No matter what then blew up and no matter what blame public opinion laid on his shoulders…which was the other looming threat, that when the dust did settle, he might not be able to get to Tabini at all. He’d had a taste of unbuffered atevi opinion on the steps. He began to ask himself if Tabini’s distance from him didn’t already have something to do with Tabini’s desire to separate himself from human influence, or Tabini’s outright dissatisfaction with him, turning away from the advice he had once relied on. In that estimation, he was lost. He didn’t know what his status was with Tabini, and he couldn’t gain a clear signal one way or the other.
A servant loomed, with a tray. He waved off another offering of cakes, allowing his tea to cool, and wondered meanwhile if anyone had yet taken potshots at Rejiri’s plane or ambushed a trainload of inbound west coast supporters. He tried once, furtively, to catch Ilisidi’s eye: no good. She was not open to inquiry.
And after that he tried to think of an excuse, any excuse, to take his superfluous presence outside, where he might be able to get information.
The dowager was, at the moment, arguing her grandson’s determination not to change his dress for the occasion.
The door opened. Three more individuals arrived, two young ladies and an elderly woman, all of whom suddenly nudged hard at memory: Damiri’s sister Meisi, Bren realized in a little flood of embarrassment. Damiri’s aunt, whose name momentarily defied memory, and a young cousin, now teenaged, nicknamed Deiaja—all Ajuri clan, the female contingent only now arriving from the buses, one supposed, to take their places in the general madness. They seemed quite surprised to see him in the gathering; and the dowager; and next descended on Cajeiri, who scowled at them and refused to be fussed over. Deiaja had outright shot up a foot since he had last seen the child: Small wonder he hadn’t known her when she appeared. And there she was, all cordial bows, with her hair in braids and Ajuri clan ribbon—preparing to be a target right along with all the other fools who had come here. He was completely appalled. Ajuri clan was here, with its younger generation as well as its lord exposed to risk, right along with the Ragi.
Was it a statement, a commitment to a stand, equal risk with the Ragi, the Atageini, and the Taibeni?
But this particular young cousin, this pretty teenager Deiaja, he recalled, was half Kadagidi herself, was that not so?
Ajuri clan had linked to both eastern clans of the Padi Valley, the Atageini and the Kadagidi; and the long-nosed aunt—Geidaro was her name; it came to him in a flash—the aunt was the link in that situation. She had been married to a Kadagidi, a cousin of Murini’s, for at least a decade of her life, the contract now allowed to lapse, since, oh, about the time Cajeiri was born…
And were those events connected—an Ajuri-connected heir born to the Ragi aiji, and Geidaro severs ties with her Kadagidi husband, retaining the daughter in Ajuri possession, however, not to give up the Kadagidi tie, not quite?
Meanwhile Cajeiri rose and bowed to the girl, who had at least six years on him, but not a smidge of height. The courtesy won a pretty smile from Deiaja, even a little simper. Bren rose, guided by habit, despite the urge to flinch from all Ajuri at the moment, and bowed in his turn, quite gravely.
“Nand’ paidhi.” A pretty bow from the Ajuri girl.
“One is honored.” She was a tiny miss, for an atevi, and had Damiri’s willowy look in minature. She smiled as blithely as if they had met at a summer fair, went her way to bow to her aunt’s Atageini great-uncle, and Bren took his seat again, wishing he were not professionally suspicious and asking himself whether this obliging child had had a vote in coming here, or where, precisely, this child’s Kadagidi father was at this exact moment.
Over the eastern border, over in Kadagidi territory? Absolutely.
And did that father know he had a daughter newly arrived over here, in the target zone?
Less likely, unless the Ajuri had simply phoned the Kadagidi and said, “Oh, by the way, we shall visit Tatiseigi this week. We shall greatly appreciate quiet while we do so.”
It did limit Kadagidi options in dealing with this uprising…as uprising it was, even while it got a number of people past the doors.
And on that thought, darker human worries leaped up, despite all thoughts of kabiu, thoughts that kept him mute and obscure in the general exchange of greetings and courtesies. Dammit, the outright artillery or bomb attack on this peaceful gathering that kabiu called unthinkable was in fact perfectly conceivable to atevi, or what in all sanity was the point of them all coming here and laying their bodies on the line to prevent it?
And was there anything the Ajuri could possibly gain in the scheme of things, except by coming in to take Tabini’s side, when Tabini’s heir was half Ajuri? Did they fear that young Cajeiri would be killed, and that the clan would be sucked into a bloody feud willy-nilly on Tabini’s side of the balance?
They were clearly moving closer to power. The old lord, frail as he was, was no candidate—but Damiri’s uncle, Kadiyi, had a strong a presence, and if anything happened to Cajeiri’s other guardians, he certainly could assert himself as a relative.
Bren remained worried and silent, listening to the polite social chatter as the aunt settled down next to Ilisidi and chattered on, and (a flurry of servants with chairs and teapots) as Meisi settled in beside Damiri and Deiaja plumped down beside her. “Did you have a safe trip?” Oh, yes, no difficulties, but going by road was such an uncomfortable way to travel…discussion of absent relatives, another cousin in childbed and oh, so much regretting not being here—
For God’s sake, Bren thought, as if the whole undertaking were a family picnic.
Then, then his ears pricked up at a few chattered bits from the half-Kadagidi girl: Uncle Murini was still in the capital. Indeed, said Ilisidi, brows lifting. And oh, yes, in the last few hours, the aunt said, he had called the tashrid to assemble and come into session.
The tashrid, the aristocratic half of the legislature, the half that approved successions and heard challenges and Filings.
It was the body that initiated a declaration of war or called for a Guild action.
“Has he the numbers?” Tabini asked, meaning, knowledgeable ears understood, the quorum and the favorable numbers of date and attendance to conduct any legitimate legislative action.
“Indeed, no, aiji-ma. The lords, being no fools,” Damiri’s uncle said, “are many of them finding travel difficult, mysterious breakdowns, disruptions in the rails between their homes and Shejidan.”
“Not to mention,” Aunt Geidaro said with a wicked smile, “an outbreak of sore throat circulating in the capital itself, a remarkably contagious affliction. It travels by telephone.”
Tabini looked amused. Others laughed. Bren, seeing that look of Geidaro’s, felt a band loose from about his heart at this strangely conspiratorial tone from a woman who had personal ties to the Kadagidi.
God, were they winning? Were there disaffections? Was resistence against Murini rising up in the capital itself, among the lawmakers?
And in this thawing of manner did he detect a certain glee in the Ajuri attitude toward the situation, and possibly—possibly, to judge by the aunt, even a little rift within the Kadagidi themselves, a resentment rising toward their power-grabbing lord? Was that what the Ajuri were here in such numbers to signal—full participation, and maybe some special connections for this little clan to contribute or to claim, by being here in such numbers?
At least the legislature itself seemed to be having second thoughts, taking a cautious, though stingingly public step away from Murini, a small step starting with, doubtless, a brave few. It was a step which—if their unity held, if their numbers were sufficient, if fear that Tabini might come home and demand an accounting had begun to trouble their thoughts—might infect still others with this sore throat.
But such a movement in the capital might throw fear into Murini and start other forces maneuvering, might it not—perhaps recklessly and desperately so in the rebel south coast
and the loyal west coast, where armed force might come into play?
And just when had this disaffection begun to whisper through quiet meetings, with nudges and glances and backroom whispers?
Perhaps it had come the moment it became clear the dowager and the heir were back on the mainland and were receiving support from two and three clans.
Perhaps it had begun when it became clear a growing number of dissidents from Murini’s rule were all gathering here, defying calamity, daring Murini to do anything and suggesting by their growing presence that he couldn’t. Maybe the Ajuri represented a power struggle within the Kadagidi clan themselves, increasingly alienated from Murini, the more he tried to be a national leader and compromise their particular interests—that had happened in the past. What was the proverb? Kaid’ airuni manomini ad’ heiji. It is hard to see the provinces from the capital.
“If one might suggest,” Bren said, ever so cautiously, “if there is any phone link possible to the Guild, nandiin, perhaps the aiji might at this moment seize the initiative to inform them—”
“The aiji needs no lesson!” the lord of the Ajuri snapped, cutting him off.
“Grandfather,” Damiri said, a gentle intervention for which Bren was personally grateful, and in the same breath the ferule of Ilisidi’s formidable cane came down hard on the tiles.
“My grandson is no fool, to ignore advice,” Ilisidi said.
Then Tabini, in that distinctive voice that could knife through a parliamentary brawl, said, “The paidhi-aiji has a sensible point. Hear him.”
A hint? A momentary caution, when favor and disfavor were on a knife’s edge?
The aiji needed desperately to keep the peace and not create difficulty with these clans.
“With most profound regard for the lord’s wise caution,” Bren said, trying not to hyperventilate, “and the aiji being most sensible of the true situation—the paidhi-aiji should go to Shejidan, to present the facts he has brought back from the heavens, namely that, without the mission the aiji ordered, the business with the human settlement would have brought foreign enemies to the world—a threat which—”
Tabini himself lifted a hand, stopping him right there. Bren braked, brimming over with facts and figures Tabini apparently had no interest in hearing or allowing to be heard, not here, not now, or not in front of these witnesses.
“Aiji-ma,” he said, and subsided into silence.
“We understand your position, nandi,” Tabini said with finality. “Go speak with the staff.”
And do what? Bren asked himself. He had wanted out of the gathering. But he was dismayed to be so unexpectedly dismissed.
And say what to the staff, and learn what? He murmured a courtesy, nonetheless, and rose and bowed to one and all, finding he was truly, absolutely exhausted, frustrated with a situation out of control, and personally out of resources, now that Tabini tossed him out of the gathering, and presumably out of the state dinner as well.
Was it now secrecy from the Ajuri the aiji wanted around that report of his? Why? Did Tabini suspect that Kadagidi connection?
He reached the door, heard a rapid footstep, and found the heir at his elbow, outward bound along with him.
“And where is our great-grandson going?” That from the Ajuri lord.
“He is leaving in good company,” Ilisidi said sharply, and with a blow of the cane’s ferule against the tiles. “We were all awake all night. Doubtless we shall get little rest tonight. We are weary, out of patience, and hungry. Sandwiches, Tati-ji. At least give us sandwiches, or hasten this dinner! No more sugar!”
“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said, ordered about in his own hall, and the dinner discussion proceeded as Bren quietly let himself and Cajeiri out of the room, in among the waiting bodyguards.
“My apologies, nand’ Bren,” Cajeiri said stiffly. “My mother does not agree.” And rapidly, in Mosphei’, a language an heir of the aishidi’tat probably shouldn’t have picked up quite so fluently, but had: “My father’s mad.”
That, Bren himself had picked up, quite clearly.
“I hope not at me,” he said in Mosphei’.
“At Ajuri clan,” Cajeiri said pertly, and, as they gathered up Banichi and Jago, along with young Jegari: “My mother is mad, too. They’re pushing, is that the word, nandi?”
All these years, and an eight-year-old could read better what was going on in that room. He had suffered his moment of desolation, of being the outsider, at a time when he held some of the pieces that might make a difference—but he had lost all sense of the undercurrents in that room, and Tabini was right: He was being of no help and he had better get out of there.
“One is hardly surprised,” Banichi muttered in Ragi, at his elbow—Banichi and Jago alike understanding more Mosphei’ than they ever admitted. “But pushing whom, young sir?”
At that moment Cenedi caught up to them.
“More buses are coming,” Cenedi said in a low voice. “We have forerunners already at the eastern fence, nandi. We do not know the clan, but we suspect they are from the north.”
More buses. More lives at risk.
“We have had a report,” Banichi said, “that the Kadagidi themselves are bringing clans up from the south to join them at Parai.”
The Kadagidi stronghold. “Coming up by train?” Bren asked, envisioning rival clans having it out at the train station, if Dur came in at the same time.
“Sources say so,” Cenedi answered. Sources. Spies, that meant, perhaps observers inside the other household, or maybe spies at the train station—certainly observers at the estate fence. God knew how word of further movements was getting back and forth to Cenedi, but Tabini’s people had surely brought in far better equipment than Uncle Tatiseigi’s antique establishment owned, and reports were now moving in some security, not only on the estate and within the province, but very probably through channels involving Taiben in the west and north and maybe up into the eastern hills—so he surmised, at least, by the degree of information that Cenedi had gathered. Tabini had been here long enough to have spread out a network, given the usual efficiency that surrounded the aiji, and if that had started into operation, reports of hostile movements might become more specific.
“The aiji said in there that the hill clans are coming,” Bren said, information which did not seem to surprise anyone.
“Tirnamardi cannot hold any more guests,” Jago said. “Or feed them all. They have sent for more supplies from Marim, which also have to be safeguarded, and which cannot be quiet.”
Marim was an Atageini town some forty klicks east.
“Meanwhile,” Banichi said wryly, “there is a quarrel between Lord Tatiseigi’s domestic staff and certain of the aiji’s security as to whether there should be a formal dinner with others still arriving—the kitchen is in utter chaos, and many of the Atageini have come in without supplies, expecting to be fed.”
The kitchen was overwhelmed. So was he. Fatigue might play a part in it. The calculation that everything he could possibly learn now was secondhand and late had its part in it, definitely. He felt every one of his blisters and bruises, and wished he could do something, but clearly staff was well ahead of him and its emergencies were mostly of a practical nature. What would come next—whether the Kadagidi attacked again or waited—wasn’t even anyone’s immediate concern.
But one worry came crystal clear, and he had within reach three staffers he absolutely trusted. “Do we, nadiin-ji, rely completely on the aiji’s bodyguard? Do we know these new men, and does information flow?”
“Information does not flow to us so readily as before, nandi,” Cenedi said. “We know them. They were lesser men in the aiji’s service before the calamity. But their man’chi is firm.”
“Capable men?”
He saw his staff’s faces, not quite impassive, admitting a slight worry on their part—a great deal of worry, one could suspect, if they were not in front of a not quite discreet eight-year-old who was waiting, all ears. The paidhi had expected a
simple confirmation; if he were not so harried and dim-brained, he would not have solicited a detailed answer, and if staff were not so harried, maybe they would not have given it in front of the boy who been part of the furniture for two years.
Not to mention his teenage bodyguard, who had not been.
A rare lapse. Or not a lapse at all. The thought sped through Bren’s brain and Banichi’s large hand simultaneously landed on Jegari’s slight shoulder, drawing Cajeiri’s bodyguard into their circle. “Understand,” Banichi said, “we do not judge these men, your seniors by ever so much, to be in any particular unreliable, but they do not tell us as much as we would wish. When one accedes to a post unexpectedly, without briefings, and without equipment, it may make even an experienced Guildsman very nervous, little inclined to take advice, cautious of releasing information.”
“One makes every attempt to learn,” Jegari said, quiet under that grip.
“There is no blame for them,” Banichi said, “only a situation. Listen, young sir. Even Guild, and they are Guild, can err by taking on too much responsibility and by refusing to consult. They will not abdicate their decisions and zig and zag with every breeze. That is a virtue; but when more experienced hands offer help and information, they insist on deciding, feeling the weight of their enormous responsibility, one can only surmise. They bring an improvement in communications. What the aiji’s guard knows, they have begun to share, this last hour, but they still keep too many secrets, and we have no idea how many more they keep. We would not like to see such errors in our own staff. Information should flow to us. It is necessary, nadiin, that information reach us.”
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