Statistics and statistics. Stacks of financial reports—those were not his favorites . . .
But there were far worse ways to spend an afternoon, and lately, he had seen all too many of them.
9
Life was very much better now, in Cajeiri’s estimation. He had his aishid for company and conversation, and the imminent prospect of his guests and his party.
Training for his aishid in the gym or on the firing range was daily, it turned out, and the place was very quiet when they were gone. But in the evenings, on their little private dining table, Veijico and Lucasi were doing a lot of interesting instruction with the equipment they had brought in.
It was supposed to be just Antaro and Jegari. Cajeiri was not really supposed to hear the lessons, they said, because some of it was classified and it was Guild regulations—the Guild was being very strict about regulations, since the Troubles. But he still heard a lot that was going on, and he already knew how the locators worked, and about wires, and explosives, which he had learned mostly from Banichi, aboard the ship.
Finally they said he was, after all, his father’s heir, and the aiji could override the lesser rules, so they said it was probably all right for him to hear, so long as he did not talk about it with anyone but them.
Electricity became a very fascinating subject—he understood now a lot of things it could do besides turn on lights.
His tutor was willing to tell him a lot about electricity, things which were not classified, but he began to see how those theories might relate to things that were classified.
He had had Banichi and the exploding car in mind, when he had first asked his tutor about circuits.
He really learned about explosives, now, and how Banichi had known how much to use. And he came to realize that explosives were very good if you had a big target, or room enough, but that electricity was more subtle. That was Great-grandmother’s word: subtle.
And most subtle of all were the wires, which could do terrible damage and which atevi were not supposed to have, but they did. They were illegal for anybody but Guild, and that only under very special circumstances and with Guild approval.
He’d known about wires before, but now he knew about them. He was excited about that.
Lucasi was kneeling on the floor in the bedroom doorway, showing him, with a real wire that was not powered up, how to detect such a trap, telling him where they were most often used, and why—when a knock came at the door.
Cajeiri ignored it, trusting Antaro to see to whoever it was.
She brought back a letter, to the table where they were working, and it was not a regular letter, but one in a plain steel cylinder with just the Messengers’ Guild crest stamped in it, and dented and scuffed as this sort of cylinder often was. It was so odd for him to get such a letter that Antaro insisted on opening it herself, just to be sure.
It was machine-printed, because it had come down from orbit, from Lord Geigi himself.
“To me?” he asked, but he could see it was. A letter directly to him—and saying that his associates from the station were all coming on the next shuttle. Bjorn could not come, but Irene could. And that was the tightest group of them, Gene, Artur, Irene, and him, even if they were an infelicitous number, they had Bjorn sometimes, for a fortunate fifth.
The shuttle was coming early.
Electricity could wait. He had to tell his father immediately, even if he was sure it was not the only letter from Geigi that would have come to the door. If he had received any information his father had not, he had to be prompt in reporting it, and just—proper. He had to be absolutely proper. Proper about everything. And not offend anybody. It was really happening.
His birthday was still days away, and they were coming early and they would have two weeks or however long it took them to service the shuttle before they could go back up to space.
It was happening, it was happening, it was happening.
He put on a better coat, to show respect, and he took himself and his aishid straight to his father’s office door.
“Honored Father,” he said, when he was let in. “I have a letter from Lord Geigi, addressed to me. He says my guests are coming! And the shuttle is coming early.”
His father had a serious, even frowning expression. He realized he had interrupted his father at work, reading his own mail. Maybe coming quite so fast was not such a good idea after all.
Or maybe there was something really the matter.
“We are aware,” his father said, in a flat tone, and he thought it wise just to bow and back out of the room.
“Excuse me, honored Father.”
“The legislature is in session. The tribal bill, nefariously diverted into a conservative-dominated committee, has run into opposition, and your great-grandmother is now asking me to get a letter from the six highland clans giving their support. These six clans cannot agree with each other. How shall I persuade them?” His father pushed back from the desk with an annoyed expression on his face. “Against these other problems, do you truly have a concern, son of mine?”
“Honored Father, only to inform you.”
“Properly so.”
“One would wish—”
“You are about to ask me for permission to go out to the spaceport.”
“One would hope—”
“You will be lodged in your great-grandmother’s care during that visit. What she does I am sure will be out of my hands, so you will have to arrange that with her.”
“One is grateful, honored Father.” It was good news. It was wonderful news.
His father’s expression grew less angry. Slowly.
“You have given no thought, yet,” his father said, “as to where to lodge your early guests before and after. Do you propose to put them into the guest quarters here? Or in your small suite? I do not think that would be the best idea.”
“Honored Father.” He bowed. No, he had not thought about where he was going to put them. He had been trying to think how he could take them to interesting things, or any of those matters. “One thought some things would be planned by staff.”
“My staff is busy. Staff in general is greatly reduced, your mother is having nerves, and a set of foreign children crowded into the guest quarters and trooping through the sitting room will not improve her mood. How will cook accommodate them? How will staff inquire about their needs? One assumes they are no more tolerant of sauces than is nand’ Bren.”
“Perhaps—” He cast about desperately for an answer. “Perhaps nand’ Bren will help. He has a guest room. His cook understands about humans.”
His father hooked one arm about the side of his chair. “A reasonable suggestion. Undoubtedly nand’ Bren will have to assist. So will your great-grandmother be fully capable of handling details. Do not distress yourself, son of mine. I have thought about these things. And the logistics of the festivity itself. One only wondered whether you had in fact devoted any thought at all to the practical matters in this visit. Jase-aiji grew quite ill when he simply looked out over a flat surface. He had all manner of difficulty with dizziness.”
He had not thought about that. He could look like a fool. He was very anxious not to misstep and make his father think he was a fool.
“If I can write to them, I can warn them, honored Father.”
“Your great-grandmother will be in communication with nand’ Bren, son of mine. I am sure he will foresee a great many of the difficulties. Go enjoy the day.”
“Honored Father.” He bowed and started for the door.
And then he had a thought, how everything including himself was being turned over to the people his mother most objected to. He stopped and looked back, catching his father regarding him with a particularly thoughtful look. He bowed. Asked very cautiously: “What does Mother think about my going to Great-grandmother?”
His father let go
a deep breath. “She will not be happy. But she would be far less happy at the attendance of three human children at close quarters. The baby is troubling her a great deal.”
“Is she all right?”
“She seems to be. In all honesty, son of mine, I do fear she is not going to be at her most gracious.”
Mother was his father’s deepest problem. He knew things had not gotten better. And he had the feeling that his father was taking fire for him on the matter of his guests. He did not know how to say that in words.
“Shall I go tell her about them coming early, honored Father? And about me going to Great-grandmother?” he asked. “I think she should know it before the servants happen to mention it.”
His father thought about it a moment with that look he used deciding serious, serious things. Then he nodded. “Go, son of mine. If you have learned anything of nand’ Bren’s art, use it.”
“Yes,” he said respectfully, and bowed, and left, back out into the hallway, where his aishid waited.
“I am to see my mother, nadiin-ji,” he said, feeling all the while he was not going to have any good reception, and walked down the hall as far as his mother’s door.
His mother did not like surprises. And he knew for certain that his great-grandmother having his birthday was the kind of thing that would have his mother and his father shouting at each other, the sort of thing that just tied his stomach in knots and scared the servants into whispers.
But he had said it: it would be far worse if his mother was surprised by a servant talking about plans she had no idea about. He gave a tug at his shirt cuffs and at the lace at his collar, took a deep breath and had Antaro knock before he tried the door—it was unlocked—and just went on in.
His mother’s suite, with that beautiful row of windows, and white lace curtains, and the crib where the baby would sleep, seemed an unhappy, lonely place at the moment.
It was one of Cook’s staff who came out to see who had come into in the nursery. That woman, and two of the girls who ordinarily washed the dishes and did sewing, were the only staff his mother had at the moment. His mother was not happy about it, and by their habitual faces, neither were the girls.
“Young gentleman,” the woman said.
“Please tell my mother I am here,” he said in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could manage, and waited to be let into his mother’s sitting room.
The door opened wide to admit him. His mother, wearing a pretty white lace gown, was sitting, reading by the light of a flower-shaped lamp. She folded the book, and looked at him, expressionless as if he were some servant on business.
He bowed. “One wished to tell you without delay, honored Mother. The shuttle schedule is changed. My associates are coming down early, three of them. One is not certain how much early, but very soon.”
“Indeed.”
“One knows you are not happy to have my guests here. Father says I am to go to Great-grandmother and let her and nand’ Bren take care of things and not be a bother to you.” The last part was his invention, which he thought was a good thing to say.
“Sit down,” his mother said, with no hint of expression, and he found a seat on her footstool, and sat quietly. “Are you pleased with this arrangement, son of mine?”
“Yes, honored Mother.” He sat on the very edge of the footstool. Mother was not as good as Great-grandmother about leading one into traps, but one had to be very wary. Great-grandmother just thumped his ear when she was angry. But his mother went on being mad for hours. Days. He really had rather Great-grandmother.
“You think your great-grandmother will be more patient than I am?”
That was a trap. “I think Great-grandmother is not having headaches.”
“One supposes the paidhi will be involved.”
“One thinks, yes.”
His mother frowned. “Could you ever even talk to these people, son of mine? How do you speak to them?”
She had never asked him that. He did not want to admit he was fairly good at ship-speak, though he supposed she was going to find out. “We use signs. They know a little Ragi. I know a little ship-speak.”
“You know it was illegal for them even to speak to you not so many years ago. It was illegal for them to know Ragi at all. And very illegal to speak it.”
He was amazed. “Why?”
She laughed, shortly and not very happily. And he had no idea why. “You are still young. Ask nand’ Bren someday. He can tell you.”
“I am almost felicitous nine. And I shall be much smarter and not get into trouble this next year.”
“Do you promise?” She reached out and he steadied himself, not to flinch. He had a stray wisp of hair that never grew long enough to go back. She smoothed it back even if it did no good. “I hope your sister’s hair grows to an even length.”
“I put a little goo on it.”
A laugh. Actually a laugh. “I know you do. I am glad you have two servants now.”
He wanted to say, One is very sorry about yours, but he did not want to get his mother off onto that topic. A little silence hung in the air, uncomfortably so.
“So,” she said. “Your great-grandmother will house these foreign children. That should be interesting, amid her antiques. And her staff will plan the events.”
He saw where this was going. Right then. The piece of hair had fallen down again. He felt it. And his mother reached a second time and put it in order.
“What did you do on your last felicitous year, son of mine? How did you celebrate, aboard the ship?”
“I do not remember that I did at all,” he said, and that was the truth. “Time on the ship gets confused.”
“Your great-grandmother forgot your birthday?”
“Sometimes the ship does strange things. And you lose days. Day is only when the clock says, anyway.”
“So you have had no festivity since your fifth. Do you remember that one?”
“No, honored Mother.”
“We had a very nice party. Flowers. Toys. Very many toys.”
He shook his head. He had a good memory, but sometimes he thought his life had begun with the ship. The memories from years before it were patchy, tied to places he had never been. They told him about his riding a mecheita across wet concrete at Uncle Tatiseigi’s place. And he almost could remember that. At least he had pictures in his head about it, but he could not remember much about the house the way it had been then—only the house when they had all been there, with shells falling on the meadow around it. Most of his memories were like that. They were things that had happened, but he had no recollection of where and nothing to pin them to. It seemed they had been on the train once. He remembered the train. He remembered woods that might have been Taiben on a different trip than when he had met Antaro and Jegari. But he had no idea.
“What would you like for your birthday?” his mother asked him. “Is there any gift you would like?”
He was beyond toys, really. Most of what he liked were books. And he wished he could get the human archive back. There were his memories, of horses, and dinosaurs, and humans, all of which would appall his mother.
So he thought of something that would not come in a box. But he did want it. “I want you and Father to be there.”
“Son of mine.” His mother sat looking at him, and did not finish that.
“I wish you and Great-grandmother would not fight.”
“Try wishing that of her.”
He knew nothing to say, to that, because mani was mani and that would never change.
“Well,” his mother said, “you shall have your party here, in the Bujavid. In our sitting room. Your great-grandmother may come. I shall invite her. And the paidhi-aiji. Are there others?”
“My tutor.”
“Not the Calrunaidi girl.”
“My cousin. She would not know anyone. Everybo
dy will mostly be adults. And she could not talk to my guests. And besides, I really do not know her.”
She nodded, not disapproving that information. “Well. A very modest request.”
“I have everything I need. I have my aishid. I have a good tutor. I have my own rooms. I have Boji.”
“That reprehensible creature. Will you take him to visit your great-grandmother?”
“May I?” He was really worried about Boji if he had to leave him. Eisi was a little afraid of him, since he had gotten his finger nipped. “And I know Great-grandmother has servants, but might I take Eisi and Lieidi with me?”
His mother smiled that secret smile she had when something amused her. “Son of mine, this is your household. You may deal with it as you wish. I see I have nothing to do. I leave everything up to your great-grandmother.”
That was down a track he wished she would not take. And there were, regarding her and his grandmother, things he wanted to know.
“What did you talk about?” he asked. “When you walked with Great-grandmother at the party, what did you talk about?”
His mother’s face went suddenly very serious. “Things,” she said. “Things that truly are not that interesting.”
“I would be interested, honored Mother.”
“Ask her. And when you do ask her, perhaps you will do me a favor.”
“What favor, honored Mother?”
“She offered me staff. And a bodyguard. If you will do me the particular favor, son of mine, tell her a skilled hairdresser who has also had a child would gain my deep gratitude at this point.”
“A hairdresser, honored Mother.”
“Truly,” she said. “Such a gift might win my gratitude. Shall I tell you my logic? It is very simple. The secrets of your father’s household are no secret from your great-grandmother. This is not the case with other clans who have offered. So tell her yes, I have thought about it. I shall accept such assistance, not the bodyguard, not the wardrobe mistress. I wish to see how a small instance runs, and where man’chi may truly lie.”
“I shall ask her, then, honored Mother. I shall be glad to ask her.”
Protector: Foreigner #14 Page 12
