The paidhi has just concluded an event of considerable consequence among the Mospheirans. Which you may relate, nand’ paidhi.”

  So he had to carry the burden. “One was delivering a treaty to Mospheira,” he said, “a treaty made in the heavens, with our foreign visitors, which we are glad to say has settled various issues. The kyo have left us in peace—their departure was noted when I was on the island.”

  Husai looked up, and at him, as if a question fairly burned to be asked.

  “Husai-daja?” he asked.

  “They are real, the kyo?”

  “Indeed they are,” he said. “They look quite unlike humans or atevi. They are broad of body and large, and their language is full of sounds we simply cannot make. But they are also very smart, and together we did manage a sensible agreement. I must add that the aiji-dowager played a great part in those negotiations from the very beginning. So we have concluded a peace with strangers who do not in the least look like us. And if we can achieve agreement with people so different, we can surely do the same with people like ourselves, dare we hope for it? We can have a much better future if we do.”

  “And we believe dinner is in the immediate future,” Ilisidi said. “We are ready, are we not, Meri-ji?”

  A servant moved in with a tray to receive the glasses. Ilisidi set hers on it, and Bren followed suit, with Machigi and Nomari. So did Bregani and Murai. Husai added her glass of fruit ice still half full . . . nerves, Bren thought, poor girl. Bregani and Murai had downed theirs to the last, politely so, a matter of diplomatic courtesy, defying any expectation of ill effects.

  “Come,” Ilisidi said, planting her cane and holding out her hand for Cenedi’s assistance. She rose. “We have a light midlands meal before us, nothing elaborate. We cannot stand on much ceremony of state in this little car, but let us continue a pleasant conversation over our chef’s good efforts.”

  Ilisidi led the way to table, Bren and Machigi followed, with Bregani and Murai, while Nomari and Husai, least in rank, brought up the rear. And by the time they were at their places, the young lady had Nomari to assist her with her chair, usually a servant’s action. It was an attention which Husai received a little nervously, but as Nomari sat down across from her and engaged her in conversation, she answered, and looked more confident.

  One was not certain how far one might wish that to go, but right now, under present circumstances, it was a welcome counter to Machigi’s presence on Nomari’s other side. Bregani and his wife were opposite Machigi and Cenedi, who was on the dowager’s left, the dowager held one end of the table, with Cenedi on her left to make the fortunate number, and leaving Bren the seat at Ilisidi’s right, facing Cenedi, and next to Bregani. The table was laid with a wintry centerpiece of bare wood and seven stones pleasingly arranged. White candles, newly lit, shed a warmer glow as the ordinary lights dimmed.

  The dining car began to send forth dishes, then, fragrant with spices and sending steam up into the candlelight.

  “So,” Ilisidi began, cheerfully, over a serving of soup, “we were provided one dinner with Lord Topari, in the great house—quite a distinctive architecture. A treasure. Have you been in Hasjuran before, nand’ Bregani?”

  “I have never left Senjin until now, nand’ dowager.”

  “Nor you, Murai-daja?”

  “No, nand’ dowager,” Murai said. “We have not.”

  “Well, well, perhaps the future holds many new experiences for all of us. Curiously, we have had a limited view of the town with the snowfall—but trees are still in full leaf in the midlands and on the coast. Summer persists for us—and a mild summer at that. Has it been so in the Marid?”

  “Mild, yes, nand’ dowager.”

  This all interspersed with service. And after a pause for sampling and generally complimenting the offerings:

  “Nand’ paidhi. You elected to cross the strait both ways by boat. But not your own boat.”

  Clearly Ilisidi was handing him the dinner topic. One was obliged to take the hint and make of it something constructive. “No. My brother and his lady carried me over and back. Calm seas in both directions. Shall I mention the nature of my other business, aiji-ma?”

  “Indeed you may.”

  Talk, the order was, clearly. Distract us. Entertain us. Fill the silence. Put the guests at ease. Ilisidi was meanwhile thinking, estimating, watching interactions and reactions during this and that topic.

  Regarding Mospheira, there was no scarcity of recent material, the landing of the young gentleman’s guests, the preparation of the facilities, the difference in customs, the virtues of street food, the existence of the university and the several presidential residences—then the curious trio of tutors he’d found for the children, the landing of the shuttle, the arrival of the children—

  “There were pictures of the children.” Husai, who had been following it all quite closely, ventured hesitantly. “On the news. They seemed . . . very small.”

  “We are a small people,” Bren said. Sixteen-year-old Husai was taller than he was. “But yes, they are small, even for us. They suffered in their earliest years. Want of food. Want of most everything.”

  “Is the space station like that?”

  A good question from an unlikely source. He knew that some in the Marid’s more remote areas denied there was a functioning station, and said it was all a plot by Tabini-aiji. Some who believed the station was functional, and even that the starship had come home, called it a threat to atevi tradition and civilization. They trusted Tabini-aiji’s ownership of half of it no more than they trusted the human half, expecting it to work, as usual, to the Marid’s disadvantage as, in their view, everything did. It was Machigi who had been offered the Marid’s first chance to tap into the benefits of the space station, namely the weather observation, the technical advances, and space-directed navigation. Machigi certainly believed in it and had a fairly realistic idea of its capabilities. It was a question what the Senjin leadership believed.

  But it was the sixteen-year-old who asked the salient question.

  “Not this station,” Bren said, “but the other one—far, far away, now abandoned—suffered damage and a gr
eat many died. All its surviving people have come here, five thousand of them—which is five thousand too many for our own station to support, so food has still been short, and continues to be, even though the aiji is sending up supplies. So the five thousand will land—but they will not live on the mainland. They are entirely Mospheira’s problem.”

  “What of other strangers in the heavens?” Bregani found a question. “How do we keep them out?”

  “The ones who visited us are gone,” Bren said, “and understand, we do not share the same sun. Travel between suns takes years.” Husai’s lips parted as if she would immediately ask a question, but she ducked her head and declined to interrupt.

  “There are many, many suns,” Bren said, guessing what would have aroused a question. “The stars visible in the heavens are suns, each of them, with worlds around them—but they are impossibly distant, so far separated that our best telescopes can scarcely see them. Over such distances, travel takes years. And the kyo are not the least interested in our affairs so long as we leave them alone. That is what they want. The five thousand sat too close to them. They wanted these people to go, and the kyo are satisfied that they will live here and not there.”

  “Indeed,” Bregani said. “You do not foresee war.”

  “I do not. Isolation is the subject of the treaty. We know now we have well-disposed neighbors in one direction who just do not want visitors. And that is good news.”

  “Very good news,” Ilisidi said. “But as for us—do try the red sauce. There is so much we can share and trade—since we do share the same sun. Tastes may vary, but then, I would not care for bland porridge for every meal.”

  Bregani returned his attention to his plate, reaching for the recommended sauce, and adding a small dot of it to his plate. “Yet,” Bregani said, frowning at a sample of it, “there is risk. Tastes differ. I find it—a little hot.”

  “That it is,” Ilisidi said. “But it is a favorite of mine.”

  “We have imported a few northern spices,” Machigi said, “not to mention a handful of guilds—once the northern guilds agreed to allow service to one’s own clan.”

  “But upholding standards,” Ilisidi said, “so the locals are fully the equal of the central Guild. More than equal in some instances. Cenedi could say so.”

  “Knowing one’s own district,” Cenedi said, “is an advantage. Now that the Assassins and Transportation have made certain adjustments in administration, we have found advantages. And now that we have shown the way, other guilds are feeling challenged to do so.”

  “With certain benefits,” Ilisidi said. “We readily share information which used to stall quite long in certain offices before getting to the capital. Things do change. Attitudes change. Nand’ Bren can tell you the Hasjurani have finally entered the larger world and entertained a human in their great and ancient hall. Who knows but what, in the future, some young Hasjurani will venture to space and open a trade office? Who knows but what a Taisigi might someday be part of the weather office up there. But first,” Ilisidi waved a hand, “and much nearer to realization, I have an ocean port under construction. And people looking forward to Marid trade.”

  For the dowager’s strict rule, that was perilously close to a business discussion at dinner, which did not happen.

  “So are we looking forward to it, nand’ dowager,” Machigi said.

  “Ah,” the dowager said, “but dessert. Dessert first, before we concentrate on business. I have such a weakness for dessert.”

  Ilisidi had no weaknesses, Bren thought. And it was not an accident, that shift away from the imperial we, that warm and casual slip from court manners, while she offered hints, danced them forth and back again and watched reactions. No business at the dinner table, indeed. They delayed for dessert, and Ilisidi was watching every reaction.

  The regular plates departed. A light and frothy confection arrived, one Bren knew and trusted. He took a couple of spoonfuls, and more, as Ilisidi delayed the pace, letting the subjects think and worry—he knew the tactic. Likely so did Bregani, at least, likely his wife.

  The hour was getting on. It would be well dark outside, but there were no windows to say so. The candles had burned to half, themselves as good as any timepiece. Dessert arrived, a small, light one, consumed and gone.

  Then Ilisidi said, “Shall we get to business? Murai-daja, you and your daughter will have an escort to the comfort of your own car. Do not hesitate to ask staff for anything for your comfort. Lord Bregani, a short consultation.”

  Murai was not happy with that dismissal. A frown, a glance toward her daughter, who otherwise was to be sent off alone—

  “Go,” Bregani said. “Rai-ji, go, and do not worry. I shall not be long.”

  Servants were quietly collecting the table settings, which went quickly out of the area. Murai accompanied her daughter and likely collected at least one of the pair of bodyguards waiting in the galley car.

  “You are safe, nandi,” Bren said quietly to Bregani, who gazed after them. “So will they be, I say so in absolute confidence. I am equally your representative.”

  Bregani shot him a look that said he had no great confidence at the moment, but they moved back to the seating arrangement at the rear, two fewer, now, with Ilisidi, Machigi, Nomari, Bregani, and himself: five, that chancy combination of dangerous two and felicitous three—a number balanced between risk and felicity.

  And the paidhi was poised to represent Bregani. Ilisidi had not briefed him—probably, he thought, because Ilisidi had briefed no one except, one hoped, her grandson, and wanted the paidhi to take the position she left him and read reactions as they happened.

  Might she possibly have briefed Machigi? He thought not. She was doing what Machigi had asked her to do, so Machigi was free to assume he knew all she was doing.

  Machigi, Bren thought, was unlikely to believe it—being no fool.

  As for Nomari—he remained a question.

  He took his seat this time between the dowager and Machigi, and with Nomari on Machigi’s other side—Bregani had the freestanding chair opposite, and took that seat as servants provided brandy.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody should speak until the host spoke.

  “Well,” Ilisidi said, setting down her glass after a single sip. “Lord Bregani, let us begin with a few statements of principle. Our intention at this moment, is not to have a war in the western Marid, and not to see you deposed.”

  “That has never,” Bregani said stolidly, “depended on Shejidani influences.”

  Defiance. But also the truth, and one with which Machigi himself might agree.

  “Indeed,” Ilisidi said. “But then, you have a railroad which is our interest, a fairly important asset in the region. You also have a neighbor who is our ally—and who would not take it at all well should the Dojisigi lord replace you. Bluntly put, nandi, what is your opinion of the lord of the Dojisigi?”

  A deep breath. “That I have been in a desperate position from the moment the Red Train delivered an invitation to come here. I have come here at great risk. The only greater risk would have been to stay in Koperna and let her interpret the situation.”

  “We are told you did not bring your own guard. That you slipped away with four men related to your wife but not yourself.”

  “They are my wife’s cousins. Her aishid, Farai clan. As she is.”

  “You trust your wife,” Ilisidi said.

  “As no other, nand’ dowager. I do trust her. And trust the cousin I put in charge. I rely on them.”

  “You are Talidi.”

  “Yes.”

  “Son of Cosadi. Lord Tiajo is your cousin.”

  “My cousin once removed. Yes.”

  “And, again, your opinion of her, nandi?” Back to the question. Inevitably. “Do you trust her?”

  A pause. “Say that I can predict her moves, and that you have placed me
in a position, nand’ dowager, but I think you know that.”

  “I think you have been in a position since you became lord of Senjin. I think you are at a crossroads, in more ways than one, and we have something to offer. But the proposal is Lord Machigi’s. Will you hear him?”

  Bregani’s answer did not come quickly. And he did not look at Machigi. “I will hear him.”

  “Lord Machigi,” Ilisidi said. “Will you speak with your neighbor?”

  “I will,” Machigi said, and still to Ilisidi: “I have no quarrel with Senjin. Lord Bregani knows I am at least one reason that the bandit-backed regime in the Dojisigin has not breakfasted on the Farai and moved on to Koperna.” And to Bregani: “And you are, likewise, nandi, the strong roof over the Taisigin, which I do not fail to appreciate. We rely on each other even while calling ourselves adversaries. We have maintained that situation as the best maneuver we can manage to keep Dojisigin from venturing more than it does.”

  “An interesting interpretation, Lord Machigi.”

  “You know that should I attack you, I would be starting a general war. You equally know that I have never done so, and I do not intend it now. My interests, nandi, lie in an economically stable, politically strong Taisigin. I once saw the west coast as my means to that end, and in that, we might have been rivals, but the dowager extended an alternative offer which is achievable with far less trouble.”

  “Sailing to the east.”

  “Which I believe can be done, and done steadily. But even if you doubt it, were we linked in trade, were Senjin and the Taisigin both treaty-bound to the dowager in a trade agreement, the Dojisigin would instantly have us to fear, not the other way around: you would be allied with the Taisigin, with the Sungeni and the Dausigin. And not least—with Malguri, which would assure your safety.”

  “A trade agreement.”

  Machigi nodded. Quick. Sharp.