Measures. When the Guild said that—there was bloodshed.
So there were high-level fugitives, then, the very highest—Guild members who, two years ago, had carried out the overthrow of Tabini-aiji and the murder of no few of Tabini’s staff, on behalf of the usurper Murini.
The Guild in Shejidan had cleaned house after Tabini’s return. Some of the people responsible for the coup had been killed. Others had run for it—mostly south, even those with no southern connections.
Outlaws. Desperate, skilled Assassins.
Machigi himself might be in increasing danger.
Should I have sent the bus off? he wondered. Here they sat, his four bodyguards isolated and out of touch with the Guild, and now with Machigi’s bodyguard evidently engaging in a purge of individuals who, until his arrival, might have assumed they had a permanent safe haven here.
Certainly the renegades would bear him no good will at all. Persons who employed them wouldn’t, either.
And . . . my own presence here . . . was downright chilling. Whoever knew what Algini was, or had been, in the Guild, was not the average Guild member. They were individuals possibly with very high-level skills, and were already proven to bear a very chancy man’chi to anything at all. There were a dozen atevi words for people who betrayed a service. On the one hand, they had the disposition to govern—to be aijiin. On the other—and a paper-thin distance removed from that—they had the disposition to be a problem to society.
The Guild itself was a focus for man’chi: in a sense it was a clan of its own.
But it had fractured during Murini’s takeover. It had become fragmented.
And now some of its problems were aiming at him and potentially at Machigi himself . . . with ambitions and intentions of its own.
That was not a comfortable thought. And now Machigi’s guard had found out and presumably had told Algini what Algini had just reported to him.
Nobody from Machigi’s bodyguard wanted to come here right now and explain things to the rest of them. Algini had gone outside to talk to—whoever he had talked to, and he had stayed out long enough to worry him.
Second point—Algini had written it out, not said it aloud, so it was something to be kept even from those elements of Machigi’s guard that were monitoring their conversations.
That was very worrisome.
Maybe the servants were equally suspect.
The cook they had to trust?
Damn.
Damn.
And damn.
Bloody damn it. He hadn’t expected local politics to come to a head this fast even with him stirring the pot.
But it was predictable, wasn’t it? He had come here in a painkillered fog, upset the political situation with his brain just a little too closely focused on the good Machigi could become to the situation, and now Machigi himself had become a target.
Depend on it, Machigi’s potential enemies would have long since moved agents in on him, watching . . . that went on in every noble house in the aishidi’tat. In whatever houses there had ever been marriages and associations with other houses, staff traveled, staff joined other houses, settled in—and functioned as an information network. If the lords were getting along nicely, it was two-way. Or information moved only one way if things had gone to hell.
Staff spied. That was a given. A sensible lord dismissed servants who were suspected of dual loyalties, but sometimes the most astute judge of man’chi made a mistake.
And cell phones, hell. Members of the legislature in Shejidan had been tying themselves in knots over whether to import cell phone technology from the human enclave, sure that there were benefits to be had. He had been trying to think of a dozen arguments against it going into public use, but atevi great houses didn’t need cell phones. Their problem was keeping information inside, not making it one step easier to disseminate. There was always the information you knew but politely weren’t supposed to know, so you didn’t act as if you knew; and there was the information your associate knew, and you knew he knew, and it was good he know, for the sake of trust, but it was just too hot for you ever to mention to him personally. Servants told other servants, who told the lords and movers, who then didn’t have to of ficially know.
Which saved a lot of lawsuits and Guild actions, not to mention personal stress.
Machigi didn’t of ficially know who was gunning for him at the moment, but very likely his staff was busy sussing out who it was. And if Machigi’s staff was faithfully in his man’chi, they would be telling him all they dared, all they could, all they guessed . . . because their whole interest would be Machigi’s survival, no matter what.
The paidhi didn’t of ficially know that he wasn’t safe under this roof, nor had Machigi officially told him—quite the opposite, actually—but nearly simultaneously Machigi’s staff had told his staff the paidhi was in danger, which was actually encouragingly good behavior on the part of his host’s household
Did Machigi know?
Possibly he had found out at about the same time Algini had handed him that note.
Jut after Machigi’s staff had let him send Barb, Veijico, and that bus off cross-country.
And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do now.
The fact that the paidhi had initiated that request to get the bus out of here could, in the way of atevi subterfuges, make Machigi wonder how much the paidhi had specifically known.
But if you went on wondering who knew what in atevi politics, you could tie yourself in knots. It had been logical for him to want to clear the decks. He had asked. Machigi had agreed. More, Machigi’s staff had agreed. He just had to sweat it out for the next few hours.
Letting house staff come and go in the apartment unsupervised right now wasn’t a great idea.
“And the phone?” he asked after his moment of silence.
“We shall arrange it with staff, Bren-ji,” Tano said, and added: “One assumes Cenedi may wish to receive the call—officially speaking.”
“One would expect that,” Bren said, “and I gathered our host has no objection to our speaking to him.” Cenedi, Ilisidi’s chief bodyguard, would at least listen in on any conversation—and might insist on taking the call himself to preserve the dowager’s distance from the situation.
“A moment, Bren-ji,” Tano said, and got up and went out to the hall.
“We shall be relying on our host’s hospitality,” Bren said, “since we have sent Veijico away. I hope we shall manage to have some teacakes on hand today. That would be welcome. But use your own discretion, absolutely.”
“Your staff has necessarily become very well-read in recipes,” Banichi said with some humor. “Tano in particular is very good at detecting substances you would rather not eat. And we have a list we routinely clear with kitchens, where we have the opportunity. Shall we officially pass it to Lord Machigi’s staff?”
It was nice little list of spices that would reliably poison a human, some fairly subtly. “Do so, at your discretion,” he said. It wasn’t as if spies over the years couldn’t have found it out. And advising staff meant there was a record, so if something did turn up, they at least had grounds for complaint.
In a very short time Tano came back in carrying the promised phone, which he plugged in beneath a small table just inside the room . . . where it would reside permanently, one hoped.
And it was time to use that phone and try to give Machigi some solid ammunition in arguments with his advisors. Bren reached for the chair arm and levered himself up. Jago got up and slipped her hand under his good arm.
“At your pace,” she said, and without the weight of the vest, movement was far easier and less painful, he was glad to know. He stood on his feet and straightened with a deep, almost unrestricted sigh.
Tano meanwhile had begun the process of connecting to Najida, which had to have clearances from the local operator, who had to consult security, who apparently immediately gave the go-ahead. Machigi’s household interface was thus far very good.
> So, one was certain, was security’s finger on that line. The question was now—how many sides of the household were listening.
Tano made contact with Najida. A junior servant answered the phone at his estate and requested the dowager’s attention—a request that would ordinarily go through the major d’, Ramaso, and then through the dowager’s chief bodyguard, Cenedi, about as fast as it took a junior servant to traverse the main hall at a near run.
But the dowager’s own chief of security, in charge of the house, had pounced right on an incoming long-distance call. “Cenedi-nadi,” Tano said with no delay at all, “the paidhi-aiji wishes to speak to the aiji-dowager.”
Now footsteps were involved; and Tano had time to pass the handset to Bren.
He listened. Evidently Ilisidi was going to talk to him with no intermediary. That was a little unexpected—indicating Ilisidi had uncharacteristically wanted this call. He heard the pickup on the other end.
“Nandi?” he said, a choice of address which itself ought to alert the dowager that something was odd.
“Nand’ paidhi.” Ilisidi said quietly.
“Nand’ dowager, my respects. Lord Machigi has chosen to view my office as that of a mediator, in the ancient sense. I have acquiesced to this view and I have made certain proposals to him in your name.” God, had he! Machigi had appropriated him somewhat after he had done that, but the precise sequence was neither here nor there in the current. “I ask you hear all my proposals to Lord Machigi in that light, nand’ dowager.”
There was a small silence after that warning—a small silence that weighed very heavily and made him wonder whether Ilisidi might now break off contact, at least temporarily. Or hand him on to Cenedi, to be dealt with at a lower official level.
But she said, calmly and formally: “We shall hear you, nand’ paidhi.”
He found he’d held his breath. He took another. “This is the situation, nand’ dowager. Lord Machigi’s interests are first of all linked to the Marid itself, which in his view has not prospered equally with other regions of the aishidi’tat. I have informed him that your district presents advantages in association and that you are approaching him with that in mind. He has asked further. I have pointed out to him the undeveloped fisheries and markets of the extreme East Coast, and his advantage of deepwater ships and shipping, which the Taisigin and their associates have in abundance; and I have proposed, as your representative, nand’ dowager, that you would hear suggestions for trade and development in that district of the East, using Marid shipping. He, speaking for the Taisigin Marid, maintains that the Marid was dealt with unfairly from the outset of the aishidi’tat, in the dismissal of Marid claims to the west coast and in the settlement of the Mospheiran peoples in that district without consultation with the Marid. This action, he feels, is the origin of the ongoing disputes between the aishidi’tat and the Marid as a member state. This remains a sore point, but the east coast is not without interest to Lord Machigi. And . . .” Another breath. The next point was major. “One has also mentioned access to the space station, after the establishment of good relations. This would seem to be a logical step, in due course.”
“Go on, nandi. ”
She had not hung up, or passed him to Cenedi—so perhaps Ilisidi was at least not outraged. He had taken wild, desperate chances.
But she had sent him without consultation. Had trusted him to use his knowledge creatively.
“I have proposed, nand’ dowager, that if you entered association with the Tasigin Marid, it might begin a pattern of remedy, first undertaking agreements for development of east coast harbors and shipping, to your benefit and to the benefit of the Marid as a whole. Second, I have officially informed Lord Machigi that you are bringing the Edi and the Gan into the aishidi’tat. I have maintained that the law of the aishidi’tat, once binding the Edi and the Gan, will assure the safety of Marid shipping on the west coast. And, felicitous third—” God, was there felicity at all in a structure of tissue and tape? “Nand’ dowager, I am about to propose that Lord Machigi seek more frequent rail and air links between Shejidan and the Marid, to carry the goods of the East up to Shejidan, once they arrive in Marid ports. This would provide economic benefits to the region, enable goods from the Eastern trade to flow up to Shejidan from Tanaja, while maintaining the traditions and culture of the Marid. The traditionalism of the Taisigin Marid is a close match with the sentiments of the east coast. It seems essential to bring a prosperity that will not damage that culture.”
There. He had gotten it all out, in decent order, sounding saner than it was. And if the dowager now called him a lunatic and burst the bubble, he was in a great deal of trouble.
Another silence followed. “We will take all these matters under advisement, nand’ paidhi.”
He hardly expected instant agreement. He said, one last clarification, one plea for a crumb of progress: “The premise of personal association, nand’ dowager, between yourself and Lord Machigi underlies the initial section of the proposal. One would hope that exploring that, at least, is not out of reach.”
“We have counterproposals,” Ilisidi said crisply. “We can restrain the aishidi’tat and the Guild from proceeding against the Marid. When he can claim the same from his side, he will hold sufficient power, and we shall then be favorably disposed toward these proposals.”
Fly to the moon, that was. Control the Marid. Nobody could control the Marid. A thousand years of history had said nobody could control the Marid.
But in principal, she hadn’t disagreed. She hadn’t come back with the microfocused specific he’d hoped for. She’d offered Machigi a sweeping counterproposal.
Become the head of the Marid.
Then talk.
He felt numb all the way to his fingertips.
But he represented Machigi. He had to represent Machigi’s interests.
“May one infer, nand’ dowager, that you will persuade your grandson to view Lord Machigi’s moves as self-defense?”
Silence for a moment.
Dared one remotely suspect she was getting all the aishidi’tat’s enemies down to one vulnerable neck?
No. It wouldn’t work like that. Machigi might dominate the others, but every district would still have its lord. Kill him, and the whole structure went back to chaos.
“We have stated our position,” Ilisidi said. “What happens within the Marid will not greatly concern us, until it has issue.”
Us. Who was us? And what was she up to? He’d honestly tried to structure a peace deal. She hadn’t repudiated what he’d done—she’d just made a counterproposal.
She’d promised the Edi a lordship and a seat in the legislature. She’d declared Machigi should take over the Marid. Not a shred of reference to her grandson. Had he somehow gotten ahead of her next step? Ilisidi was finally, after half a century, making a serious bid to dictate a solution to the old issues that had dogged the aishidi’tat from its founding—things she had backed God knew how long ago.
“And how do you fare, nand’ paidhi?”
Give me information, that was. He didn’t dare mistake it for sentiment.
“We are in Tanaja, comfortably housed in very fine hospitality. You will soon have a direct report of that, nand’ dowager. Lord Machigi found Barb-daja on Taisigi land, along with Veijico-nadi, and delivered both persons to my care in good health. I have just sent my bus back to Targai with them aboard, as well as the Guildsmen your grandson sent with me. I have asked the two be transported on from Targai to Najida, possibly arriving at your door late this evening.”
“One is very glad to hear so, nand’ paidhi.”
That, at least, was warmer. “We have also had confirmed, nand’ dowager, that the aiji your son has rescinded the Filing against our host. This is welcome news in this quarter. Is there news on the other matter?”
“The Guild Council, within this last hour, has tabled their discussion of outlawry, at our request. You may deliver that information to your host.”
&
nbsp; Thank God. And thank Ilisidi. “I shall, aiji-ma.” Damn. He couldn’t blame that aiji-ma on the pain pills. It was so automatic. He hadn’t the hard-wiring to feel it, at least not in the same way.
And since Taisigi agents were recording every word, he couldn’t mend it. The information had been relayed, in effect, and the dowager certainly knew that.
“For the rest, nandi,” he said, resuming his more objective stance, “we hope our access to phones will remain open.” He dared not report what else they knew, that his bodyguard was evidently in direct communication with Machigi’s bodyguard on issues only the respective bodyguards knew.
And there was one thing he ached to know. Toby’s welfare. But it had no place in official business.
“Tell Lord Machigi,” Ilisidi said, “that we shall be interested in his response to our small notions.”
“I shall tell him so, nand’ dowager.”
“We have had word your brother is making good progress. ”
That was a personal kindness. A signal. She was not upset.
“One is very glad to hear so, nand’ dowager.”
But, given the constraints of his position, he compromised himself if he expressed personal gratitude.
The dowager surely understood that. She said, coldly, “Keep us informed, paidhi-aiji.” And hung up.
Well, it was a performance. And both sides would have heard it.
He had shamelessly complimented his host. He had indicated to the dowager and to Cenedi that they were not exactly free . . . that they had lost their armed escort, they were down to their own resources, but were not panicked . . .
And he had, he hoped, conveyed that it was not time yet to call Tabini and admit that the paidhi-aiji was being held hostage in Tanaja. Toby was getting better. He was beyond glad about that news.
Betrayer: Foreigner #12 Page 7
