So very much went on tacit and unspoken—and the paidhiin one and all had had so little idea until he’d had the crash course at Malguri, and finally, rammed through a stupid human head on the plane, the implications he’d missed by not knowing well enough where the associational lines lay, the sub-associations the paidhiin had always known were there, the potency of which the paidhiin had completely underestimated.
The paidhiin had learned to appreciate atevi television, and machimi plays, in which, so often as to be cliche, the stinger in the situation was atevi not knowing an ally had a more complicated hierarchy of man’chi than even the lord had thought he had. Or the lord, who theoretically lacked man’chi by reason of being a lord, turning out to have man’chi to someone no one accounted for.
God, it was right out there in front of the paidhi; it had been right there in front of the State Department and the FO and the university, if anybody had known remotely how to trace it: the university kept meticulous records of genealogies, the provable indications of man’chi—and he knew who was related to whom, more or less. But that didn’t say a thing about what Banichi had talked about, the man’chi of where mates came from—or why.
Or the man’chi of servants; or the man’chi one atevi awarded another—Cenedi had found it necessary to tell him, perhaps as a point of honor he’d pay any deserving person, perhaps just a warning for the dim-witted human, that he couldn’t regard any debt of life and limb ahead of his man’chi to Ilisidi. Cenedi hadn’t needed to say that: he’d understood when he’d put Cenedi in a position humans would call debt that Cenedi would owe him no favors. Banichi had protested vehemently his announcement he’d attached man’chi to him and Jago. He didn’t know why they should object—unless—
—of course. He felt his face go hot. Banichi had said, with some bewilderment and force—you’re not physically attracted to me, and then added that about Jago. Man’chi was hierarchical. Except the exception Banichi had hinted at. He’d declared man’chi either reversing the order of hierarchy, the paidhi toward his security—
—or he’d said something exceptionally embarrassing to Banichi, who couldn’t even, in what Banichi might know about the incident between him and Jago, entirely swear that that wasn’t exactly what a crazy human was feeling at the moment—
And the university didn’t, couldn’t, without more shrewd observations from the paidhiin than they’d ever gotten, trace the hidden lines of obligation, the not-so-obvious lines that evidently came down through generations that could be inherited, but that weren’t, universally; or that could be acquired through physical or psychological attraction; or that could be forged behind closed doors by alliance of two leaders way up in the ranks of the nobility, and bind or not bind their kinsmen, their followers, their political adherents, according to rules he still didn’t understand and atevi didn’t acknowledge, at least out loud, maybe even in the privacy of their own self-realizations. There might be atevi who really, just like humans, didn’t wholly understand the psychological entanglements they’d landed in. For a human, he thought, he was doing remarkably well at figuring out the entanglements of man’chi after the fact; he’d yet to get ahead of atevi maneuvering—and he’d no assurance even now he was looking in the right direction. He’d asked Jago once where her man’chi lay—and Jago’d taken at least nominal offense and told him in so many words to mind his own business: it wasn’t something polite people ever asked each other. Banichi likewise.
He wondered if even the recipients of such man’chi always knew what was due them, or if that was, among the other logical and perhaps embarrassing causes, also why Banichi had turned his declaration away with, Not to us, nand’ paidhi—in, for Banichi, quite an expression of dismay.
Servants made a last frantic pass about the sitting room, whisking the suspicion of dust off the fireplace stones, tidying the position of a vase so the largest flowers were foremost.
None of which Tabini gave a glance to when he came in—just a brightening of expression, and, “Ah, Bren-ji, I thought you might be resting. Any difficulties?”
“No, aiji-ma, none, absolutely an easy flight.”
“Sit down, sit down—” Tabini sat, flung his feet onto a footstool, and glancing at Naidiri said, not so happily, “See to it, Naidi.”
One thought it might be time to get out of Tabini’s way and retreat to one’s room. But Tabini seemed to have disposed of the matter and proposed a round of dice, which, unlike darts, at least evened the odds for a human participant; and named low stakes, pennies on the point, and a glass of something safely potable for the paidhi, on peril of the purveyor’s life.
The purveyor being Banichi, the paidhi had no concern at all. And after that it was himself and Tabini and elderly Eidi, and two of the servants, on order of the aiji, the ladies protesting they couldn’t, daren’t sit with the aiji, and Tabini saying they’d damn well—they needed a five and security was busy.
So they sat, two gentlemen and a pair of nervous young ladies afraid they’d be beyond their betting limit—they sipped appropriate fruit liqueurs, the ladies as well—they bet pennies, and Tabini and he both lost to one of the maids; Tabini because he was distracted in other thoughts, Bren judged, himself because math counted at least a little in the game of revenge they were playing.
“We’re up against a counter,” Tabini said, to him and to Eidi. “And these ladies have made common cause.”
“And you have a human for a handicap. We should rearrange the alliances.”
“Never,” Tabini said.
Which lost them, collectively, for an hour and a half, twenty and seven, and a bottle of fruit wine.
And he had a fair idea, by the looks that passed between Tabini and the truly lucky gambler of the pair, that Tabini very well knew Saidin’s proxy on the staff, and perhaps more than one of them.
It didn’t help the paidhi’s anxiety about the peace of the evening at all. But the serving staff was on notice, Tabini, who was very prone to notice the ladies in any gathering, was an absolute gentleman, possibly because it was Damiri’s staff, and there was no hint that anything at all was different from previous, all-male visits to Taiben—Tabini might have done as in the past, and had only his own security about them; and didn’t—which had Damiri’s name all over the situation.
Possibly the aiji didn’t want to signal distrust of Damiri. Perhaps the aiji wanted to use the paidhi and himself for bait to draw some action from Tatiseigi, who was, as Banichi and Jago had advised him, an easy train ride away.
Not mentioning overland transport, which the rangers certainly had, and which one could well assume the Atigeini estate had.
Tabini at last leaned comfortably in his chair, one arm draped over the chairback, and waved a hand at the table. “The playing field is yours, dajiin. The bottle. The coin. —The honors. Kindly report us well to your house.”
“Aiji-ma.” There was a profound bow, profound confusion from one as she rose from the table. A smile from the other that could be challenge, could be acknowledgment—the young woman was surrounded by Guild seniors, against which she wouldn’t have a chance for her own survival if she even looked like making a move, and she had to know that.
There was no Filing. Which meant blame and consequences flying straight to the Atigeini head of house, which she had to know also.
Bren drew in his breath and found immediate preoccupation with the position of his glass on the table.
“Pretty,” was Tabini’s comment after they’d withdrawn with the prizes. “Very sharp. The one on the left is Guild. Did you know?”
He looked up. It wasn’t the one he’d thought. “I guessed wrong,” he said, chagrined.
“I’m not sure of the other one, either,” Tabini said. “Certain things even Naidiri won’t say. Damiri herself professes not to be sure. But one suspects it’s a pair. I understand you’d no idea of Saidin’s position.”
He didn’t breathe but what Tabini had a report of it.
“I’m comple
tely embarrassed. No, aiji-ma. I hadn’t.”
“Retired, actually,” Tabini said, “but an estimable force. If I can trust Naidiri’s estimate—and I wouldn’t be living with the lovely lady sharing my bed if I hadn’t certain assurances passed through the Guild—she answers primarily to Damiri. Only to Damiri, in point of fact.”
There were cliffs and precipices in such topics. He drew a breath and went ahead. “What of Damiri? Are you safe, personally safe, aiji-ma? I’m worried for your welfare.”
“I take good care,” Tabini said, and turned altogether sideways, one long leg folded against the chair arm, booted ankle on the other knee. “Concerned on behalf of the Association, Bren-ji? Or your directives from Mospheira?”
“To hell with Mospheira,” he muttered, and got Tabini’s attention. “Aiji-ma, I’ve quite well damned myself, so far as certain elements of my government are concerned.”
“I take it that the message was Hanks, that it said unpleasant things, and that it was not under duress.”
“It was accusatory of me, of you, as instituting a seizure of others’ rights—” He was aware, as he said it, that he placed Hanks in direct danger, if Tabini were even remotely inclined to retaliatory strikes—and that, in atevi politics, Tabini might no longer have the luxury of tolerating Hanks’ actions. “I apologize profoundly, aiji-ma—they’re my mistakes. I spend my life trying to figure what atevi will do; I misread her. Of my own species. I have no excuse to offer. I’ll give you a transcript.”
Tabini waved a hand. “At your leisure. Knowing the company she’s keeping enables one rather well to know the content.”
“Banichi and Jago seemed to have a very good idea of the content.”
“She accuses you to your government.”
“Yes.”
“Will this be taken seriously?”
“It—will be raised officially, I’m fairly sure. Depending on what goes on in the government, I will or won’t be able to go back to Mospheira.”
“Without being arrested?”
“Possibly. That Hanks hasn’t gotten a recall order—I fear indicates she still has backing.”
Tabini said, “May I speak personally?”
“Yes,” he said—one could hardly refuse the aiji whatever he wanted to say, and he hoped it entailed no worse mistake than Hanks.
“I hear that your fiancee,” Tabini said, “has reneged on her agreement.”
“With me?”
“With you. I know of no other.”
“There wasn’t—actually a clear understanding.” He’d talked about Barb with Tabini before. They’d discussed physical attractiveness and the concept of romantic love versus—mainaigi, which rather well answered to a young ateva’s hormonal foolishness. “No fault on her part. She’d tried, evidently, to discuss it with me. Couldn’t catch me on Mospheira long enough.”
“Political pressure?” Tabini asked, frowning.
“Personal pressure, perhaps.”
“One suggested before … this woman had more virtue.”
He’d made claims for Barb, once upon a while. Praised her good sense, her loyalty. A lot of things he’d said to Tabini, when he’d thought better of Barb.
And if he were honest, probably that weeks-ago judgment was more rational and more on target than the one he’d used last night.
“She’s stayed by me through a lot,” he said. “I suppose—”
Tabini was quiet, waiting. And sometimes translation between the languages required more honesty than he found comfortable: without it, one could wander deep into definitional traps—sound like a fool … or a scoundrel.
“Did political enemies affect this decision?” Tabini asked.
“Certainly my job did. The absences. The—likelihood of further absences. Just the uncertainty.”
“Of safety?”
He hesitated to get into that. Finally nodded. “There’ve been phone calls.”
“She has, as you’ve said, no security?”
“No. It’s not—not ordinary.”
“Nor prospect of obtaining it.”
“No, aiji-ma. Ordinary citizens just—don’t. There’s the police. But these people are hard to catch.”
“A problem also for your relatives.”
He had a suspicion about the integrity of his messages. And the pretense that no atevi understood the language well enough, a pretense which was wearing thinner and thinner.
“There is—” Tabini moved his foot, swung his leg over the arm of the chair. “There is the Treaty provision. We’ve broken it to keep Hanks here. Would Barb-daja consent to break with this new marriage and join you in residence on the mainland?”
He didn’t know what to say for a moment—thought of having Barb with him, and couldn’t imagine—
“It seems,” Tabini said, “that there is difficulty for your whole household, on Mospheira, which has perhaps inspired this defection. In her lack of official support, one can, perhaps, see Barb-daja’s difficulty.”
Or perhaps Banichi or Jago had told him a certain amount. It proved nothing absolutely. He had talked to Jago. He’d even talked to Ilisidi.
“This is a security risk,” Tabini said. “You should not have to abide threats to your household, if a visa or two would relieve their anxiety—and yours. They would be safe here, your relatives, your wife—if you chose to have this.”
His heart had gone thump, and seemed to skip a beat, and picked up again while the brain was trying to work and tell him they’d been talking about Hanks, and accusations, and Hanks’ fate, and it could signal a decided chill in atevi-human relations—which he had to prevent. Somehow. “Aiji-ma, it’s—a very generous gesture.” But to save his life—or theirs—he couldn’t see it happening—couldn’t imagine his mother and Toby and Jill and the—
No. Not them. Barb. Barb might think she wanted to. Barb might even try—there was a side to Barb that wasn’t afraid of mountains. He could remember that now: Barb in the snow, Barb in the sunglare … Barb outside the reality of her job, his job, the Department, the independence she had fought out for herself that didn’t need a steady presence, just not some damned lunatic isolationist agitator ringing her phone in the dead of night.
“My relatives—wouldn’t—couldn’t—adapt here. They’d be more tolerant of the threats. —Barb …”
He couldn’t say no for her. She had no special protection, no more than his family. But she could adapt. It was—in a society she’d not feel at home in—a constant taste of the life she’d seemed to love: the parties, the fancy clothes, the glittering halls. Barb would, give her that, try to speak the language. Barb would break her neck to learn it if it got her farther up the social scale, not just the paidhi’s woman, but Barb-daja; God—she’d grab it on a bet. Until she figured out it was real, and had demands and limitations of behavior.
Stay with at that point was another question. Adapt to it, was a very serious question. He didn’t think so, not in the long term.
More, he didn’t want to sleep with her again. It had become a settled issue, Barb’s self-interest, Barb’s steel-edged self-protection: the very quality that had made her his safe refuge raised very serious questions, with Barb brought into the diplomatic interface, under the stress the life necessarily imposed—
And the constant security. And the fact—they needed each other more than they loved each other. Or loved anyone at all, any longer. They’d damaged each other. Badly.
“So?” Tabini asked him.
“Barb is a question,” he said. “Let me think about it, aiji-ma, with my profound gratitude.”
“And your household, not?”
“My mother—” He’d spoken to Tabini only in respectful terms of his mother. Of Toby. “She’s very human. She’s very temperous.”
“Ill-omened gods, Bren, I have grandmother. They could amuse each other for hours!”
He had to laugh. “A disaster, aiji-ma. I fear—a disaster. And my brother—if he couldn’t have his Friday golf game, I
think he’d pine and die.”
“Golf.” Tabini made a circular motion of the hand. “The game with the little ball.”
“Exactly so.”
“This is a passion?”
“One gambles on it.”
“Ah.” To an ateva that explained everything—and restored Tabini’s estimate of Toby’s sanity.
“My relatives are as they are. Barb—I’ll have to think. I fear my mind right now is on the ship. And the business last night. And Hanks-paidhi.”
“Forget Hanks-paidhi.”
That was ominous. And he resolutely shut his mouth. Protest had already cost two lives.
“I trust,” Tabini said then—but Naidiri came in, bowed despite Tabini’s casual attitude, and presented a small message roll, at which Tabini groaned.
“It came with a cylinder,” Naidiri said. “Considering the source, we decided security was better than formality;”
“I certainly prefer it.” Tabini opened it and read it. “Ah. Nand’ paidhi. Geigi sends his profound respect of your person and assures you his mathematicians find great interest in the proposed solution to the paradox, which they believe to have far-reaching significance. He is distraught and dismayed that his flowers were rejected at the airport, which he believes was due to your justified offense at his doubt. He wishes to travel to Taiben in person to present his respect and regret. The man is determined, nadi.”
“What shall I answer this man?” Bren asked. “This is beyond my experience, aiji-ma.”
“Say that you take his well-wishes as a desirable foundation for good relations and that you look forward personally to hearing his interpretation of the formulae and the science as soon as you’ve returned to the capital. Naidi-ji, phrase some such thing. Answer in the paidhi’s name before this man buys up all the florists in Shejidan. —You’ve quite terrified the man, Bren-ji. And quite—quite uncharacteristically so. Geigi is not a timorous man. He’s sent me very passionate letters opposing my intentions. What in all reason did you say to him?”
“I don’t know, aiji-ma. I never, never wished to alarm him.”
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