Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  He listened, for a while, to Boji moving about in the dark. He listened to the patter of rain against the glass, a shower with a bit more vigor than the one before dinner.

  He thought over everything he had said and that Nomari and Uncle had said, rehearsing it in his mind, looking for more clues than anyone had given him.

  It was frustrating, being young, and stupid, and missing clues. He was sure they were in there, that Uncle had delivered a message with the centerpiece, with the servings, with the brandy—he could not judge that. He had had one experience with alcohol, and he truly did not like to remember it—a night that had not left him able to judge the quality of what was served, but it had looked like a really old bottle, of several on the counter, and old was good, where it came to that sort of thing.

  So he thought Uncle had treated Nomari really well. And Nomari had been modest in asking Uncle for help, after all that might have encouraged him to ask for Uncle’s help outright.

  And Uncle had answered that without answering much, certainly making Nomari a guest—but not saying what he would do. It was still a puzzle.

  But he had learned, over time, that Uncle was very, very smart. He had not used to think so. That was how smart Uncle was. He had been many things to many people, and he had never told anybody but mani what he was really up to.

  He began to slip toward sleep thinking that.

  Boji chittered in the dark. One really hoped he did not get up to that. And that the sugar had not been a mistake. He had chided Eisi and Liedi about just that matter.

  Boji changed perches, and jumped up on the cage wall.

  Settle, Cajeiri wished him.

  Then Boji let out his alarm shriek.

  That would wake the dead.

  And it might not be the sugar. Cajeiri kicked the covers, heard feet hitting the floor in his bodyguards’ quarters only a little ahead of his own, and his immediate thought was that Nomari had lied to them, Nomari was up to something.

  “No lights,” he heard Rieni say. The Guild had rather work in the dark. “Keep him quiet, someone.”

  Cajeiri moved to the cage, put a hand on it. “Hush,” he said, “hush,” aware that his aishid was moving about, shadows in the scant light from the window, and he saw the muted quick gleam of an uncovered instrument of some sort.

  He heard, then, very faintly, the ominous low complaint of mecheiti.

  “Someone outside,” he whispered, “or they heard Boji.”

  “Boji may have heard them,” Veijico said. “We have a call from the Kadagidi path. The sensor is tripped.”

  Cajeiri shivered. “Are we in touch with Uncle? And Nomari?”

  “They are aware,” Rieni said. “There are a number of people. They are not Guild. They were on the path that leads to the gap in the hedge. There are twenty-one of them.”

  Twenty-one. “That is just—”

  “Odd,” Onomi said. “That is much more than odd. They are armed—they have rifles and pistols. But they are stating that they wish to see Lord Tatiseigi.”

  “News people?” Liedi wondered.

  “News people do not carry rifles,” Rieni said.

  “We had better advise my uncle,” Cajeiri said. Boji was becoming quite excited, bounding about in the dark. He put a hand on the cage to find a furry hand and quiet him.

  “Your uncle is aware,” Rieni said. “He wishes us to bring these people to the foyer, without the weapons. He wishes Nomari set under close guard and a guard in the second and third floor halls, as well as the stableside door and kitchens.”

  Uncle had been through this before. The rain was still spattering against the windows, a fairly energetic rain, now, and whoever was out in it would be soaked.

  “Give Boji an egg, Eisi-ji. He has earned it. I shall dress. I think Uncle will be dressing.” He shivered in the dark, in the madness of the hour.

  Twenty-one people.

  “Rieni.”

  “Nandi?”

  “I think we should ask Nomari who he thinks these people are.”

  “Likely a very good notion,” Rieni said. “Haniri, uniform. Go make that inquiry.”

  “I shall dress,” he said. He was still shivering, with bare feet on the floor. “We all should dress. I do not think this will settle quickly.”

  “Juniors,” Rieni said, “uniform. Quickly.”

  Eisi and Liedi brought trousers and a shirt. And stockings. Cajeiri put them on, and pushed his feet into boots, standing, while Eisi braided his hair in the dark—knowing that he shivered, there was no helping it. He hated that.

  A coat helped. It was one of his outdoor ones, because he was shivering, he was sure of it, but it was a comfort. Boji making another fuss did not help anyone’s nerves: Liedi kept trying to soothe him, even gave him an egg, but Boji was too upset to care.

  Haniri had left a time ago, and now came back. “The inquiry with Nomari-nadi. Lord Tatiseigi also inquired. Nomari says they may be his. Lord Tatiseigi has ordered them gathered up, will hear their explanation, and Kadagidi is lending its bus.”

  This intrusion onto the grounds had run into an armed sensor, that was clear. They had not gotten as far as the orchard.

  “We shall go down,” Cajeiri said, when they all were dressed. And to his servants. “I think we may turn on the lights, may we not? But stay away from the windows. Calm Boji. I think we are all right.”

  Uncle was already in the hall, and the hall lights were up. Nomari was called from his room into the hall, wrapped in a nightrobe, the servants likely having taken his only clothing away to launder. He bowed, embarrassed, clearly, and probably was chilled and worried.

  “Well,” Uncle said, “we shall see what the night has given us. Come, come down. Let us identify these people. The bus will be here and we shall know.”

  Down the stairs, then, Nomari making at least an effort to braid his hair after they had gotten to the bottom. They gathered in the sitting room as they heard the bus on the drive. Uncle’s bodyguard and Rieni and Haniri went down to the doors. They heard the lesser door open, a silence, and then heard it open again, and the Guild who had gone down came up again, bringing a very wet young woman.

  “Lord,” she said, but not first to Cajeiri, or to Uncle, but to Nomari.

  “Peja,” Nomari said with emotion in his voice. And the young woman did bow, deeply, in their general direction.

  “We take it they are indeed yours,” Uncle said.

  “They are mine, nandi,” Nomari said. “I claim every one of them. I stand responsible for any damages they may have caused.”

  “I shall hold you, nand’ Nomari, good only for three evergreens, in some future time. Will you identify all of these people? And may we find dry wraps for them? Kindly stay to the marble, nadi. Avoid the carpet.”

  “Nandi.” The young woman bowed a second time, dripping onto the marble flooring, shivering massively. “Young aiji,” she guessed correctly, and bowed again.

  “May we have tea?” Uncle said in a voice that echoed, there just above the foyer, and servants, some in every evidence of very hasty dress, moved to arrange it.

  It was a sodden and shivering group of people who came up from below, one by one, to present themselves and bow. Uncle’s servants brought sheets and towels to wrap in, they brought five benches from the servant hall, to give these wet, desperate folk a place to sit, and they provided large cups of the sort the servants used, to serve steaming hot tea.

  “We shall lodge them in the lower hall,” Uncle said, and left matters to his major d’, to have staff go out in rain gear, to mop the bus dry, and to arrange warm baths and a way to dry coats and clothes.

  “Nandi,” Nomari said, “I cannot express my gratitude.”

  “We do not turn people away dripping and cold,” Uncle said. “We are old-fashioned in this house, and we trust that you do know them all
.”

  “Every one,” Nomari said. “They are all Ajuri, from Puran, from Ajiden, from Ara. This is my second cousin,” he added, of one of the young men, who had taken a position near Nomari, who had said things to him, “Teiachi. Of the Messengers. They saw Geidaro arrive today—they feared I might not even be here. So they came to intercede.”

  “Intending to go through my hedges,” Uncle said. “I swear I should establish a second gate, except the gap faces Kadagidi. You risked Guild over there, young man, and worse, you would have risked the mecheiti.”

  “Nandi,” Teiachi said, still shivering from the cold. “We thought—in the rain—we had a chance.”

  “You had a chance to be soaked,” Uncle said shortly. “And to end your night in my fruit trees, which are planted there as the only safety if the herd goes on the hunt. It has caught burglars before this. Well, well, you did not get that far.”

  “We are not criminals, Lord!”

  “That you are not. The next time you may use the front gate, given you identify yourselves. We are not prepared for hospitality at this hour, but we have water heating, we have food preparing, we have hot tea, and staff will do their best with your laundry and your boots. The young women may go to the laundry, you young men may go down to the stableside storage and be served a supper, which I doubt you have had—”

  “No, Lord,” Teiachi said with another bow.

  “And you may wrap in sheets and blankets while my staff attempt to do something for your clothes. Do not stray into the halls, mind! We are not a boarding house! If you have need of something, ask staff.”

  “In order, all,” the major domo said, “Up, up, you have heard! Women to the laundry with the maids, in the north wing, men to the stableside, east wing. Up! Leave the cups on the benches! There will be more!”

  Twenty-one people, wrapped in sheets and blankets—surely Uncle was having every sheet and blanket in Tirnamardi brought out—and likely all the prepared food in the kitchens. Every one of the intruders managed a solemn general bow, heads ducked, profoundly and long, as they sorted themselves into order—three women taken in charge by the laundry staff, eighteen men headed down the broad steps to the lower hall, with the night maintenance staff, and cook, likewise, mustering his staff, the night baking staff and the day staff, toward the main-level kitchens. It had become orderly, leaving five deserted benches, and teacups on them, and puddles on the marble, which the cleaning staff would have to deal with.

  “Nandi,” Nomari said, “this—I shall never forget.”

  Uncle said wryly: “This house has seen all manner of guests. And we manage. We always manage. You wish my endorsement? I am leaning to it. They recommend you, these people. I do not say they have good sense, but they are a recommendation. You will stay a little longer in Tirnamardi, and make me sure, nandi, before I commit my name again to a nomination. I daresay you will gain my confidence, in due course. In the meanwhile, we shall interview your young supporters, and if they have information bearing on the case, we shall be glad to hear it and relay it to Shejidan. Belief and enthusiasm are not enough. There must be facts. And substance.”

  The door below thumped shut, and the cold draft eased. Cajeiri masked his own shivers, hugging his arms about himself. He ought to feel uneasy with so many strangers in the house, unproved and unchecked, but a glance about him showed his younger aishid, and Rieni and his older one, and Uncle’s own—Guild of whom they had no doubt, Guild that would keep them safe.

  Someone should tell his father what was happening. Somebody should talk to Taiben, too, and let their Taibeni allies, camped out as they did in all weather, know that they had found one reason for disturbance in their woods.

  But he was relatively sure that, behind the quiet attendance, Guild was talking to Guild and that was exactly what was going on.

  There were, too, he remembered, all those news people, in the hotels over in Diegi and Heitisi, and wherever else they could manage to be, all interested in Uncle’s politics.

  Had they noticed the Ajuri bus at the gate? That was not exactly a major piece of news, but it was in connection with Uncle’s nomination. And the veto. Both of those were in the news.

  Had they just noticed that the Guild occupying Kadagidi estate had sent a large noisy bus over to Kadagidi’s bitter enemy, the Atageini house, at an hour past midnight?

  If the news people were camped out in the area getting as wet as Nomari’s people, risking Taibeni and stray mecheiti, they might know it.

  And if they knew that, they would be beside themselves trying to find out why.

  Uncle might signal them. Or they simply might be asking the grocer who would have a very large order upcoming, because they had twenty-one more people to feed, fairly hungry ones, by the look of them.

  Father was going to want him to come home, that was what. And he did not want to come, not now. He had protection. And Uncle needed him. Uncle needed his extra bodyguard right now.

  He did matter. And he was not just a boy to be pulled home when things went on. He was the heir of the aishidi’tat. And he did not run.

  21

  It was a brisk morning, not yet into the daytime heat in Port Jackson. And with the morning breeze blowing from the open balcony doors, and after a generous breakfast sent up from Francis House kitchens, arrived news from the mainland . . . not much of it, the Guild not having secure communications on the island, and even Shawn’s best assurances not being able prevent certain agencies from listening to phone calls.

  There was, first, a Mospheiran news report this morning of unrest in the Padi Valley, a name a good many Mospheirans actually did know.

  It would be a rare day there was not. But it was a little unsettling. Banichi launched, via phone, relayed from Port Jackson to the space station and down again to the aishidi’tat, a coded inquiry.

  There was, within half an hour, a phone call from Bren’s own apartment in the Bujavid, from his valet Koharu, whom he had left in charge. Koharu said simply that he had just gotten a letter from next door saying that Uncle had found a replacement.

  And that was all.

  “How are you doing?” Koharu asked, then, on to courtesies.

  “We are doing very well. Everything has gone very well. How are things there?” That was a signal, wanting more information.

  “We are well,” Koharu said. “We are all very well.”

  “Excellent,” he said, thinking, damn, and knowing there was not a morsel else he could get. Koharu knew nothing more to tell him. “Am I needed?”

  “One does not think so, nandi.”

  “Good. Very well. Thank you, nadi.”

  Next door was Tabini-aiji. Tabini had no uncle. Damiri did.

  A confirmation on the nomination that was never intended to succeed? That made no sense.

  Unrest in the Padi Valley? Unrest there was decades old, but it could get more insistent.

  And today, following their inquiry, Tabini saw fit to send that fact across the strait?

  And nothing more?

  God, he wanted to be home.

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