“This is the same bunch that supported Murini.”
“And that made the trouble in the aishidi’tat before that,” Bren said, “when Cosadi made a try to link up with the Kadagidi. We’ve got that one troublesome clan up in the Padi Valley. . . .”
“The Kadagidi, you mean.”
Bren nodded. “That lot has been conniving with the Marid from the time the Ragi set up the Western Association. They’re Ragi—skin deep. But they have Southern ties and they tried to stop the Association getting organized in the first place. They were the holdouts. They were trying to form an association with themselves at the center—at the same time the Marid was trying to pull out of the Ragi Association. That’s the history of it. But the rest of the Padi Valley Ragi were so relieved to find somebody knocking the Kadagidi in the head, they came right into the new Association and turned on the Kadagidi—then helped the Association organize the west coast. Then the Marid came into the Association—before they got forced in—and immediately demanded special privileges—which they didn’t get; demanded to run the Southern trade—which they did get, in return for giving up some of their navy. They’d started to try to form an alliance with the East, when the aiji—Tabini’s grandfather—knocked the pins out from under them by bringing Ilisidi in.”
“This Ilisidi.”
“There’s only one,” Bren said. “The Marid would like to see her dead . . . for old time’s sake, if nothing else. Murini and the Kadagidi made their recent try at overthrowing Tabini—Murini went down. The Kadagidi are in disarray. The Marid has the space station over their heads now, they have Tabini back in power, they have the Western Association more united than they’ve ever been, and the weakest spot they can reach is their old enemies the Edi, up and down the southwestern coast. The Edi have never had a strong central authority. They’re inclined to go their own way, village by village, house by house. They were always on the losing side with the Ragi, until they linked up with the Maschi, who understood the Ragi and understood them—Lord Geigi’s house. Tiny clan. Big influence. Lord Geigi’s in space, indispensible up there. But he’s going to have to come back to deal with the mess in his affairs down here . . . his nephew’s been a fool, playing politics with the Marid during Murini’s administration. He thought he was being smart. Now he’s got bedfellows, and Geigi’s house, the house that holds the Edi together—the house that has the Edi man’chi, if Baiji hasn’t lost it—is just damned close to disintegrating. That’s what’s going on, brother. If the Edi fragment and start fighting among themselves again, the Marid can start gnawing away at them, piece by piece, village by village, right up the coast. The Marid has got the ships; Tabini doesn’t. If the Marid can find some handful of Edi willing to make deals, they’ll create some figurehead to be another Geigi. I’m getting the impression the new aiji in that region was using Murini—and Murini would have been dead the first time he disappointed the Marid. Now this new fellow—remember his name for Shawn—” Toby was not unacquainted with the President of Mospheira. “Machigi.”
“Machigi.”
“Out of the Tasaigi district, Tanji clan, aiji in Tanaja. Bad news. Really bad news, if this whole thing is his planning. Apparently he’s got the Senji and the Dojisigi districts and probably the Dausigi district of the Marid working with him. Meanwhile the Farai, out of the Senji district, are sitting in my apartment in the Bujavaid, right next to Tabini’s—claiming, incidentally, kinship with the Maladesi, who used to hold this peninsula, besides that apartment. The Maladesi no longer exist as a clan. Their last generation married into the Farai’s adjunct clan, the Morigi, and the Farai consequently have a claim on the Maladesi prerogatives and territory, because now the Morigi are extinct and the Farai claim all they had. The Farai, of the Senjin Marid, claimed my apartment under Murini’s occupation; they then turned coat again and opened the doors of the Bujavid to Tabini’s forces when he came back. Supposedly they’ve been trying all winter to broker an agreement between Tabini and the Marid to settle all the old bad politics, which is why I’ve been living in Tatiseigi’s apartment and not bothering the Farai. The hell they’re brokering a peace deal! They’re in this Tasaigi move up to their ears, and unless they prove to have secretly informed the aiji and set up Machigi for a fall, they’re going down, and I’m getting my apartment back.”
Toby blinked. Barb looked totally puzzled.
“It’s quite simple,” Bren said. “I get my apartment. And very bad news for the Marid that I’m still alive and even more that the Edi are going to be massively upset if they aren’t already. Geigi has to get down here and take the reins in person—kick Baiji out officially and probably stay here, patching up what’s been disturbed. That means he’ll become the main target, and the aiji’s going to have to take special measures to protect him. Tell Shawn that, too. This coast’s become a powder keg and my coming here lit the fuse just a little prematurely.”
“You’re not safe here.”
“I’m on a peninsula—well, at the head of it—with a loyal village at my back, a harbor where I can see trouble coming, and the aiji’s forces occupying the neighboring estate and township, with help from the dowager besides. This is as safe as I could be, for now, granted there isn’t a landing party from that wrecked boat working its way in this direction. You’re both safer here than trying to run for it until the aiji is in firm control of the sea approach. Trust me in that.”
“Trust you,” Toby said, “no question. How can we help?”
“Stay in the harbor. Get that boat of yours patched and fit to sail. You may have to take out of here before you get her beautified. There’s a guard on my boat: but just keep an eye on things in the harbor, be my eyes on the shoreline, and keep radio contact with the house if you see any movement. If something comes at us overland, protect yourselves and get out when you can. There’s no way you can go up against a Guild operation. All right?”
“We’ll be out there,” Toby said.
“Stay under cover as much as possible. Don’t present a target. If you need anything, get one of the staff or the villagers to run up to the house. Don’t expose yourselves to snipers—or a kidnapping.”
“Got it,” Toby said. “We’ll be going back down there. You take care.”
“I intend to,” he said, and hugged Toby—and Barb. “Stay alive. If we can get you a navy escort to calmer waters—”
“Don’t distract anybody from necessary business,” Toby said. “Just—you be careful, Bren.”
“I intend to be,” he said, and walked them out of the dining room and on toward the main hall—Banichi and Jago joining them as soon as they exited the dining room.
Another and scandalous public exchange of hugs as he sent them out the door. He did it anyway, while Banichi used his communications to call the escort to the door, to be sure Toby and Barb made it down to the boat safely—and equally to be sure the dowager’s men on the roof didn’t mistake the movement of someone down the winding walk.
“See you,” Toby told him, in leaving.
“See you,” he said in turn, and the escort took Barb and Toby in hand.
Then the servants shut the doors between them, shut them, locked them, and threw the substantial bolts above and below.
“Now we rest,” he said with a deep breath. “I pick up my computer, and we all go to your room, nadiin-ji.”
15
“Bren-ji.” Tano turned his chair at the security console to face Bren. “A report has come from the dock. Nand’ Toby and Barb-daja are back on their boat and safely so. There has been no incident. The boat is under repair. The workmen estimate to have the hole sealed before midnight. The pumps are very adequately keeping up with the situation.”
“Thank you, Tano-ji,” Bren said fervently. He had his own place, a chair pulled up to make a workspace at the end of the counter, next to an array of equipment, and he’d been writing reports on the situation while it was fresh in memory. Banichi and Jago took a little time in their respective beds in t
he next room, and they spoke in low voices, so as not to disturb them.
He hadn’t realized how tightly his nerves had been wound, how anxiously he’d awaited that word from the dock, but he’d ceased to trust momentary lulls in a situation—which often simply meant the enemy had drawn back to reorganize. Getting Barb and Toby out to sea was of great importance—but not overriding their safety. “Message in reply, Tano-ji: tell nand’ Toby wait for a clearance before he sails unless things go very badly here. If you yourself can possibly ask the aiji’s forces for an escort to get nand’ Toby out to sea . . . one would make that request.”
“Indeed,” Tano said, and turned back to his console, to busy himself in communications for some time. Bren went back to his report.
He was uneasy about asking a personal favor from Tabini—diversion of a naval vessel from a major action wasn’t exactly the sort of thing most people asked to be sure a relative got away safely, but the fact was, Toby wasn’t just Toby. He was a potentially valuable hostage. And he wasn’t just a Mospheiran citizen in the wrong waters; or even just the paidhi-aiji’s close relative: he was occasionally and perhaps currently an agent of the Mospheiran government—a spy, in plain fact; a spy who had served Tabini’s interests and hurt those of the Southern conspirators. And that meant he twice over ought to get out of here before he fell into hostile hands. Toby had personal enemies in the South: the South might not know precisely who he was beyond being the paidhi’s relative—which was enough. But once they twigged to what he had done during the Troubles, they would very quickly move to get their hands on him for very different reasons. The fact that Toby had a small operational Ragi vocabulary only put him in worse danger, in that regard.
So he wanted Toby the hell out of the bay and out much, much closer to the Mospheiran coast, just as soon as they could be sure that by sending the Brighter Days out toward open ocean they wouldn’t be sending Toby straight into the jaws of some force coming into the bay to launch a sea assault on Najida. A naval escort from Tabini’s side of the mess was the only sure answer.
That, and being sure that repair to the hull was going to hold up under whatever conditions Toby ran into out there once he left his naval escort, whether he had to run hard or dodge fire, or just bear up under the usual spring weather on his way to Port Jackson.
It was, however, the solution to one problem on his hands.
Having his old associate Geigi’s nephew locked in his basement, however—that was not going to be tidied up in one stroke.
Damn, he did not look forward to—
Ramaso himself came in, very somberly, with an underlying tension, and bowed.
“The village, nandi—the elders of the village—one has presented your sentiments. They have requested you come to speak to them in person, in a session of the council, tonight.”
That was a surprise—a disturbing surprise, since he was unprepared: he had no speech, he had no notes, only an untidy situation to report; but an honor—he wasn’t sure a lord of Najida had ever been asked to a village meeting.
“Tonight,” he echoed.
“At sunset, nandi.”
“I shall need to dress,” he said. The protocols of the situation were unprecedented. “In whatever would be appropriate, Rama-ji. I leave it to your discretion.”
“They have also invited the aiji-dowager and her great-grandson.”
For about a heartbeat he was astonished, and could not imagine what the dynamics of that situation were . . . and then he thought. Edi. With ties to Mospheira before the Landing. The Edi, who traced their descent through their mothers, and especially the grandmothers—the foremothers, guardian spirits, deities to the Edi. The aiji dowager. The aiji’s grandmother, great-grandmother to an aiji-to-come.
It wasn’t just a meeting. It was a precedent-setting Event, this meeting, and it didn’t, perhaps, only have to do with Najida.
“Convey the message to the dowager and ask her, from me, if she would decide about the young gentleman. Say that it may have an interesting relevance to the disappearance of the Edi from Lord Geigi’s household.”
She would go, he judged. Visit Baiji? She’d had conscious reason not to, well-taken, as it turned out. But an Edi village might pique her curiosity, if nothing else. Curiosity was a potent inducement to Ilisidi.
“Yes, nandi,” Ramaso said, and went off to do that.
He sat down and took another note—more, he started pulling up data from his computer, historical notes, geography, a list of names, all in the data files. The Edi ancestors had come down from the north coast, up from the south in ancient times, coastward somewhat when the Ragi Association formed: there had been fighting. And notably, the large group of associated clans had come across from Mospheira, having been forced out by the War of the Landing and subsequently dispossessed by the Treaty of the Landing that ceded the whole island of Mospheira to human rule.
The data listed clans, where each was thought to have been, where they were thought to have moved, what names were common in each. Descent through the mother.
Put upon for two centuries and before: the Edi had been at odds with the Ragi Association, and the Southern Association; and when the Ragi Association had become the Western Association, the aishidi’tat, and made it known they were going to knock some Southern heads, the Edi had found a needful buffer in Geigi’s clan, the Maschi, who were on good terms with the Ragi—smartest move they’d made in a long while. But then the holder of Najida, the last of the Maladesi, had married into the Farai of the Morigi clan in the South—that little piece of business had linked the northern finger of the coast into the Southern Association . . . simultaneously betraying the Maladesi’s village, which was mostly Edi, mostly related to the Edi all down the coast.
That was the pleasant little winter home Tabini-aiji had bestowed on him some years back, and he knew Tabini had never meant him to have to cope with a mess like this—Tabini had only intended to signal the Ragi weren’t going to tolerate a Southern Association foothold on the Edi coast, which had made the Edi happy, he gathered, as better than the alternative. The paidhi was not Ragi, not Maschi, certainly not Southern—the Southerners would have cheered en masse if he’d been assassinated. And he and the village had gotten along tolerably well during the period in which the Ragi grew stronger—not a plus for the Edi—but also more peaceful. Prosperity had come to the coast, largely thanks to Lord Geigi and the aerospace plant. Everything had just gone swimmingly right for the Edi during that period.
Until the paidhi became a very absentee landlord and conspiracy threw Tabini out of office for a year. During that time the Southerners had been very active, had stuffed their pockets and gotten people in power here and there—not to mention the damned Farai had taken over the paidhi’s apartment as if the paidhi would never return. Baiji had started playing courtship games with the South, Geigi hadn’t been able to communicate with the world to find out what was going on, and the Edi serving Baiji had—one hoped—just walked out. One hoped there was no worse answer . . . but he might get a clue to it tonight.
He read and made notes.
And Ramaso came back to inform him the dowager and the young gentleman would be attending.
Security problem, was his first thought, and he had been hoping halfheartedly that the dowager would decline the invitation. But so was he a security problem, as far as that went. Banichi and Jago were going to need their rest. They’d have a full complement of the dowager’s guard. That was considerable. And the dowager and the next Ragi aiji meeting with that assembly might have political reverberations far outweighing—
Another intervention. Saidaro came in from the hall, Ramaso’s second-in-command, a little ruffled, for that steady, reasonable man. He bowed.
“Couriers from the aiji’s forces have come to the door, nandi, with the papers you requested. And more. They bring two persons to be assigned to the young gentleman. Cenedi-nadi has gone to verify their credentials.
That had the attention of bo
th Tano and Algini, for certain. And that could be a problem. Counting the longrunning insistance on the part of Uncle Tatiseigi of the Atageini to provide security for his grand-nephew and the several times Uncle Tatiseigi’s security had failed to keep track of the boy—it had been a problem. Counting the importance of the Atageini in keeping the central region stable—it was an ongoing problem. Counting the dowager, who was an old lover of Uncle Tatiseigi, providing the boy her own security when she was at hand—and threatening to provide it permanently—that was a problem. And counting the fact the boy’s father, Tabini, had had internal security problems that had come within a hair of getting him assassinated on the floor of the legislature—that had been a problem.
The latest arrangement with Tabini’s security, who were generally Ragi in ethnicity—itself a noisily controversial reliance on his own clan—had seemed at least to be an improvement on the security front.
But now Tabini was going to step in and have the final say in the ongoing battle—that was going to ruffle the Atageini and the boy’s mother’s Ajuri clan, at minimum.
And to have the boy acquire Ragi-ethnicity Guildsmen just as he accepted the invitation from the Edi to go meet with them—bad timing. It could have been done when the boy got back to the capital.
Except Tabini was understandably a little disturbed to have known his son had taken unauthorized leave on a freight train, stolen a boat, and developed independent notions that had gotten him stranded in the middle of a firefight. He certainly could not blame Tabini for concluding that his son needed specifically-attached adult security. Two Taibeni teenagers were clearly not enough to exert authority. And Tabini was the boy’s father.
Conspirator Page 35
