Deceiver: Foreigner #11

by C. J. Cherryh

  Damn, Bren said to himself. He hated surprises. And surely the lord of Maschi clan had not been under suspicion when he came here: he could not—

  Not until the paidhi-aiji encountered the local situation and stirred up a nest of trouble, which, in turn, proved the aiji’s information had been lacking.

  The dowager had applied directly to Shejidan for her information, been told wrong in a way that had nearly gotten them all killed, and now had narrowed down the logical source of misinformation inside the province.

  Damned right the dowager had had her staff asking questions, direct ones, ever since Tabini’s visit yesterday, when staff had met staff and information had passed—to her people, and to his. In Banichi’s eye he caught an indefinable glint of expression. Banichi had been on it, or at least Tano and Algini, left behind today, had been briefing themselves.

  “One had no idea,” he murmured to Geigi, chagrined, “or one surely would have said something of it on the bus. I would personally have trusted Pairuti.”

  “So would we all,” Ilisidi said grimly. “So did we all, until it came clear to us that if my grandson lacked facts, it might not be that he has failed to gather information from Sarini Province . . . but that those who should be advising him—have directly lied.”

  “One still—” Geigi said. “One still cannot entirely conclude . . .” A breath. “Did you come here suspecting this?”

  “We did not.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “We shall cease to amaze you, nand’ paidhi. We sent to Shejidan last night, in the dark hours. We called our household staff at that unsavory time of night. We asked certain questions, and this morning while you, nand’ paidhi, were otherwise occupied with estate business, my staff in Shejidan was busy phoning certain offices and locating records. While you were at the airport, your staff and mine received their report, a complete lack of extraordinary information in the court record of missives from Lord Pairuti. He reports the sad death of your sister, Geigi-ji, and the accession of your nephew, to whom he says he has written offering assistance. He reports everything quiet in the province, and reports, at court, the restoration of trade. He provides exquisitely balanced books for the whole district. Nothing is the matter. Which is exactly the thought that interrupted our sleep last night. The prospect that someone of Maschi clan might call on us in Lord Geigi’s sojourn here, or worse, with our Lord Geigi understaffed at Kajiminda, suddenly occurred to us, hence my calls to Shejidan, which I assure you were deeply coded. We used the night hours and this morning to ask a range of unpleasant questions—and to notify my grandson, who—if he had asked such questions immediately instead of assuming the vector of attack on us had been entirely southerly, out of Separti Township—would have turned this up. As it is, he has deployed his forces southward. The Marid infestation south of here may be a mere decoration. A deliberate distraction.” A waggle of the fingers. “Of course we could be wrong. But we rarely are.”

  “One is appalled,” Bren said. “One is utterly appalled, aiji-ma.”

  “Ha. So you agree.” The ancient eyes that had seen a good deal of treachery in a lifetime sparked fire. “And we shall not sit here inert.”

  “’Sidi-ji,” Geigi said. “ ’Sidi-ji. What can one say to this?”

  “That you will take action, Geigi-ji. That you have been a long time removed from this arena, and your presence here as lord of Sarini Province can only be salutary.”

  “One had planned to return to the station, but—”

  “Oh, you shall. You must. You have done far too well in that position. Considering the situation we face, with foreigners apt to arrive, we need you there. But certain things need your attention.”

  “Absolutely, aiji-ma. Whatever one can do—”

  “If my grandson steps in and takes action, it is another heavy-handed Ragi seizure—such an unhappy history on this coast. If the Guild does—the same. Things here are delicate. You appreciate it in unique ways. And coming at proof may not be easy. Lord Pairuti may have destroyed records . . .”

  Geigi held up a finger. “May have. But I would wager not, aiji-ma. Not that man. His disposition is compulsive—a passion for details. He will have them. And I can get them. I shall need to take back Kajiminda with some dispatch. Clearly, so doing, I shall need to interview certain of my own clan. Which makes my calling on Pairuti obligatory. He will expect it. He will be in a dither to hide the records, but he will not destroy them, not that man.”

  Go there? Good God.

  “We are understaffed, Geigi-ji,” Bren protested.

  “We have taken measures in that direction, nandiin,” Ilisidi said smugly. “We will have force at our disposal—granted my grandson understands our position. He will not permit Lord Geigi to come to grief. He may fuss about the situation. But he will move to protect the treaty that binds the coast to the aishidi’tat . . . and you, Geigi-ji, are its living embodiment. He will move.”

  Read: Tabini hadn’t agreed to Ilisidi’s demands. Tabini hadn’t jumped to relocate his forces from Separti. He hadn’t come rushing to Ilisidi’s conclusion, perhaps, or he had something else going on that he wasn’t happy to leave.

  Which could mean there were complications.

  Najida’s perspective on the immediate threat, however, were different than Tabini’s. If Pairuti was colluding with the Marid, Najida was staring up the barrel of a gun. Problems could come at them right down the airport road. Or arrive en masse by train.

  And Tabini, mind, had just yesterday left his son and heir and the aiji-dowager in this position.

  Damn, he didn’t like it when Tabini turned as inscrutable and ruthless as his grandmother. Especially when he and people he cared about were in the target zone. He had to get Toby and Barb out of the harbor, as early as possible. He’d like to ship Cajeiri and his young company back to Shejidan . . . but that meant exposing the movement in Najida. They’d had their chance to get Cajeiri moved out—and his father had left him behind, perhaps—dared one even think it—as an intentional proof of his lack of alarm?

  “We need the help of the Edi, aiji-ma,” he said. “We need everything they can bring to bear.”

  “Oh, we shall have help,” Ilisidi said with a small, tight smile. “And so much the better if the Edi will protect the grounds here, and protect us all. I have requested it. I have asked Ramaso to relay it to the Grandmother, and I have received assurances.”

  God, leave the house for a few hours and come back to war preparations.

  “We shall deal with it, ’Sidi-ji.” Geigi gave a little bow, distressed of countenance, but not about to retreat, no, not with that look. “I shall do everything in my power, aiji-ma, and your recommendations, allowing me to deal with this myself, are generous. And I shall want to speak to the Edi on your staff, with your kind permission.”

  “You certainly have Najida’s full support, Geigi-ji,” Bren said, “so far as lies in my hands.”

  “And I shall see my nephew.” Geigi drew in a long, long breath. “The wretch. I will meet with him tomorrow after breakfast. Tell him I am here, Bren-ji; and let him stew tonight.”

  It had been interesting. Interesting was what Great-grandmother would call it. Cajeiri had been just very quiet and respectful, and heard all kinds of news about the neighbors, and scary hints that nand’ Geigi was going to have a talk with his relatives inland.

  The talk he meant to have with Baiji, down in the basement—that was one Cajeiri very much wanted to hear. He was already thinking how to get in on that interview, even if he and his aishid just had to be casually walking through the downstairs—repeatedly.

  But he had been right in his approach. He and, he was sure, Jegari and Antaro, had sopped up a lot of what was going on with the seniors; and maybe Lucasi and Veijico had learned something useful, too—if Tano and Algini had been in a good mood.

  So very quietly, after nand’ Bren and nand’ Geigi had left—Cajeiri paid his own little bow to Great-grandmother. “One is grateful, mani. One did learn.
”

  “See you stay within the house, Great-grandson. And stay within call.”

  “Yes, mani.” A second bow, a deep one, in leaving. “I shall.”

  What was going on outside mani’s rooms was preparation for a formal dinner this evening, and nand’ Toby and Barb-daja insisted they were coming up from the boat, which had security and staff running about—not mentioning the ongoing process of getting Lord Geigi fully installed in his suite, which had been the security office, and fed a light late lunch—everybody in the house had already eaten—to tide him over until supper.

  And Lucasi and Veijico had been in the library with Tano and Algini—who might have let them hear all of it, he supposed—glum thought—or maybe not.

  He gathered his aishid in his own apartment, himself sitting by his own fireplace and its comfortably warm embers. “Sit down,” he said, “nadiin-ji.” And they took the other chairs, all four of them.

  “How much did you hear?” he asked Lucasi and Veijico. “And how much did you understand?”

  “We heard,” Lucasi said, “that they are hoping Edi will function in the place of the Guild in protecting this region, and that Lord Geigi intends to move into Kajiminda faster than the aiji’s Guild occupying it would like. We heard that Maschi clan leadership may no longer be reliable.”

  That was certainly an aspect of it. One could gather Tano and Algini had somewhat discussed that problem in their own terms. And one also gathered Lucasi and Veijico clearly did not think Geigi was being smart.

  “The Edi know everything that moves on the coast,” he reminded them. “And they are used to managing this area, nadiin-ji.”

  “They failed to advise nand’ Bren there was a problem. That was wrong.”

  “Talking to the Edi is a problem. You know they have a rule against talking to outsiders. Nand’ Bren has gotten past that now. So has my great-grandmother. And Lord Geigi is their lord—besides, mani is already talking about putting the Edi in charge of part of this coast. So the Edi are talking to us now. And they are part of the protection of this house.”

  “They have no skill against real Guild,” Veijico said. “And should not be relied on. Your father ought to know this, nandi.”

  “One is certain he will know it,” he said, annoyed at their pertness with opinions. “But the Marid Guild did not succeed in taking this house, or in holding onto Kajiminda. So they are not as smart as they think they are. And the Edi are not doing badly.”

  His older bodyguards looked more than a little offput. Then Lucasi said, “That is no measure of success, nandi. The Guild does not hold positions. Holding positions is a lord’s business. Holding is politics, and the demonstration of power.”

  Well, that was a recitation from some book.

  “So it is my business to hold things,” he said. “And yours to take them. When I say so.”

  Silence, from the troublemakers. “Yes,” Antaro said quietly. Jegari nodded. But not the other two.

  Useful to know the Guild’s opinion of its uses.

  “The Edi,” he said, “have done very well.”

  “Not well,” Veijico said.

  “Better than the Marid Guild,” he said. Tag. Point for his side. He liked winning an argument, too. “Some of them are dead. The Edi were smart. They sided with Great-grandmother.”

  “Still, nandi,” Lucasi said, “they are irregulars.”

  “They are alive,” he said, “and the Marid’s Guild have been trying to take over for years.”

  “Kajiminda’s Guild has prevented it, nandi. It is not irregulars who have defended this coast.”

  He liked the notion that his bodyguard would talk back to him: Cenedi talked back to Great-grandmother, and Banichi talked back to Bren. But Lucasi and Veijico were being stupid. And that made him mad.

  “That was,” he said shortly, “after Kajiminda’s Guild went off and got killed in the Troubles, or never even got to Shejidan, for all we know. They died.”

  “Possibly the Edi that served Kajiminda all died, too,” Veijico said. “Since they are missing.”

  “Nandi,” he corrected them sharply. “You say ‘nandi.’ ”

  “Nandi,” Veijico said.

  “And you are to mean it, nadi!”

  A bow of the head and no openness of expression from her or her brother. Mani would never put up with it. They thought he had to, being a year short of nine.

  “I have been in space,” he said, just as nastily. “I have been on a spaceship and on a station and the shuttle, and I have seen people who are not atevi and not human, either, where we all could have gotten blown up. So I know things, nadiin. I have gotten myself out of trouble. And Antaro and Jegari and I all three were in a war. You were not. So you should listen.”

  “We listen, nandi,” Veijico said glumly.

  “You are rude.”

  “No, nandi, we are not rude. We are advising you, for your safety.”

  “We do as we please, nadiin! You do not. We get away with things because we are not loud about it and we do what our guards by no means expect, but also because we listen about what is dangerous and what is not and we do not go some places. We are not stupid, nadiin! You think anybody not Guild is stupid. You think the Edi are stupid. You probably think everybody in the staff is stupid. Superior thinking, mani says, does not consist of thinking oneself superior. We think you should reconsider who is stupid.”

  There was a moment of deep, uncomfortable silence.

  “We stand corrected, nandi,” Veijico said coldly.

  “You should,” he said. It was as good as mani could do—almost. And they had deserved it. He was still mad. Which was not satisfactory. He hated being mad. He hated having people see that he was. Face! mani would say, and thwack him on the ear until he mended his expression. Which he did—mended all the way to a tight, small smile. And got up, so they all had to.

  “It will be a very formal dinner tonight,” he said, meaning whatever bodyguard attended him had to eat beforehand or after. The little dining room was going to be wall-to-wall security—literally shoulder-to-shoulder Guild, considering nand’ Bren’s little estate had so many important guests.

  And maybe the boredom of standing about this evening, while Antaro and Jegari ate at leisure in the suite, would give Lucasi and Veijico enough time to think about the seriousness of the situation, and about the fact that they were in among very senior security who had earned the right to respect.

  “You two will attend me,” he told them. “All day.” He planned to do his lessons, which was the most boring thing he could think of, and not to let them off. “You can stand at the door and keep an eye on things. Jegari and Antaro will be helping me with my homework.”

  For the paidhi-aiji, it was a formal evening coat, light green, and freshly pressed, with only a moderate amount of lace—comfortable, a country style. It was one of Bren’s favorites, comfortable across the shoulders, unlike the court-style that was intended to remind the wearer about posture—constantly. He slipped it on and went down to the front door to welcome Toby and Barb into the house. It was an exposed walk, coming up the hill, and he breathed easier when the door opened and let them in.

  “I gather Lord Geigi made it in all right,” Toby said. “We saw the bus. Fancy!”

  “Everything in order,” Bren said. Toby didn’t bow. He didn’t. And they didn’t touch, in front of staff, which they always were, in the hall. “Barb. Good evening.”

  “Are we proper?” Barb asked in a low voice. Toby’s lady—his own ex, which was an inconvenience—but one he was determined to ignore. And do her credit, Barb tried. Toby and Barb had come up the hill wearing good Mospheiran-style clothes—that was to say white trousers, light sweaters, Toby in blue, Barb in brown with a little embroidery, and in Toby’s case, a dress jacket, the sort one might wear to a better Port Jackson restaurant. It was as formal as two boaters got, within their own wardrobes.

  “Perfectly proper,” he said, in good humor, and led them on down towa
rd the side corridor toward the dining hall, with Banichi and Jago in attendance.

  But just down toward the end of the hall, Lord Geigi exited his quarters, and they delayed to meet the portly lord and his two bodyguards . . . Lord Geigi resplendent in gray and green brocade and a good deal of lace.

  To Lord Geigi, surely, the mode of Barb’s and Toby’s dinner dress might be a little exotic—yachting whites weren’t the mode among the numerous humans on the station—but Lord Geigi was an outgoing fellow and went so far as to offer his hand, station manners, to the complete astonishment of the household servants standing by at the hallway intersection.

  “My brother Toby and his companion Barb,” Bren introduced them both. They both knew Geigi by reputation, no question of that: but a formal introduction was due. “Lord Geigi of Kajiminda, Lord of Sarini Province, third holder of the Treaty of Aregorji, Viceroy of the Heavens and Stationmaster of Alpha Station. Nandi, my brother-by-the-same-father nand’ Toby, an associate of the Presidenta of Mospheira, and his companion Barb-daja.”

  Barb and Toby had never heard the full string of titles rattled off, and seemed a little confused. Toby bowed. Barb stared with her mouth a little open.

  “Very glad to meet you,” Geigi said, using very idiomatic ship-speak, as they pursued their walk toward the dining room. “A pleasant surprise, your presence here.”

  “Honored,” Toby said. “Very honored, sir. My brother has always spoken extremely highly of you. One is grateful.” The latter in fairly passable Ragi.

  “Well, well,” Geigi said, still in ship-speak, “and eloquence runs in the family. I do very much regret displacing you from your quarters.”

  “Oh, no way, sir. We’re very comfortable on the boat. The same as being home.”

  “Gracious as well.” Geigi was at his jovial best as they reached the door and he half-turned, hesitating at another arrival behind them in the hall. “And the aiji-dowager joins us.”