There was a broad landing in front of the foyer, the juncture of the main floor and the stairs that led outside, a region now the domain of workmen setting up scaffolding and repairing the outer doors. As they arrived the door to the adjacent drawing room opened, and Tabini-aiji himself strode out through the collection of Guild security that ordinarily guarded the doors of any conference in progress—the aiji was in Assassins’ black, still, with an identifying red scarf around his arm, much as he had appeared when he had turned up last night, if less dusty.
Elderly Lord Tatiseigi, in muted pastel green with abundant lace, accompanied him out, looking entirely vexed with the proceedings. Banichi exited the room with them, pocket com in hand.
“They must not shoot!” Bren said at once. “The colors of the plane are yellow and blue! They are Dur!”
“In my winter pasturage!” Tatiseigi cried.
“See to its protection,” Tabini said to staff. “Quickly!”
Bren himself veered for the foyer and ran down the steps under the scaffolding to the massive front doors, while workmen who had stopped their cleanup and repair stared at the sudden commotion. With Jago and now Banichi in close company, and right behind Tabini’s own head of security, he exited the house onto the wide front steps, above a clutter of buses and farm trucks that now jammed the hedge-rimmed drive. Ordinary townsmen had taken cover from the overflight behind the flimsy cover of vehicles, armed and waiting with their pistols and hunting rifles.
“This may be an ally that has landed!” Bren shouted at the nearest. “Pass the word, nadiin! The colors are the island of Dur!”
And to Banichi and Jago: “Make sure no one fires, nadiin-ji.”
“Go,” Banichi said to Jago, and Jago dived among the cars and beyond, leaving them behind. By the way heads came up over fenders and truck beds in her wake, she was passing the word as she went, not relying on word of mouth.
Bren’s desire was to take off and run flat out toward the plane in the meadow before some accident intervened but a lord ought not to breach dignity; a lord, in view of strangers, was held to, at most, a brisk walk, and necessarily Banichi stayed close by him, armed and formidable, and making their way just behind Tabini’s man. Armed gawkers jumped back out of the path of black-uniformed Guild, and a handful of mounted Taibeni rangers that had ridden through the hedges to get over to this path fell in behind him, mecheiti snorting and fussing at being reined in, another reason to want to hurry the pace.
Down the side of the house, along what had been the stable path so long as the house had had a stable, past the ongoing fence repair, and around to the east meadow, where Bren caught a good view of a handful of rifle-bearing house security behind a low stone wall, holding a vantage on the sloping meadow beyond. Engine noise had sunk in volume. The small plane was taxiing in the middle of Tatiseigi’s pasture.
He still was constrained not to run. He walked, walked with that mandated dignity that lent calm to a volatile situation. That, as much as the radioed orders, made it less and less likely that some agitated townsman behind him would take a shot at the pilot as he climbed out. He walked, with Banichi, beyond the gateless stone wall and the spectators, walked over the cultivated pasture, a beloved patch of fine graze that had already suffered trampling, vehicular traffic, and fire last night. On the lowest flat, the plane came rolling to a stop.
Jago caught up with them as they came within hailing distance of the plane, and only at that point did cold second thoughts rush in. What if he were in fact mistaken about the color pattern? What if loyal Dur had turned against Tabini along with so many others? A thousand doubts—a human could be mistaken in his assumptions, here in the heart of atevi feuds and upheaval.
But the door of the little plane banged open and the young pilot climbed up onto the wing, a silhouette against the bright fuselage, carrying his coat on his arm. He jumped down with that boundless enthusiasm that was the very signature of the young man Bren remembered.
He wanted to run up and hug the boy for very joy. But Jago had gone forward to meet the lad, and the young pilot came walking back toward them, putting on his formal coat in the process—a rich azure blue, it was.
And once he had his arms in the sleeves, the young gentleman, dignity to the winds, set out toward them at a moderate jog, letting Jago follow at a more deliberate pace.
“Bren-nandi!”
It was Rejiri of Dur, no doubt in the world, and when they met, Rejiri seized Bren by the arms just to look at him—a young man now, no boy, and he had grown half a foot; but his eyes were as bright, as blithe as ever. “Back from space, nandi! What an excellent, auspicious day!”
“Nandi-ji,” Bren saluted the young man, carried back to far happier times. Rejiri had stayed steadfast. The planet still turned on its axis.
“Dur is coming in,” Rejiri said breathlessly. “My father has sent a hundred thirty-two of the clan here, with our bodyguards, arriving by train this evening, to support the aiji!”
God, another clan to support the aiji, this one from the coast—as if Tabini had joined in with Tatiseigi’s crazed notion of going to war against the Kadagidi. The wiser course for the aiji was certainly to fade back into the hills and conduct a far more reasoned assault on the Kadagidi, with organization and pressure levied against the capital. Such wild enthusiam beamed out at him; and the boy from Dur, now a towering, broad-shouldered young man—Rejiri could not take the train with the ordinary folk of his clan, oh, no. He had had to make a dangerous, officially forbidden flight and execute a landing in the middle of Tatiseigi’s winter pasture, all to convey the news of Dur’s intentions—and have himself right into the thick of things long before clan authority arrived.
Not a hair of the youth was changed.
“You are our good luck, Rejiri-ji,” Bren declared. “You are ever so welcome.”
“Not just Dur, but our neighbors the Tagi and the Mairi are coming, too!” Rejiri said. And before Bren could muster any rational objection that the aiji himself might be taking off elsewhere, to a safer vantage—“And Banichi and Jago! Good to see you in good health, nadiin-ji! You look not a bit changed. Did you rescue the stranded humans? Did you see wonders out there?”
“We did both, nandi,” Banichi said. “But nand’ Bren will tell you that, in much greater detail.”
By now the row of onlookers back at the ruined fence had doubled in size, spectators gathered there, while on every floor of the house, multiple heads had appeared in every window facing the meadow.
“You will indeed tell us the whole adventure,” Rejiri said—words, with Rejiri, always flowed like quicksilver, affording no time for organization, no opportunity, sometimes, for basic common sense. “We look forward to hearing it, every bit. And might there be tea, nand’ Bren? Intercede for me with Lord Tatiseigi. Might I prevail upon your good offices to do so? One does apologize profoundly for the tracks in his meadow. It has rained here, has it not? I felt the tires resist as I came in. And is there a chance one may see the aiji? He is here, is he not? It is true, surely?”
All this in his first few steps toward the house.
“The aiji is indeed here, nandi-ji. In very fact, I was preparing to seek an audience with him and with Lord Tatiseigi when we heard your plane pass over…”
“Oh, excellent! It was good weather for flying, an entirely auspicious day, as I told my father when I set out. Clear skies made me just a little worried, in case, of course, these wretches should send up planes of their own, which one doubted they would dare, even so, over Atageini air space—but the heir to Dur has a perfect right to fly where he likes over the northern associations, does he not, nandi? Certainly he has!”
“Is the north that fragmented, that one speaks only of the local associations?”
“Oh, you have scarcely heard the list of outrages, nand’ Bren! The so-named aiji has made flight regulations, laws, rules, and taxes, all of which Dur refuses to countenance. We despise his laws and his tax collectors!”
“And does your father stand in good health?”
“Oh, extremely, extremely. Do you know, I have two new sisters!”
“Twins, Rejiri-ji?”
“No, no, a new marriage. The girls were born in successive years. Beautiful little sprites. My mother swears she is quite jealous, except I am indisputably the eldest, and papa is indisputably connected to her, and has treaty ties to her house which he will never break. My mother is Drisi-Edi, you know. And the Edi may well send forces here, too. I would be surprised if not. Have you seen Lord Geigi? Did he come down with you?”
Atevi marriage went by contracts, for thus and such number of years. The Edi were one of the coastal peoples, allied to Lord Geigi’s people. And, my God, Bren thought, mentally reeling from the zigzag course of information: Geigi’s province? His people were leaving their sanctuary to throw in their lot with Tatiseigi and Dur?
“Lord Geigi remains on the station,” he managed to say. “He remains in excellent health, and maintains close control over matters on the station. Jase-paidhi is back, safe and sound, and he will assist Lord Geigi. Mercheson-paidhi, too, is safe on Mospheira, in close harmony with the Presidenta as well as with the ship-aijiin aloft.”
“We have had news of the mainland from the radio, nand’ paidhi! From your university.”
Was that how rumor was reaching epidemic proportions? Radio, from across the strait?
“What did they say?”
“Oh, that the shuttle is preparing a return, that the legislature is passing a resolution of support for Tabini-aiji and for the station-aijiin, that the Presidenta has urged citizens along the coast to keep a sharp watch and report any untoward intrusion.”
Aimed at the shuttle, it might be. One could only dread what might happen to the two others, here on the mainland.
“And do they know where Tabini-aiji is, Jiri-ji?”
“One remains unsure. It was never mentioned. But we heard. A car came to us, from Meiri. They had heard, because a Meiri woman has a son with the chief accountant of Ceiga…”
Which was an Atageini town. Which meant rumors had been flying at record speed, a veritable network sending out word, possibly starting with Tatiseigi’s leaky communications system.
Rejiri went into detail as they passed through the ranks of wondering spectators, no few of whom were house security, and nonstop as they walked up and around the side of the house, Rejiri asking a barrage of questions all the way—had the voyage been successful? What strange sights had he seen?
Then onto the drive, where town buses and farm trucks vied for parking space.
“Taiben has come in,” Bren thought to inform him.
“Taiben! Then they are the mecheita-camp!”
“Indeed.”
“Now that is a wonder,” Rejiri pronounced this partnership of Atageini and Taibeni, and, casting his gaze up to the top of the steps that confronted them, he climbed energetically, security trailing them, house security standing at the top of the steps to confront and challenge them.
“The young lord of Dur,” Banichi said as they approached that cautious line, “come to confer with Lord Tatiseigi.” Oh, that Lord Tatiseigi was politic. Opposition immediately gave way.
“Our lord will see the visitor in the sitting room, nadi,” the seniormost of Tatiseigi’s security informed them, and doors immediately opened and staff folded in with them, past the scaffolding and repair work inside…up those steps, then, and onto the level of the sitting room. To judge by the collection of various bodyguards standing about that door, Tabini, Tatiseigi, and the dowager had gone back into conference in that room; and if one could judge by the Taibeni present, Keimi of Taiben was inside, and likely a couple of Atageini mayors, granted a couple of clerkish types in the mix.
And now another pair of participants arrived, racing down the stairs from the rooms above: Cajeiri, eight years old, as tall as a grown human, and accompanied by one Jegari, his young Taibeni guard.
“Did he fly the plane, nandi?” echoed and re-echoed in the stairwell, and Bren paused to introduce the aiji’s son to the son of the lord of Dur.
“Nandi,” Rejiri said, with a grand and sweeping bow to the boy, and Cajeiri likewise bowed, clearly entranced by the daring landing, the young pilot, and the brightly painted plane out on the meadow—doubtless estimating that if other young lords could do such a reckless thing, he could do it: One had only to know him to imagine the gears turning in his young head.
But by then the drawing room door had opened, and security inside had taken a look, exchanged words with security outside, and questions from the assembled lords were bound to come out to them if they did not now go inside quickly.
“Nandiin,” Bren said, and ushered Cajeiri and Rejiri both into the room.
Tabini-aiji sat at the center of the arc of chairs inside, with Damiri and the dowager on either hand, with Lord Tatiseigi. The young lord of Dur, facing the aiji that the news services under Murini’s control had claimed for months was dead and lost, bowed profoundly, as Cajeiri piped up with, “This is Rejiri, the lord of Dur’s son, nandiin! He landed just outside!”
“Aijin-ma,” Rejiri said in modest grace. “Nand’ dowager.”
Welcome was a little less certain on Lord Tatiseigi’s face—his age-seamed lips disapproved any commotion in his meadows, any further destruction of his lawn. Others present, Keimi of Taiben, and, yes, two Atageini mayors, to judge by their pale green and gold lapel rosettes, remained impassive, offering that inscrutable face one presented to strangers.
“Nand’ Rejiri,” Bren said, “reports himself in advance of his father’s associates, arriving by train this evening from the coast.”
“He landed right at the bottom of the hill,” Cajeiri said, unchecked, and improving the account, “right on the grass. We saw him, and he flew the plane himself!”
“Did he?” Tabini-aiji surely recalled a general chaos in air traffic control, in the very heart of the association, in which this particular plane had been involved, when the young pilot had made his first visit to the capital. But he rose from his chair and welcomed the young lord with extreme warmth. “Loyal, and arrived to join us, and the lord of Dur with him. Who could doubt Dur’s man’chi?”
“Is he prepared to fight?” Tatiseigi asked dourly, still seated in the privilege of age, though most had risen and now settled back again. “With that great noisemaker? Nevertheless we welcome the young lord from Dur. Well, well, welcome, Dur. We shall offer every hospitality. We shall have a go at those miscreants across our border, teach them to observe our hedges…”
“And how are things on the north coast, young sir?” Ilisidi asked sweetly from her seat, neatly cutting Tatiseigi off.
Another bow, deep and gracious, in that direction. “Free, aiji-ma, free and unshaken—only awaiting the real aiji’s summons.”
Summons, had it been? Bren, having found a vacant chair at the end of the arc, darted a sharp look at Tabini, who said nothing to deny such a summons had gone out.
A summons. Aircraft. People arriving by train. The Ajuri coming in this evening—relatives, and intimately concerned with their daughter Damiri. And now there was talk of Edi coming in. All this motion and commotion suggested that he had been wrong in his estimations. The thought that the aiji and his men could somehow melt back into the woods seemed less and less practical. Clearly the paidhi had not quite gotten the picture until now: He was not sure that Lord Tatiseigi entirely had it yet, but that word summons rang like a bell. Tabini was not here simply to meet the dowager and reclaim his son.
They sat here in the open now. And Atageini had become involved to the hilt. Taibeni had come in. The Ajuri were coming to their defense, and Dur, and others from the coast, if there was a bus left at the railhead to get them here this evening. Or worse, they might have to fight their way in past Kadagidi agents, if the attack renewed itself at dusk.
“There might be trouble at the train station, nandiin,” Bren said quietly, aware it was by no means the pai
dhi’s job to give the aiji defensive advice, but he lacked information: He wanted someone to think of these things, and let him know what in all hell the aiji was planning. “We removed a bus and left it in Taiben. One is by no means sure there are enough buses left at the station to serve.”
“An excellent point,” Keimi said: The bus in question was still capable of being moved, if Taiben could send it back.
“My father and his guard are armed,” Rejiri said, with a gesture toward the outside. “And there are plenty of buses and trucks here to bring them, nandiin.”
There were certainly plenty of Atageini vehicles which Tatiseigi might not particularly want shot full of holes but neither did they want their allies shot full of holes getting here; it was easier to move a few of them by the shorter, open country road.
“We can send buses,” Tabini said decisively, without so much as a glance at Tatiseigi, who sat glumly chewing his lip and perhaps recalculating the shooting match he was planning with his neighbors. “But the Kadagidi may have moved on the station.”
“One could take the plane up,” Cajeiri suggested, “and see what the Kadagidi are doing.”
Leave it to Cajeiri to think how to get that plane involved in the commotion.
“A dangerous venture,” Damiri said.
“But perhaps a useful one,” Rejiri said. “Aijiin-ma, one would gladly undertake it, observing all possible discretion, but the plane needs fuel.”
“What sort of fuel does it use?” Tabini asked.
It used what the trucks and buses used, it turned out.
“There must be a fuel station in the nearest town,” Rejiri said.
“The estate has its own tank,” Tatiseigi volunteered glumly, wonder of wonders. “And if we refuel this machine, you will keep an eye to the east, young sir, and advise us by radio what you see from up there, before nightfall.” A vague wave of the elderly hand, outer space and the air corridors being likely the same thing in Tatiseigi’s concept. “There may be a use for this thing.”
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