Protector

Damn it.

He was caught. He did not want to grow up. Not yet. He wanted to be a boy. He wanted to slip away the way they had on the starship, and go places where he could still play games.

But there were no places like that on this floor. And any other floor of the Bujavid was not safe.

The world had gotten serious and stayed that way. His guests were going to say, “Come on, Jeri, let’s go . . .”

And he’d have to say no, it probably wasn’t safe . . .

Because his stupid grandfather had made things worse just when they could have really gotten better.

Maybe, he thought, I can think of something.

And: I can still get my way. I just have to be smarter about it.

My associates are coming down here. I have to be good until then. I have to follow all the rules and do my homework and be so good even my mother will be happy.

And once my guests get here, then there has to be something to show them when they come. They have never seen the ocean. They have never seen trees and grass. They have never seen a sunrise. I had to describe it all for them.

I have to show them everything. I have to show them the best things, so we have something to talk about, and they will want to come back.

I would like them to come back. I would like them to be here when I grow up. I would like to have people like nand’ Bren, who have no clan, and owe nothing to anybody else. Just to me.

8

Morning brought mail and a last cup of tea to follow the paidhi‑aiji’s solitary breakfast. The apartment was very quiet now–not that Geigi had ever made a lot of noise as a houseguest, but the sense of lordly presence in the place was gone.

So was Geigi’s company at breakfast, the distraction of his cheerful conversation on completely idle but interesting topics. That part had been pleasant.

The shuttle was well on its way, safely clear of the atmosphere. Geigi was headed home, and the complex affairs and troubles of the space station had become just a little less intimately connected to the problems of the continent.

That was, over all, a good thing.

So was the quiet, in which he could, at last, think without interruption. They were not necessarily pleasant thoughts, regarding the problem of the Ajuri, and the imminent legislative session with its necessary committee meetings, and committee politics. And there was going to be a question of what he was going to do with guests whose parents had an agenda–

But those were questions he could sidestep. The parents weren’t coming. Wouldn’t be allowed to come. Just deal with the children as children, don’t let anyone get hurt, and translate for them–Cajeiri’s ship‑speak had to be a little rusty after a year–and he was sure he’d be drawn in for all the tours and the festivities, to be sure the guests had a good time.

Of all jobs he had ahead of him–that one might actually have some real enjoyment in it.

Give or take a boy who’d already been arrested by station security.

But that was, he said to himself, possibly Cajeiri’s influence.

He could handle it. Absolutely.

And Geigi by now, thank goodness, understood their earthbound worries, and the security issues his bodyguard would have explained by now. The paidhi‑aiji’s security could protect the kids; the parents were Geigi’s problem.

He had his own share of loose ends to tie up.

The tribal bill. The cell phone bill. He had to arrange meetings, formal and informal, talk to the right people, have his arguments in order, and get done what had to be done before the next shuttle landed and brought him kids who might, on first seeing a flat horizon, heave up their breakfasts.

The cell phone bill was certain to raise eyebrows. Explaining why he’d pulled his support from it, and would in fact veto it–technically, Tabini still granted him that ability, where it regarded human tech–that was going to be the problem with that one. He didn’t want to dust off the veto power. He really didn’t. He wanted the atevi to vote it down.

The tribal bill was far from a sure thing, and potentially could blow up. Problems regarding the status of the tribal peoples had hung fire since the War of the Landing, which had displaced the Edi and Gan peoples from the island of Mospheira, and settled them in two separate coastal areas. They–quite reasonably, in his opinion–wanted full membership in the aishidi’tat, and even with the favorable report of the two Associations nearest the tribal lands, they still had some old prejudices to deal with. The most bitterly opposed, the Marid, was going to vote for the measure: Ilisidi had accomplished that miracle. The southwest coast, Geigi’s district, was going to vote for it; the northern Coastal Association, where the Gan lived, had Dur’s backing, and that vote was assured.

He just had to budge, principally, the six very small hill clans who sat between Shejidan and the Marid, who had made their living partly from agriculture and hunting, partly from trading, and who, as much as they felt that being ancestrally native to the mainland made them superior to the tribal peoples, believed that the new trade agreement between Ilisidi and the Marid was going to kill off their trade with the Marid, and therefore they wanted the tribal bill to fail–so as to make Ilisidi’s trade agreement fall through.

He had an answer for that one, if he could get them to stop shouting and listen. The Marid was going to develop an economy that would flow uphill to them. And the same benefits would be available to them, if they would stop spending all their resources on the Assassins’ Guild and allow the Scholars’ Guild to operate in their districts–which could be said of the Marid as well. Too many of the atevi clans were still mired in their rural past and needed the world perspective that came with education. That part, however, he very much doubted he was going to mention in this session. Several new rail stations, with a favor given their local products by Sarini Province, however, might be an inducement.

Bribery? Bet on it. It was a time‑honored tradition.

Meanwhile . . .

Meanwhile the mail arrived, brought in by Narani. Jeladi, arriving through the door Narani held open, brought him tea, and both silently vanished.

Lord Machigi’s was the most conspicuous message cylinder. Machigi, in his capital at Tanaja, declared he was writing simultaneously to him, the aiji‑dowager–and to the Physicians’ Guild, who had asked access to all districts of the Marid, in another of those many‑sided deals.

Machigi pointedly reminded them that he could not give any other guild the access and assurances they wanted until the Assassins’ Guild had gotten the lords of Senji and Dojisigi to come under his authority. Since those clans had wanted to assassinate him, Machigi understandably and reasonably wanted that to happen. Soon.

He wrote: One entirely understands this reasonable position. The paidhi’s office will explain the urgency to the parties in question.

That was going to have to be his answer to a lot of queries for the next while. The Assassins’ Guild was mopping up its own splinter group in the two districts, and trying to figure out who was a loyal and proper member of their own guild and who was one of Murini’s leftovers–that took some investigation, or there was the possibility of a lethal injustice, the sort of thing that could set back the operation and dry up sources of information. It was not easy to untangle the division that had been building in the Guild for, apparently, decades, before it found expression in an overt move for power. It was particularly not easy since the Assassins’ Guild kept every family secret in the aishidi’tat in its workings, and the rule of secrecy, reticence, clan loyalties, and personal honor were all involved. They were the legal system, the lawyers and the judges, the spies, the keepers of personal and state secrets, and they were experts at covering and uncovering tracks.

That was one worry.

Then there was, in a cylinder from the director of his clerical office an advisement that the Tribal Peoples bill had been diverted to the Committee on Finance.

Finance? Damn!

That was a conservative committee. He knew Tatiseigi hadn’t done it. Surely Tatiseigi hadn’t engineered it.

That meant the aiji‑dowager urgently had some meetings to organize and some favors to call in. There was nothing, frustratingly nothing, a human could do to aid the bill in that particular committee. Humans were not popular among the conservatives, where the tribal peoples found hardly more welcome, and that meant the aiji‑dowager and Tatiseigi had that situation entirely in their hands. They had to get it recommended out of that committee, or it stalled and died.

And the trade agreement with Machigi would likely die with it.

The second letter was a well‑timed letter from young Dur regarding plans to integrate the barter‑economy of the Gan state with Dur–and by extension, with the rest of the country–via setting up, not a bank, which the Gan would not trust, but an exchange, where both barter and use of coinage could go on side by side. This brilliant plan would be under the auspices of the Treasurers’ Guild . . . assuming the tribal bill passed. The theory was that, while goods were comforting in an exchange, the convenience of currency would win out.

Not coincidental, that timing. Well done, Reijiri, Bren thought. That item would be extremely useful, in the dowager’s hands, especially now: the Committee on Finance supported the Treasurers’ Guild.

It occurred to him, too, that Lady Adsi, of the Marid Trade Office, might have some useful suggestions on that problem. The Marid had its own difficulties trading with three local currencies, plus barter, and conducting commerce with the rest of the aishidi’tat.

Time being of the essence, he penned a small note to that effect, rolled both letters together, slipped them into one of his white message cylinders and took it directly to Narani to be couriered to the dowager wherever she was at the moment.

Satisfied that he’d done all he could on that front, he returned to his office and three letters from companies seeking a recommendation to Mospheira. He still handled trade cases, mostly by routing them to the appropriate office on the island. He attached notes for his clerical office, and turned to the final cylinder, one in a style he knew well: Ramaso, his major domo at Najida.

Ramaso reported on the construction on the estate, on the road improvement, and on the arrangements for a village wedding he had promised to occur at the estate if they could get the new dining room, hall and sitting room in order fast enough. And the news was good, very good indeed. The work would be completed on time. The wedding was going to happen. That lent cheerfulness to the day.

Ramaso reported as well on the order for wine and food, for his approval.

Granted. It made him particularly happy to keep that promise.

And finally Ramaso wrote that the framework for the new wing was not only up, the paneling was being shaped and carved in situ, and stonemasons were at work.

Excellent news. All of it.

He answered Ramaso, and in the same train of thought, thinking of his last visit to Najida and a particularly painful, several‑day cross‑country trek in court‑dress footwear, he dashed off an order to a shop on Mospheira. He imported his boots, by preference, from an old‑fashioned bootmaker up by Mount Adams. He requested another three pairs of boots, one for indoors, one for court . . . and one of them the stoutest hiking boots possible. With a metal shank.

After that, he was at leisure to draft routine letters to several of the guilds, official letters to certain legislators regarding personal meetings. . . .

He was actually glad to be back to the routine of his office, even with the tension over the vital tribal bill.

Statistics and statistics. Stacks of financial reports–those were not his favorites . . .

But there were far worse ways to spend an afternoon, and lately, he had seen all too many of them.

9

Life was very much better now, in Cajeiri’s estimation. He had his aishid for company and conversation, and the imminent prospect of his guests and his party.

Training for his aishid in the gym or on the firing range was daily, it turned out, and the place was very quiet when they were gone. But in the evenings, on their little private dining table, Veijico and Lucasi were doing a lot of interesting instruction with the equipment they had brought in.

It was supposed to be just Antaro and Jegari. Cajeiri was not really supposed to hear the lessons, they said, because some of it was classified and it was Guild regulations–the Guild was being very strict about regulations, since the Troubles. But he still heard a lot that was going on, and he already knew how the locators worked, and about wires, and explosives, which he had learned mostly from Banichi, aboard the ship.

Finally they said he was, after all, his father’s heir, and the aiji could override the lesser rules, so they said it was probably all right for him to hear, so long as he did not talk about it with anyone but them.

Electricity became a very fascinating subject–he understood now a lot of things it could do besides turn on lights.

His tutor was willing to tell him a lot about electricity, things which were not classified, but he began to see how those theories might relate to things that were classified.

He had had Banichi and the exploding car in mind, when he had first asked his tutor about circuits.

He really learned about explosives, now, and how Banichi had known how much to use. And he came to realize that explosives were very good if you had a big target, or room enough, but that electricity was more subtle. That was Great‑grandmother’s word: subtle.

And most subtle of all were the wires, which could do terrible damage and which atevi were not supposed to have, but they did. They were illegal for anybody but Guild, and that only under very special circumstances and with Guild approval.

He’d known about wires before, but now he knew about them. He was excited about that.

Lucasi was kneeling on the floor in the bedroom doorway, showing him, with a real wire that was not powered up, how to detect such a trap, telling him where they were most often used, and why–when a knock came at the door.

Cajeiri ignored it, trusting Antaro to see to whoever it was.

She brought back a letter, to the table where they were working, and it was not a regular letter, but one in a plain steel cylinder with just the Messengers’ Guild crest stamped in it, and dented and scuffed as this sort of cylinder often was. It was so odd for him to get such a letter that Antaro insisted on opening it herself, just to be sure.

It was machine‑printed, because it had come down from orbit, from Lord Geigi himself.

“To me?” he asked, but he could see it was. A letter directly to him–and saying that his associates from the station were all coming on the next shuttle. Bjorn could not come, but Irene could. And that was the tightest group of them, Gene, Artur, Irene, and him, even if they were an infelicitous number, they had Bjorn sometimes, for a fortunate fifth.

The shuttle was coming early.

Electricity could wait. He had to tell his father immediately, even if he was sure it was not the only letter from Geigi that would have come to the door. If he had received any information his father had not, he had to be prompt in reporting it, and just–proper. He had to be absolutely proper. Proper about everything. And not offend anybody. It was really happening.

His birthday was still days away, and they were coming early and they would have two weeks or however long it took them to service the shuttle before they could go back up to space.

It was happening, it was happening, it was happening.

He put on a better coat, to show respect, and he took himself and his aishid straight to his father’s office door.

“Honored Father,” he said, when he was let in. “I have a letter from Lord Geigi, addressed to me. He says my guests are coming! And the shuttle is coming early.”

His father had a serious, even frowning expression. He realized he had interrupted his father at work, reading his own mail. Maybe coming quite so fast was not such a good idea after all.

Or maybe there was something really the matter.

“We are aware,” his father said, in a flat tone, and he thought it wise just to bow and back out of the room.

“Excuse me, honored Father.”

“The legislature is in session. The tribal bill, nefariously diverted into a conservative‑dominated committee, has run into opposition, and your great‑grandmother is now asking me to get a letter from the six highland clans giving their support. These six clans cannot agree with each other. How shall I persuade them?” His father pushed back from the desk with an annoyed expression on his face. “Against these other problems, do you truly have a concern, son of mine?”

“Honored Father, only to inform you.”

“Properly so.”

“One would wish–”

“You are about to ask me for permission to go out to the spaceport.”

“One would hope–”

“You will be lodged in your great‑grandmother’s care during that visit. What she does I am sure will be out of my hands, so you will have to arrange that with her.”

“One is grateful, honored Father.” It was good news. It was wonderful news.

His father’s expression grew less angry. Slowly.

“You have given no thought, yet,” his father said, “as to where to lodge your early guests before and after. Do you propose to put them into the guest quarters here? Or in your small suite? I do not think that would be the best idea.”

“Honored Father.” He bowed. No, he had not thought about where he was going to put them. He had been trying to think how he could take them to interesting things, or any of those matters. “One thought some things would be planned by staff.”

“My staff is busy. Staff in general is greatly reduced, your mother is having nerves, and a set of foreign children crowded into the guest quarters and trooping through the sitting room will not improve her mood. How will cook accommodate them? How will staff inquire about their needs? One assumes they are no more tolerant of sauces than is nand’ Bren.”

“Perhaps–” He cast about desperately for an answer. “Perhaps nand’ Bren will help. He has a guest room. His cook understands about humans.”

His father hooked one arm about the side of his chair. “A reasonable suggestion. Undoubtedly nand’ Bren will have to assist. So will your great‑grandmother be fully capable of handling details. Do not distress yourself, son of mine. I have thought about these things. And the logistics of the festivity itself. One only wondered whether you had in fact devoted any thought at all to the practical matters in this visit. Jase‑aiji grew quite ill when he simply looked out over a flat surface. He had all manner of difficulty with dizziness.”

He had not thought about that. He could look like a fool. He was very anxious not to misstep and make his father think he was a fool.

“If I can write to them, I can warn them, honored Father.”

“Your great‑grandmother will be in communication with nand’ Bren, son of mine. I am sure he will foresee a great many of the difficulties. Go enjoy the day.”

“Honored Father.” He bowed and started for the door.

And then he had a thought, how everything including himself was being turned over to the people his mother most objected to. He stopped and looked back, catching his father regarding him with a particularly thoughtful look. He bowed. Asked very cautiously: “What does Mother think about my going to Great‑grandmother?”

His father let go a deep breath. “She will not be happy. But she would be far less happy at the attendance of three human children at close quarters. The baby is troubling her a great deal.”

“Is she all right?”

“She seems to be. In all honesty, son of mine, I do fear she is not going to be at her most gracious.”

Mother was his father’s deepest problem. He knew things had not gotten better. And he had the feeling that his father was taking fire for him on the matter of his guests. He did not know how to say that in words.

“Shall I go tell her about them coming early, honored Father? And about me going to Great‑grandmother?” he asked. “I think she should know it before the servants happen to mention it.”

His father thought about it a moment with that look he used deciding serious, serious things. Then he nodded. “Go, son of mine. If you have learned anything of nand’ Bren’s art, use it.”

“Yes,” he said respectfully, and bowed, and left, back out into the hallway, where his aishid waited.

“I am to see my mother, nadiin‑ji,” he said, feeling all the while he was not going to have any good reception, and walked down the hall as far as his mother’s door.

His mother did not like surprises. And he knew for certain that his great‑grandmother having his birthday was the kind of thing that would have his mother and his father shouting at each other, the sort of thing that just tied his stomach in knots and scared the servants into whispers.

But he had said it: it would be far worse if his mother was surprised by a servant talking about plans she had no idea about. He gave a tug at his shirt cuffs and at the lace at his collar, took a deep breath and had Antaro knock before he tried the door–it was unlocked–and just went on in.

His mother’s suite, with that beautiful row of windows, and white lace curtains, and the crib where the baby would sleep, seemed an unhappy, lonely place at the moment.

It was one of Cook’s staff who came out to see who had come into in the nursery. That woman, and two of the girls who ordinarily washed the dishes and did sewing, were the only staff his mother had at the moment. His mother was not happy about it, and by their habitual faces, neither were the girls.

“Young gentleman,” the woman said.

“Please tell my mother I am here,” he said in as matter‑of‑fact a tone as he could manage, and waited to be let into his mother’s sitting room.

The door opened wide to admit him. His mother, wearing a pretty white lace gown, was sitting, reading by the light of a flower‑shaped lamp. She folded the book, and looked at him, expressionless as if he were some servant on business.

He bowed. “One wished to tell you without delay, honored Mother. The shuttle schedule is changed. My associates are coming down early, three of them. One is not certain how much early, but very soon.”

“Indeed.”

“One knows you are not happy to have my guests here. Father says I am to go to Great‑grandmother and let her and nand’ Bren take care of things and not be a bother to you.” The last part was his invention, which he thought was a good thing to say.

“Sit down,” his mother said, with no hint of expression, and he found a seat on her footstool, and sat quietly. “Are you pleased with this arrangement, son of mine?”

“Yes, honored Mother.” He sat on the very edge of the footstool. Mother was not as good as Great‑grandmother about leading one into traps, but one had to be very wary. Great‑grandmother just thumped his ear when she was angry. But his mother went on being mad for hours. Days. He really had rather Great‑grandmother.

“You think your great‑grandmother will be more patient than I am?”

That was a trap. “I think Great‑grandmother is not having headaches.”

“One supposes the paidhi will be involved.”

“One thinks, yes.”

His mother frowned. “Could you ever even talk to these people, son of mine? How do you speak to them?”

She had never asked him that. He did not want to admit he was fairly good at ship‑speak, though he supposed she was going to find out. “We use signs. They know a little Ragi. I know a little ship‑speak.”

“You know it was illegal for them even to speak to you not so many years ago. It was illegal for them to know Ragi at all. And very illegal to speak it.”

He was amazed. “Why?”

She laughed, shortly and not very happily. And he had no idea why. “You are still young. Ask nand’ Bren someday. He can tell you.”

“I am almost felicitous nine. And I shall be much smarter and not get into trouble this next year.”

“Do you promise?” She reached out and he steadied himself, not to flinch. He had a stray wisp of hair that never grew long enough to go back. She smoothed it back even if it did no good. “I hope your sister’s hair grows to an even length.”

“I put a little goo on it.”

A laugh. Actually a laugh. “I know you do. I am glad you have two servants now.”

He wanted to say, One is very sorry about yours, but he did not want to get his mother off onto that topic. A little silence hung in the air, uncomfortably so.

“So,” she said. “Your great‑grandmother will house these foreign children. That should be interesting, amid her antiques. And her staff will plan the events.”

He saw where this was going. Right then. The piece of hair had fallen down again. He felt it. And his mother reached a second time and put it in order.

“What did you do on your last felicitous year, son of mine? How did you celebrate, aboard the ship?”

“I do not remember that I did at all,” he said, and that was the truth. “Time on the ship gets confused.”

“Your great‑grandmother forgot your birthday?”

“Sometimes the ship does strange things. And you lose days. Day is only when the clock says, anyway.”

“So you have had no festivity since your fifth. Do you remember that one?”

“No, honored Mother.”

“We had a very nice party. Flowers. Toys. Very many toys.”

He shook his head. He had a good memory, but sometimes he thought his life had begun with the ship. The memories from years before it were patchy, tied to places he had never been. They told him about his riding a mecheita across wet concrete at Uncle Tatiseigi’s place. And he almost could remember that. At least he had pictures in his head about it, but he could not remember much about the house the way it had been then–only the house when they had all been there, with shells falling on the meadow around it. Most of his memories were like that. They were things that had happened, but he had no recollection of where and nothing to pin them to. It seemed they had been on the train once. He remembered the train. He remembered woods that might have been Taiben on a different trip than when he had met Antaro and Jegari. But he had no idea.

“What would you like for your birthday?” his mother asked him. “Is there any gift you would like?”

He was beyond toys, really. Most of what he liked were books. And he wished he could get the human archive back. There were his memories, of horses, and dinosaurs, and humans, all of which would appall his mother.

So he thought of something that would not come in a box. But he did want it. “I want you and Father to be there.”

“Son of mine.” His mother sat looking at him, and did not finish that.

“I wish you and Great‑grandmother would not fight.”

“Try wishing that of her.”

He knew nothing to say, to that, because mani was mani and that would never change.

“Well,” his mother said, “you shall have your party here, in the Bujavid. In our sitting room. Your great‑grandmother may come. I shall invite her. And the paidhi‑aiji. Are there others?”

“My tutor.”

“Not the Calrunaidi girl.”

“My cousin. She would not know anyone. Everybody will mostly be adults. And she could not talk to my guests. And besides, I really do not know her.”

She nodded, not disapproving that information. “Well. A very modest request.”

“I have everything I need. I have my aishid. I have a good tutor. I have my own rooms. I have Boji.”

“That reprehensible creature. Will you take him to visit your great‑grandmother?”

“May I?” He was really worried about Boji if he had to leave him. Eisi was a little afraid of him, since he had gotten his finger nipped. “And I know Great‑grandmother has servants, but might I take Eisi and Lieidi with me?”

His mother smiled that secret smile she had when something amused her. “Son of mine, this is your household. You may deal with it as you wish. I see I have nothing to do. I leave everything up to your great‑grandmother.”

That was down a track he wished she would not take. And there were, regarding her and his grandmother, things he wanted to know.

“What did you talk about?” he asked. “When you walked with Great‑grandmother at the party, what did you talk about?”

His mother’s face went suddenly very serious. “Things,” she said. “Things that truly are not that interesting.”

“I would be interested, honored Mother.”

“Ask her. And when you do ask her, perhaps you will do me a favor.”

“What favor, honored Mother?”

“She offered me staff. And a bodyguard. If you will do me the particular favor, son of mine, tell her a skilled hairdresser who has also had a child would gain my deep gratitude at this point.”

“A hairdresser, honored Mother.”

“Truly,” she said. “Such a gift might win my gratitude. Shall I tell you my logic? It is very simple. The secrets of your father’s household are no secret from your great‑grandmother. This is not the case with other clans who have offered. So tell her yes, I have thought about it. I shall accept such assistance, not the bodyguard, not the wardrobe mistress. I wish to see how a small instance runs, and where man’chi may truly lie.”

“I shall ask her, then, honored Mother. I shall be glad to ask her.”

“I shall be relieved,” his mother said in a low voice, “beyond telling. But if this hairdresser bears tales to your great‑uncle, understand, she will regret it–I want no such connections. I am trusting your great‑grandmother in this one thing.” She made another tweak at the straying lock. It was hopeless. It was loose again in the next instant. “Even your hair is stubborn. Go. Be good. Look forward to your guests.”

He felt good. Truly happy. He had never in his memory had so good a conversation with his mother. But his great‑grandmother’s teaching immediately nudged at him to be a little suspicious.

There was one place to go with such a confusing situation: man’chi was a clear guide on that matter. When he took his leave of his mother, he gathered his aishid and went back to his father’s office, interrupting his father’s work one more time.

He bowed slightly and said, quietly, “Honored Father, Mother has asked me to ask Great‑grandmother for a hairdresser.”

“Gods less fortunate!” His father shoved his chair back from his desk and looked at him, up and down.

“One feared there might be a problem with that, honored Father.”

“Who first suggested this?”

“I think Great‑grandmother might have offered. When they were at the party.”

His father had no expression at all for several heartbeats. Then he lifted an eyebrow and said, “Women.”

“Shall I ask mani, honored Father?”

“Oh, do. Better my grandmother than her uncle.” His father kept looking at him, or through him. He stood still. It was never a good idea to interrupt his father’s thinking.

“It is not ,” his father said, “a bad idea. –And you did not suggest it.”

“No, honored Father.”

His father waved a dismissal. “Go. Send a message to your great‑grandmother. You are not to leave the apartment until she sends for you. She is occupied with the legislation. But she will read your letter.”

He had not at all expected to be able to go in person. They were still under the security alert, about Grandfather. “Yes,” he said, bowed again, went out to the hall and took his aishid back to his own sitting room.

“What happened?” Jegari asked.

I think my mother is sniping at my father, was what he thought. She knew his father did not want Great‑grandmother entangled in his affairs. He had fought that all his life.

But Father himself had had a lot of trouble getting staff. The aishid and staff his father had grown up with had died in the coup. The ones he had gotten next had tried to kill him. He had picked distant relatives that he knew he could trust, and now there were a lot of lords and the Guild upset about it.

Mani’s bodyguards . . . nobody fussed about.

So maybe it was a good thing. Maybe his mother was being very practical. His mother had looked sad and different, now. Her hair very plain, her nails unpolished. Maybe his mother simply did not feel like dressing up, with headaches and all. But her servants had used to do her hair, and press the lace, and the two girls from the kitchen probably could not be trusted with the iron and the lace.

So . . . he had better write a letter and have one of his aishid take it before his mother changed her mind.

He was very careful about it. He had no wish to have everything collapse into another argument from mani’s side. He wrote:

To mani, honored Great‑grandmother, from Cajeiri, your Great‑grandson. My mother has no staff. She has asked me to write to you asking for help which you offered at the party. She does not feel well now. She particularly wants a hairdresser. She wants a woman who has had a child.

He took a new piece of paper and changed the words: instead of wants, which was rude, he wrote, she particularly wishes to have, and she also wishes to have.

He wrote, after that: I have told my father too and he thinks it is a good idea.

That was hedging the truth a little. But it made a good ending and it might make Great‑grandmother curious enough to go along with it.

If Great‑grandmother could get a good hairdresser. She might have to fly somebody in from Malguri.

It will make me happy if you can make my mother happy. Please do it.

And then he remembered the whole other business, astonished that it could all have slipped from his mind.

Mani, my guests are coming early, and my father says I shall go to you as soon as you send for me, and you will be in charge of everything we do just as soon as you send for me. My mother wishes the party to be here, in our apartment–but all the days before and after, until my guests go home on the shuttle, I shall be staying with you, or with nand’ Bren if I am inconvenient. I am very happy. I am very much looking forward to this. I shall pack right away.

He revised it in a third copy, just because he had been careless in his penmanship. He wanted it perfect.

Then he dashed off a letter to nand’ Bren, who did not care about his penmanship.

He put the one to mani in his best message cylinder, and sent that one with Lucasi. He put the other in his second‑best, and sent it with Veijico.

Then he sat down in his own little sitting room, on the edge of his chair, all happiness, and looked at Antaro and Jegari, who still amazed him, they looked so official and grown‑up.

“We are going to stay with Great‑grandmother,” he said. “We have to pack. We have to take Boji with us, but Eisi and Lieidi are going with us, too.” He drew a deep, shuddery breath, and let it go. “I think, I think, nadiin‑ji, that my birthday is really about to happen.”

10

The Committee on Finance was meeting, and the committee room doors were shut. The paidhi, down the hall in the legislative lounge, was on his second pot of strong tea, while his aishid kept contact with the dowager’s–who were in touch with Tatiseigi’s bodyguard, Tatiseigi being a very important force behind those closed doors, and doing a great deal of talking, on that committee.

Reports came in slowly, by runners who stood at the front of the room and reported succinctly on the progress of the bill. The bill was being read. Again.

He had two of his secretarial staff doing exactly the same thing, from the gallery of the large meeting room, observing not only the progress of the bill, but who was talking to whom that might be significant. The two cycled back to him in turns, bringing him notes, occasionally a whispered word–not the only such runners communicating with individuals in the lounge.

There were motions to table. Again.

Damn, Bren thought. And there was not a thing he could do. The aiji might intervene, as the alleged author of the bill, but even Tabini didn’t have the clout with Finance that the dowager did . . . and she had enemies in that room, too.

And the fact that he, the paidhi had written much of the bill–was not something its supporters were advertising to anybody in that conservative‑dominated meeting room. One had to wonder if that fact might yet get out and sway votes.

The bill didn’t need any more problems. It was a sensitive matter, the inclusion of the tribal peoples as equals in the aishidi’tat. It meant dismantling the tribes’ special status, giving them a voice in the Bujavid, and releasing, for many of the clans, an ancient prejudice, at least, that held the tribes as foreign to the mainland.

On the other side of the scales, tribal peoples would agree to abandon their independence and their separate languages for official use–the only exception being their own ceremonial and festival observances. It also entailed something the conservatives wanted: an agreement to accept operations of all guilds within the former tribal lands, and, by separate agreement with the tribes, they would not insist on tribal peoples serving only their own clan–they would adopt, in essence, the same rule the Ragi clans followed, which it would put Edi and Gan in service in households all across the aishidi’tat. Tatiseigi and the dowager weren’t making any noise about that matter, yet, just letting that separate little bomb skitter through unnoticed.

In effect, if it passed, there would be a fairly rapid blending of the tribal peoples into the mainstream of the aishidi’tat. The centuries‑old practice of allowing special, nearly rule‑free local branches of some guilds to exist in the Marid, and in sections of the East, was going to be used one last time, to get the tribal peoples within the Guild system–after which the tribes themselves–and the Marid, and the East, would all remove that provision. He didn’t personally like it: that practice had provided the shelter that had let the Shadow Guild get organized, and he wanted it gone.

All in all, it was a very delicate push and pull going on in that chamber, which had started out as a death‑trap for the critical bill. The paidhi waited, listened to the official reports, always ready to step in if for some unguessable reason someone wanted to ask him any question that he actually wanted to answer.

But so far, and thank God, no, no one asked. So the legislative lounge, safely removed from the committee rooms, was as close as he had to come to the battleground.

Race, religion, language, finance, and a history of double‑crosses and broken promises were all involved. So was the long‑simmering issue of the Marid’s ambition to take Sarini Province, and the resentment of the tribal peoples about being settled where they had been settled in the first place, after Mospheira had been ceded to humans–another reason he did not want to be called into that chamber as a district lord.

The next report, delivered by the marshal to the whole lounge, said that motions to table had been denied. Again.

Thank God.

Then–periodic reports by his runners–Tatiseigi again got up to speak, arguing for the necessity of the bill and attaching the approval of his own local Padi Valley Association, the heart of the Ragi district.

The Morisoni lord, of the second largest northern clan, objected and cited the disapproval of the Northern Association, including Ajuri, who was not present, and the disapproval of the Kadagidi, who were also not present, a major clan of the Padi Valley. There were, that lord added, unvoiced objections, and had the gall to suggest the Taibeni lord was absent from the floor because, due to personal links to the aiji’s clan, he would not speak against the bill.

The Morisoni lord did not call Tatiseigi a liar. But it was damned close. And one could imagine Lord Tatiseigi was taking notes, in that inscrutable way of his, and meant to have another say.

But Dur got up at that point, the elder Lord Dur, bringing with his oral statement the written approval of the Coastal Association.

Then Tatiseigi (the runner arrived fairly bubbling with satisfaction) arose to object to the prior statement, and produced a proxy signed by his former enemy the Taibeni lord, authorizing a vote in favor of the bill. Bren almost wished he had been in the room for that piece of theater.

So much for the Morisoni claim as to where the Taibeni stood.

The dowager and Tatiseigi spoke, backing the bill, interests at opposite ends of the continent. Geigi’s shy proxy, Lord Haidiri, then got up and offered his own handful of West Coast proxies backing the bill, for Sarini Province, the South Coastal Association, and Najida, which, of course, was Bren.

Hard upon that moment, the dowager produced a document from Lord Machigi, backing the bill in the name of the entire Marid. There was no one to speak for the two embattled northern sections of the Marid.

A motion was then made by the Northern Association, in the person of a western range lord, Ajuri being absent, to add the objection of the missing two northern clans of the Marid.

Tatiseigi objected, saying it was indecent to use the votes of two regions currently under occupation by the Assassins’ Guild because of subversive activity and attacks on Sarini Province.

Tatiseigi called for a vote. And was observed to be talking in the aisle to three of the opposition.

The motion to add the votes was denied. By two votes.

God, it was a war in there.

Then the opposition tried again to table the bill, which would have killed it.

Lord Tatiseigi, rising, immediately called for a vote on the bill.

Bren called for another cup of tea and wished it were a brandy. He ordinarily did not vote. He was voting on this occasion, while sitting in the legislative lounge, not because he was a member of Finance, but because he was a lord in the most affected districts. He had given his proxy to Haidiri, Geigi’s proxy, who had a vote in this business for the same reason, and he had privately urged those in the Liberal caucus, who followed the paidhi‑aiji and Lord Geigi, to back the bill with everything they had–with the few members they had on that committee. With the dowager, and the dowager’s ally, Lord Machigi–and Lord Tatiseigi, the head of the Conservative Caucus, voting with the Taibeni, another district that usually did not appear in the legislature–the proponents of the tribal bill forced a vote. The vote for voting on the bill–passed.

Bren did mental math, trying to predict which of the conservatives would stand with the committee head, opposed to the bill, and which might follow Tatiseigi.

The vote was delayed, with a call for a quorum of regions. Certain of the legislators had showed up in the lounge, conferred at extreme leisure, then went back to the floor as the vote progressed, restoring the required quorum.

God. Four of the oldest clans were in the For column, plus all those associations geographically affected by the bill, plus the two largest sub associations on the continent–what more could honest folk want?

But the math, with the smaller regions, in this hostile committee, was still dicey. There was yet another try, this one on the Against side, at tabling the bill for later debate and possible revision, saying it was being rammed through at indecorous speed.

That failed.

Then an amendment was proposed–good God!–from their own ranks: Separti Township’s representative, coming back from a break, wanted a prohibition against the Edi enlarging the port on the Kajiminda Peninsula. It was a not‑too‑veiled suggestion the Edi, with a larger port, would continue their attacks on Marid shipping, but it came from Separti, whose shipping would be affected by competition, and it came after a break.

Someone had cornered that man. If Geigi were here, he’d back the Separti representative into a convenient corner, exuding dominant man’chi, and make him understand the value of sticking with one’s district in a crisis.

Haidiri was only Geigi’s proxy. He was new to this business, and timid. He should be the one to pull his subordinate district into line, with whatever deals or force he had, and by all reports from the runners, he was asking the marshal what he could do to object.

The amendment, however, failed. Tatiseigi’s sometime ally to the east, beyond the Kadagidi, slipped to Tatiseigi’s side during the recess. With the dowager, and Lord Machigi’s proxy–and, belatedly, Separti, who came back to their side–the proponents of the tribal bill mustered a yea vote to prevent any more amendments.

Opposed to the bill were the third‑largest association and some of their more remote associates. If the bill could get to the legislative floor–it should have the numbers. But the more obstinate conservatives owned this committee, where the bill was still stuck without a recommendation to pass it.

And now the vice‑head of Finance, a rival of Tatiseigi’s, got up to speak.

And speak.

Jago came in and dropped into the vacant leather chair across the little table. He expected news from the committee room.

It wasn’t.

“The young gentleman,” she began, “has just written the dowager, requesting she supply staff for his mother. And stating that he and his guests will be the dowager’s guests, excepting for the actual birthday festivity itself.”

He was concentrating so hard on the committee matter it took several heartbeats for the words even to make sense.

And another several for the implications to snap together into a structure.

Are you serious? The question occurred to him, at least. But Jago, on duty, was always serious.

“Have you arranged this?” he asked. Plural. Meaning any of his bodyguard.

“The request,” Jago said, “came in the boy’s own hand, from him. He states that his mother made the suggestion and his father has approved.”

His mother requested staff of Ilisidi. He’d have sworn there was no way in hell Damiri would want that clan attending her.

And Tabini had agreed. When there was no way in hell Tabini had wanted his grandmother getting information from inside his household.

“What,” he asked Jago, with his mind suddenly jittering between the committee situation, the aiji’s admittedly dicey security situation–and that remarkable set of interactions at the reception, “what precisely is going on, Jago‑ji? Do you have any idea?”

Someone walked past. Jago leaned forward, nearly forehead to forehead and whispered, to avoid being overheard in this cavernous and treacherous room. “Cenedi received the message, couriered by Lucasi. He had Casimi bring the letter to us, rather than transmit anything. Cenedi wishes to know if you had mediated this move, Bren‑ji.”

“No,” he whispered back. “Not officially nor privately. I am as surprised as anyone.”

“Indeed. Banichi suggests Damiri‑daja may actually be the prime force behind this request. Considering her appearance at the reception, she will politic with Lord Tatiseigi and send him signals. But she will not request staff of him.”

The green and white dress. When Jago put it in the context of holding out promises to Tatiseigi, but not taking staff from him, it made a certain sense. Tabini himself was not going to go to his grandmother begging favors: he had rather be roasted over a slow fire. But what had Damiri said at the reception? Everyone in this hall has attempted to place servants on my staff . . .

Evidently Damiri had added two and two and come up with a way in which she could avoid being tributary to her uncle–namely allying herself with the one person on earth whom Tatiseigi deferred to without reservation or embarrassment: the aiji‑dowager. Accepting any other offer would offend Tatiseigi, who was a connection Damiri had to preserve. The dowager, seeing the situation, had apparently offered her an alternative. And now he had a far better idea what Ilisidi had said to Damiri that night.

Hell, yes , it was a good move. It positioned Damiri not as an Atageini hanger‑on, dependent on her uncle, nor as Tabini’s almost‑divorced consort; nor yet as Lord Komaji’s alienated and, through most of her life, unwanted Atageini daughter–

The marriage with Damiri had been a match of sexual attraction, in Tabini’s case, with more attention to her Padi Valley connections than to an undistinguished father in a fairly minor northern clan.

But if Damiri suddenly became a close ally of the aiji‑dowager, the one force on earth who held her own toe to toe with Tabini himself . . . it was damned certain Damiri saw something to gain.

If Damiri had mentally and emotionally gotten past the alienation of her son–and started thinking in a practical way of her own future, and of her soon‑to‑be‑born daughter’s future–

Damn. He had been watching one hand while the other had been moving. It was not an unknown situation in the aiji’s court, but he rarely these days found himself so blindsided.

“Interesting,” he said. In the legislative sitting room, with an attendant now moving within earshot, replacing a pot of tea, it was all he could say. “Jago‑ji, keep me informed.”

So Tabini was going to send Cajeiri and his foreign guests to his great‑grandmother’s very conservative, very traditional house–the mediaeval stronghold of Malguri.

His whimsical revenge on his grandmother–for his having to accept Malguri servants in his house?

No. Affairs of state might occasionally have petty motives, but there was deeper purpose when it regarded security. Tabini’s household, with a crisis between Tabini and his consort, was not the best place for a collection of clueless and provocative human children.

He had expected to be the one called in to assist with the event. He had expected to house the heir’s young guests, as the person who could actually talk to them and educate them in protocols before they made any really serious mistakes. No doubt he would still serve in that capacity–though the dowager and Cenedi and others of her staff actually understood ship‑speak, a fact she was never going to advertise.

Tabini played excellent chess. One should never forget that fact. So did Damiri.

And so did the aiji‑dowager.

God, he could almost see the pathways of it. But some of these winding trails had two layers. At least two.

Jago left him, and he was sure she would be back. The sitting room attendant had provided a fresh pot of tea, poured a cup and took the cooling pot away. Tea was an unending resource, once one had ordered a pot.

News came, finally, not with Jago’s return, but with the gentleman with a long pole and a hook, who, in the traditional manner, reached up on the wall to the framed agenda board, and slid bill number 2823 over to the right, into the slot for the hasdrawad.

The tribal bill had just passed committee, by a vote of 43 to 41.

Bren let out a long, slow breath.

Passed. Now the legislature would debate the tribal bill, presumably would pass it–and the paidhi did not officially want to hear the reasoning behind some of the yes votes it would draw: the expectation that both tribal peoples would be swallowed up in large regional associations where they would be junior, small, and never, ever have any political force.

That expectation didn’t take into account that little bomb in the package, the business with the guilds.

And given the character of the Grandmother of the Edi, and Her of the Gan, he had every confidence the tribal peoples would not fade into quiet compliance. He only hoped the Grandmothers would appoint two of the quieter voices actually to sit in the legislature. He could not imagine them in that committee room.

So with all the potential troubles yet to come–the bill had now gotten to the floor, and it, thank God, had the votes to pass.

He felt like celebrating. He considered giving the whole staff the next day off and just sleeping in.

Then the representative of the Messengers’ Guild brought over the official bowl for the sitting room, and in it was one black cylinder with a red seal.

Word from Tabini.

He absently poured himself yet one more cup of tea for reinforcement and cracked the seal with a thumbnail, expecting something about the bill–or the security arrangements.

It said, beyond the usual salutations:

Remember our conversation. This is that moment. My son is going to my grandmother, who will host his guests and handle all events up to the festivity.

Following a heated discussion in which my wife concluded the world does not contain a hairdresser who can pass both security considerations and her requirements, my wife has applied to my grandmother for staff and my grandmother has just agreed. I am sure you will not need to tell your bodyguard, but should it have escaped notice, confirm it for them.

It must have been a message passed to the committee room. With all that going on. God.

The tribal bill, I am assured, will clear committee today. The cell phone bill will be tabled as we have requested, to be brought up in some future session. The resolution in favor of the Marid agreement will likely pass.

My wife is having recurrent dreams that there are strangers in the house. I am not superstitious, but she has wanted the kabiu of the house adjusted, and she does not sleep well. She takes alarm at bumps in the night and our son’s parid’ja will occasionally cry out in the daytime, which does not improve her feeling of danger. Therefore I am sending the animal with my son and his guests, while my wife and I resolve our difficulties regarding staff and security, which will likely involve more than a hairdresser.

I leave it to my grandmother and to you as to where to entertain these children. My son will celebrate his birthday here in Shejidan, where both his parents can properly congratulate him. He may at that time avail himself of the museum and the natural history exhibit as well as the services of the Bujavid staff, provided that we shall have been able to arrange adequate security.

Careful thought persuades me that my wife’s decision, which we wish understood, is entirely her own, has moved the household expediently toward the best source of auxiliary security available.

The new arrangement will entail a hairdresser, and added security, and we are confident this is the best solution.

This letter is not for the official archive of our correspondence. We request you burn it and preserve no word of it.

You may of course rely on the red car and all official assistance in dealing with the visitors.

In caring for my son, care also for your own safety and my grandmother’s. These are unsettled times. But when have they not been?

Deep, deep breath. He read it again to be sure of the nuance. And put the letter back into the cylinder and the cylinder into his most secure pocket, to have it dealt with by his aishid.

His problem. Tabini was giving him the children. He had to refocus.

He gathered up his work, had the attendant notify whoever of his bodyguard was at the door at the moment, and walked out.

Banichi smoothly intercepted him.

“The shuttle has launched from the station, Bren‑ji,” Banichi said, before he could say anything. “It is on its way.”

· · ·

He waited until they got upstairs, into the foyer of their own apartment, and only Narani was witness. Narani took his coat, and his case of papers.

And offered the message bowl, in which there was one cylinder he well knew.

Cajeiri.

“I shall read this,” he said, “in my office. Banichi‑ji, nadiin‑ji, if you will be there.”

“Yes,” Banichi said.

They walked back to the office. Bren gave them Tabini’s letter, with its cylinder, then sat down in his work chair, opened Cajeiri’s cylinder, unrolled the little paper and flattened it under a heavy glass designed for that purpose.

It said, To Nand’ Bren, from Cajeiri,

I am very happy. I am coming to visit you and mani as soon as you send for me. I am supposed to be in mani’s apartment, but she is busy in meetings. Will you come get me until she can?

PS. I have to take Boji with me. He eats eggs. About four a day.

He looked at his aishid. “The boy is still at home. He wants to come here now. His father’s standing order is that whenever he wishes to come here, I should not delay him. Banichi, Jago–go get him. Quietly. One does not know what the situation is over there.”

“Yes,” Banichi said.

Tano and Algini stayed, and Banichi and Jago shut the door behind them.

“Likely we shall be housing the human children until the birthday festivity,” he said, “and Cajeiri will have Boji with him–one hopes, with his cage. We may be somewhat disrupted, but we will manage. Please advise Cenedi of whatever of the situation he might not have heard. About Boji, among other things.”

“Yes,” Algini said. And added, “We shall arrange for the red car, for the spaceport, when the shuttle is ready to land. Either we or the dowager will need to pick up the children.”

“Do that, Gini‑ji.” He let go a slow breath, thinking of that conversation he had had with Tabini, about problems in the household, and about his own subsequent conversation with Damiri. The dowager had had tea with Damiri, the morning after–but as to the outcome between those two, his aishid had not been able to tell him. So either Cenedi didn’t know what the two women had said to each other–or wouldn’t say, even to them. “As to what may be happening next door, with Tabini‑aiji and Lady Damiri, one has no idea. One hopes for a good outcome.”

“We are surprised the boy is sent out on such short notice,” Tano said. “Shall we contact the aiji’s guard and ask the reason?”

“Discreetly,” he said.

“You will wear the vest, Bren‑ji,” Algini said. “Lord Geigi has moved a shuttle off‑schedule to provide a shortened time frame–for any plans Ajuri might make.”

“He has said so?” He was astonished. Shuttles delayed at times, on technical issues. They rarely rushed a launch to be early.

“On our advice, Bren‑ji. We requested he move the schedule. He said he would attempt it. He has put Paisien up in the flight order, ahead of Shai‑shan. There are no passengers listed on the manifest for Paisien. There are four listed for Shai‑shan. The manifests will stay as they are, so both lie.”

Five days early.

Early. To throw off any plans Ajuri had laid, and disrupt any mischief.

“One understands,” he said. “We have the legislation as settled as we can manage. We are assured it will pass. We can go wherever we need go.”

If Tabini could somehow find the time alone with Damiri to sort out the problems within his household, all to the good. It might be the best timing–at least to have Cajeiri elsewhere.

In the meanwhile, given the boy suddenly on his hands, and the dowager rearranging her plans, there were things to do.

It started with phoning his own clerical office, commending the runners who had served him today, and asking the director to come meet with him in his apartment.

Tea with the worthy gentleman, who had served him under some very dicey circumstances, including during the coup.

He would instruct the man to lay down a preliminary official schedule that looked–at least until they were out at the spaceport picking up Cajeiri’s guests–as if the paidhi‑aiji were doing business as usual.

It was a minimal sort of ruse, one they could adjust by the hour, and it might end up being one of several such schedules he let leak, but he thought it prudent.

He also had to arrange with Lord Dur, quietly, to have that very respectable gentleman attend the Tribal Peoples bill on its course through the legislature, and advise his office of events.

Then he notified Bindanda that the young gentleman was dining with them, that the dowager might be. And that they needed a supply of eggs.

· · ·

He had only time to draft the first half of his message to Dur before he heard Narani open the front door.

That would be Banichi and Jago, with the young gentleman in hand. There might or there might not be baggage. If there was not, if the young gentleman were quitting his residence in a Situation, his staff might have to go next door a little later and collect it from Tabini’s staff.

Well, it sounded, out there, that there was something more arriving than the usual luggage cart, something that rolled and rattled in an odd way. He guessed what that might be, even before he heard a sudden blood‑curdling shriek in his foyer.

Doors opened and closed and staff stirred from every recess of the servants’ halls, startled out of whatever they were doing.

He left his letter unfinished, capped the inkwell, and blew out the waxjack before he rose and opened his office door.

There in his foyer was the boy and a very large antique cage.

“Nand’ Bren, we are here!” Cajeiri said. “And Boji.” There was an earsplitting shriek. “We are sorry about Boji. He is excited.”

Tano and Algini came from the security station. The sitting room door opened, the young kitchen girls peering past the junior cook, who had arrived with one of the kitchen knives in hand.

There were, with Cajeiri, with their baggage, but still partly outside the doors, the young gentleman’s bodyguard and two servants in Ragi livery.

“These two young men are–” Bren asked.

“My servants, nandi.” Another bow, more nicely delivered. “We are all here! We are so glad! One is grateful! ”

“Well, well, your great‑grandmother will decide where you will stay this evening, and in what state.” He almost added, And who will house Boji and the servants, but he feared he already knew that answer. “She has been all day in a meeting, and one does expect she will be getting out of it about now, but you may at least settle long enough for tea and cakes, shall you not? Ladi‑ji, if you will move the cage into the guest room for now.” The latter to Jeladi. He feared for the antique carpet runner, and feared an escape with the door still open, but the sitting room was a far worse choice, considering the vases.

Meanwhile baggage was inbound, Narani and Jeladi, Cajeiri’s servants, and his young bodyguard all handing it in, more and more of it piling up in the foyer. “Welcome,” he said to all and sundry, and to Narani: “Tea for myself and the young gentleman. Advise the dowager’s bodyguard and say that the dowager would be welcome for a modest and informal supper here, should she wish.”

Narani gave a little bow, and all those things would happen in short order. Bren showed the young gentleman into the sitting room, and they sat and had tea and cakes, quite spoiling any potential dinner, but Cajeiri was in a high good mood, chattering on about the party he hoped to have and asking questions about the shuttle and could he, could he, could he go to the spaceport to meet his young associates?

“That rests with your great‑grandmother, young gentleman,” Bren said. “You will have to ask her. And do be somewhat prepared for her to forbid it: we have some security concerns, and you know such situations can change on very short notice.”

“But is there a chance, nandi?”

“There is a chance, but one cannot promise: we get our advice from our bodyguards. And one has no idea what their landing schedule is, nor are they likely to decide it yet–as with all these things, they will watch the weather.”

“Is it going to be good weather? I hope it will be good weather.”

In point of fact he had absolutely no idea what the weather was outside. It could be pouring a monsoon over the city, and he had been so locked in his work, in an apartment without windows, and offices without windows, that he had not the least notion what was going on in the natural world.

“I shall inquire,” he said. But Cajeiri’s question to his own bodyguard brought the answer that, indeed, it had just been raining, but the weather was due to clear tomorrow.

“I hope they may hurry,” Cajeiri said.

“They will be down in good weather, likely morning after next, young gentleman.”

“Might we go to Najida and go on your boat, nand’ Bren?”

“Only your great‑grandmother and your parents can say that, young gentleman.” He could not fault the boy for being excited and full of ideas. But negotiating with a Marid warlord was no more strain than dealing with Cajeiri–who had his hopes all up and a justified fear that everything could fall apart on some adult whim. He would not promise things not in his hands. He could not appear to promise anything, and the boy had more changes of direction than Malguri’s upland roads.

“When do you think they will actually land?” the boy asked. “At what hour?”

“All depending on the weather, young gentleman. You know these things. You took the same flight.”

“I was not entirely paying attention,” Cajeiri said, looking down, then up, sharply. “And I was upset about my birthday, nandi.”

It had been that time of year, when all hell had broken loose.

“And anyway,” Cajeiri said, “we were going to land over on Mospheira, not in the aishidi’tat.”

“It is very little difference,” Bren said, “when you are moving that fast. You would only be a few minutes off.”

“Can we see them land? Can we be there to watch?”

“Ask your great‑grandmother such things, young gentleman.” He had so many things he had to do, letters he had to write, arrangements to make before things started moving–but he was not about to leave the young gentleman unattended and in a state of high excitement.

He was very relieved when Jago came in to say they had been in touch with Cenedi, that they had informed the dowager as requested, and that the dowager was arriving to take charge of her grandson–and his baggage–at any moment.

“Well,” Bren began, but just then came a knock at the door, and it opened. That, he was sure, would be Ilisidi herself, or at very least, Cenedi.

Rescue.

“I am sure we will take care of Boji for you,” Bren said to his young guest. “I have ordered sufficient eggs.”

“He likes them raw, nandi.”

“One is not surprised to hear it.”

“You just give them to him. But sometimes we boil one. For a joke. He will eat it. But it confuses him.”

“We shall never have eggs left over from breakfast, then.” He rose, thinking he would have to meet Ilisidi, and offer to keep Boji.

The door opened. Jeladi ducked in, shut the door at his back and bowed. “Nandi. Lord Tatiseigi is in the foyer, nandi.”

He tried not to register utter dismay. One thing was certain: he could not sit in lordly splendor in his sitting room and ask Tatiseigi be brought in like some visiting client. He bowed to his young guest, and went to the door as Jeladi opened it.

Indeed, Lord Tatiseigi, with his full bodyguard, stood in the foyer, awaiting the courtesy of his appearance.

“Nandi,” Bren said, “you are very welcome here. Do accept the hospitality of the sitting room. The aiji‑dowager or her bodyguard will be here at any moment to pick up the young gentleman. I took your arrival for hers. Would you care for tea?”

“Things are running in a very slipshod way, nandi. This spaceship is proceeding ahead of plans and we hear only by our bodyguard’s advisement that the young gentleman has been turned out and sent here–with no warning, nandi, with no notice at all. We hope that there is some planning involved in this!”

He was not about to explain Geigi’s meddling with the shuttle launch schedule. Tatiseigi liked all events well‑planned, on firm schedules. He simply said, “Once the young gentleman knew the shuttle was coming, he was very anxious to be underway, nandi, and you and the dowager have been so very involved in the committee meeting . . .”

“Which is over,” Tatiseigi said somewhat more mildly.

“One heard it had gone well, with all gratitude to your efforts, indeed. I listened from the tea room, discreetly. I was available to get the message, and I was able to be here to meet the young gentleman. And to take custody of the young gentleman’s parid’ja, which needs to be housed, temporarily.” He was absolute sure Tatiseigi would not want that duty.

“Uncle,” Cajeiri said from the doorway.

“My boy,” Tatiseigi said. “We trust you have not been a burden to the paidhi.”

“No, Great‑uncle! Nand’ Bren has been explaining the shuttle schedule. And he says we might go to Najida!”

“I said,” Bren said quietly and quickly–a visit to Najida surely not being Tatiseigi’s fondest wish–“that all such questions would be the dowager’s to decide.”

“Well!” Tatiseigi said. “How would you like to go to Tirnamardi instead, young gentleman, and ride mecheiti?”

Tatiseigi’s estate? With human guests? Three–possibly four–very young human guests?

He thought of his conversation with Jago, in the servants’ bath.

And that with Geigi, in his office.

But Cajeiri didn’t waste a second.

“To Tirnamardi, Great‑uncle?”

“We have made arrangements with your great‑grandmother, considering this madness with the shuttle schedule and the inconvenience of having these guests in residence in the Bujavid. We have ample room.”

And Kadagidi clan next door. And a feud with Ajuri, not that far to the north.

“Yes!” the young rascal cried. “Oh, yes! ”

“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said. “You shall, then!” He turned a glance toward Bren. “These young people do not speak Ragi, do they?”

“It is not likely they do, beyond a few words, nandi.”

“Well, then, nand’ paidhi, so the aiji‑dowager said, and you will surely attend,” Tatiseigi said. And added, whimsically, “I do trust your aishid will not blow up another of my bedrooms!”

“Assuredly not, nandi!”

Oh, the man was in a good mood. But he could not be taking possession of Cajeiri and taking him off to his apartment, however short the walk–he had promised Tabini to take the boy into his keeping, and that was what was authorized. Tano and Algini had an unobstructed view, where they were standing, and he passed an emergency hand‑signal that non‑Guild were not supposed to use.

“The aiji‑dowager is on her way, nandi,” Tano said immediately.

“Indeed,” Bren said. “Lord Tatiseigi, will you like a pot of tea, and to wait for the dowager?”

“We have had tea enough at the legislative reception,” Tatiseigi said, not budging, “but so, well, we shall wait. Will you need to send for riding clothes, nephew?”

“No, Great‑uncle. I have everything with me.”

“Who has seen to your wardrobe, young man? Has your father’s staff?”

“I have servants, now, Great‑uncle! I have my own staff.”

“With you?”

“Indeed, Great‑uncle, I have two servants and my bodyguard.”

“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said. “Servants, indeed! Have you a warm coat? Formal clothing as well?”

“One had thought we might go to Najida, Great‑uncle, or Malguri, so I have everything in my baggage.”

“Exemplary foresight,” Tatiseigi said. “Exemplary! Well. Well.” They were standing with enough Guild in attendance for a small war, with Tatiseigi’s bodyguards outside and Cajeiri’s four and Banichi and Jago now in the foyer, and Tatiseigi in the doorway itself so that Narani had not been able to close it.

But they were about to acquire a fourth set of bodyguards. Bren heard the sounds of another approach to the door, men’s footsteps, and the light tap of Ilisidi’s cane on the stone flooring of the hall.

He was not the only one hearing it. “Mani is coming,” Cajeiri said, and indeed, Tatiseigi’s bodyguard moved out of the way in advance of that oncoming presence.

Tap. Tap. Tap. At her own pace, Ilisidi appeared in the doorway.

“Well,” she said, resting hands on her cane. “Well, Great‑grandson. Tati‑ji. Nand’ paidhi. Are we holding a meeting in the hallway?”

“Mani, Great‑uncle has said we shall go to Tirnamardi!”

“That we shall,” she said, both hands on her cane, with Cenedi and her guard behind her. “We shall go to the spaceport, gather up your young guests, and take them to enjoy a healthful sojourn in the country. Nand’ paidhi, we trust you can clear your schedule to go with us.”

Her idea. Or Cenedi’s. He recalled, again, that conversation in the bath. The business about positioning forces.

“I am in process of doing that right now, aiji‑ma.”

“Well, well, we shall have a day or two to see the bill passed. You are packed, nand’ paidhi?”

“I shall be, aiji‑ma.”

“Tati‑ji?”

“My staff will assure it,” Tatiseigi said.

“Well, we all three will be busy. Lord Tatiseigi and I will speak for the bill in the tashrid tomorrow. We expect the paidhi‑aiji will have a statement to read into the record.”

“I have it ready, aiji‑ma.”

“Dur will present it. Tati‑ji, we expect you at dinner this evening. We shall discuss our strategy over brandy. We would expect that the paidhi‑aiji’s staff has prepared a dinner here, and that there might be sufficient for my grandson.”

That was to say, stay home. Take care of the boy and his staff. Keep him contained.

They were about to do something entirely outrageous and take the boy and his guests to a venue they knew had security problems, and the person who most fiercely protected the boy was driving this insane venture, for reasons she was not going to explain right now. He understood that part clearly. And that yes was all he could say.

“Easily, aiji‑ma. And we shall see to the parid’ja.” Whatever her plans, the dowager needed to know that the creature had become part of the arrangement.

“The parid’ja,” Ilisidi echoed him in a little dismay. And to her great‑grandson: “Was this arranged?”

Cajeiri put on a worried face. “My servants are with me, mani, and there would be no one in my father’s apartment to take care of him.”

Ilisidi drew a deep breath. “Well.” And cast a questioning look at Bren.

“Aiji‑ma, one is certain we shall manage. Whether he will go with us . . .”

“May he, mani?” Cajeiri asked. “He has his cage, Great‑grandmother! It is a very secure cage! It has rollers!”

Tatiseigi had no expression at all for the moment. Tatiseigi’s desire to move the young gentleman into his vicinity had been strong enough even to accommodate young humans, at least conceptually–perhaps imagining they, like the paidhi‑aiji, had acquired atevi virtues and could eat arsenic with abandon.

Boji, however, was surely another matter.

“My servants, mani, they know how to take care of him, so he is no trouble. He is very clean, Great‑uncle!”

Tatiseigi’s mouth opened. His expressionlessness showed a struggle to warm to the idea. A heartbeat later he said, “One can agree, Sidi‑ji, if you wish,” and he was committed to it.

Bren almost said, in the next breath, One is certain my staff could manage . . . in the thought that the steadiness of Tatiseigi’s nerves was going to be tested far enough, with Cajeiri’s guests.

But the dowager had already nodded. Cajeiri had heard the one and seen the other. And that was that.

· · ·

As many teacakes as he could eat, before a very good dinner, with nand’ Bren’s whole aishid and his own all at the table, and another dessert after dinner–that was last night; and Cajeiri enjoyed a really comfortable guest room with room for everybody in their own little cubicles.

And in the morning he could sleep late, with no tutor, no need to get up early, nand’ Bren had said, and it was such a quiet household–

Except for Boji, who wanted his egg. Boji started to make a fuss, out in the sitting area.

But Eisi had an egg all ready, since last night: he was always good about that. And Cajeiri just pulled the covers over his head, snuggled into abundant pillows, and fell back to sleep on thoughts that the shuttle with his associates aboard was flying through space, getting harder and harder to turn back. Pretty soon not even his father would be able to stop it, because it would be committing itself to the atmosphere.

When he did wake, very late, at one of Boji’s little shrieks, he scrambled out of bed in a sudden fear that maybe things were not going so well, and he had been out of touch for hours and hours.

He found all his aishid on the other side of the partition, playing cards in the sitting area, and his servants trying to hush Boji with another egg.

“Jeri‑ji,” Jegari said.

“Is there any news yet?”

“Regarding the shuttle, none that we know. But nand’ Bren’s staff is packing, so everything seems on schedule. He is in his office, and Banichi‑nadi says your great‑grandmother and Lord Tatiseigi are in the legislative session, so everything there is what they planned.”

He slowly let go a breath, relieved.

“Understand,” Lucasi said, “nandi, nand’ Bren’s aishid has given us some cautions, that we should bring all our gear, and that there will be very high security everywhere.”

“One is not surprised,” he said. His whole life was like that.

“And you will have to watch your guests, and report them to us, if there is any question at all. Your guests will not know the rules at all, nandi. And you will have to keep them safe.”

That was a scary thought. He did not want to think of having to watch everybody as if he were the one to tell on them. Their time in the secret corridors of the ship had been all of them hiding and playing pranks.

But they were right. They could not do that to his aishid, or to nand’ Bren’s, or to Great‑grandmother’s.

“One hears,” he agreed, less happy about the situation. It was an upside down arrangement. But there were dangers. There were always dangers. He did not entirely know where they would come from, but his own grandfather was a good guess, and there was still some fighting down in the Marid.

“Will you wish breakfast, Jeri‑ji?” Antaro asked. “Cook said that we should advise him when you might wish it.”

“One has to dress first,” he said. He was glad to change the topic. “But yes. Has everyone eaten?”

“We have not,” Antaro said.

He had been inconvenient for his own staff. “I need to dress,” he said to his staff in general, “as if my great‑grandmother could want to see me. She really might, today.”

· · ·

Breakfast was extravagant, with eggs in a wonderful sauce, and Cajeiri was already enjoying the excitement of an oncoming birthday, with a good many of the rules tumbled down and overset. He was to have his guests, and Great‑grandmother, and nand’ Bren, and his bodyguard; and Boji, and mecheiti . . .

He was to have his associates from the ship and they were going to be so impressed. . . .

Even if he had to be careful about the rules.

They all would be a year older. They would have grown up a little, too. He was a good deal taller, in just a year. And stronger.

And smarter. He had done things they would never imagine, in their safe life inside the station, particularly: things on the station rarely changed much, and there were no enemies. They screened everybody who got up there, so there was hardly any more secure place anywhere.

He was still anxious. His mother or his father could still change their minds. But his mother was going to be happier, having a staff again. Unless she got mad at Great‑grandmother and everything blew up.

Something could still go wrong in the legislature or there could be a security alert: there were a lot of people in the world who could cause a security alert.

But the shuttle was on its way, and once it set up on course, and once it really got moving, then it was harder and harder to change anything.

Once the shuttle started entering the atmosphere, it would all go very fast, and they would land, and then his visitors were stuck for fourteen days, or even longer. Nobody could send them back until the shuttle was ready to take them.

He was surprised to be going to Tirnamardi. The last he remembered of it, the front lawn had been a camp, with the hedges broken and a smoky smell over everything–but he was sure it was all nice now. And Great‑uncle was going to let them ride. He was sure nobody born on a space station had ever seen anything like a mecheita–and he was going to get to take Boji with him, and they would be amazed by Boji, too. It was going to be wonderful.

He was surprised by his great‑uncle. But Great‑uncle had been very easy to please ever since Grandfather had gotten thrown out of the court.

He completely understood Great‑uncle’s feelings in that.

· · ·

Nand’ Bren was busy all day. And his aishid was gone most all day, carrying messages, doing things nobody talked about. It was all very mysterious.

Boji was upset at being in a strange room, until he had eaten so many eggs his stomach was round, and then he curled up and slept.

And there was just nothing to do but play chess with Antaro with everybody else to advise both sides, which made a rowdy sort of chess game.

He had lunch with nand’ Bren, who told him everything was perfectly fine, and that he was just writing letters and making phone calls all day, because of business he was going to have to leave.

After lunch, they decided to go through all the bags to make sure they had not forgotten anything they really might need at Tirnamardi, and he thought he might send for his other outdoor coat, but he decided against it, because if he even sent a message next door to his father’s major domo, that could stir up questions of why he needed the coat and get his parents interested in where he was going.

Things would be busy over there: his mother would be getting new staff, including a hairdresser, and his father would have new people in, all of them from Malguri district, which was not what he had ever expected his father to agree to.

He did not get a call from mani to come to her apartment this evening. There was no word from Great‑uncle, either. The only one who paid attention to him all day was nand’ Bren, having lunch with him, but then nand’ Bren was back in his office doing whatever he had done before. The front door opened and closed with people coming and going, and he just sat in the guest room with his aishid. Time just crawled past, hour after hour, with thoughts that things could still go wrong and they still could have an emergency that stopped everything.

He did remember a few more ship‑speak sentences to teach his aishid, things useful around mecheiti, like, “Get up on the rails.” He thought rails was the word even if they were wooden. And: “Don’t walk behind him.” And: “Don’t walk in front of him.” He could not remember the word for tusks.

He reviewed things useful in the house, like, “Be very quiet.” And: “Stop.” And: “Bow.”

His associates had never dealt with mani on the ship. They might be rude, in mani’s way of looking at things. Or Great‑uncle’s. He was worried about that.

But there was nand’ Bren to keep them out of trouble and explain things. He reassured himself of that. And he resolved really, truly, not to suggest anything that could get them in trouble, because even if it was not Najida with the boat docks and all, Great‑uncle’s house had mecheiti.

He really, really expected that mani would take charge of him, since the shuttle had to be getting close to starting down.

Maybe she would call him to dinner.

But she did not. He ended up having supper with only his aishid and nand’ Bren, who simply said, “We are still preparing things and sending letters, young gentleman, and while I understand, please do not attempt to discuss business at your great‑uncle’s table.”

“One is sorry, nandi.” He knew mani would be put out with him for asking questions before the brandy hour. And he was trying so hard to be proper.

But nand’ Bren did not ask him for a brandy hour. Nand’ Bren said he still had work to do at the very last moment, and would he excuse him?

So there went all the answers to all the questions he could ask.

He was sitting in the guest room, playing chess with Jegari, when a knock came at the door.

It was nand’ Bren, who said, “Everything is on schedule, young gentleman. We have been in communication with the station. The weather will be fine and clear, and the shuttle landing will be at noon tomorrow. So you know. Plan on breakfast here, but lunch on the train–with your guests.”

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes!”

They were coming, they were coming, they were really, truly coming.

11

It had ended up a long, long day–negotiations, letters sent out in code, letters arriving in code, and in the midst of all of it, Lord Tatiseigi’s porcelains arrived by train, for exhibit in the Bujavid museum . . .

Those had to be inspected, their display approved, papers signed by the museum director, publicity arranged–it was not Bren’s immediate problem, for which he was truly thankful. Lord Tatiseigi handled that quite ably, while Lord Tatiseigi’s security arrangements for the trip lay forming in the able hands of the aiji‑dowager’s bodyguard.

That meant the hovering news services, which had focused on the vote, happened on the historic exhibition before it was officially announced, and then got wind of a rumor that the heir, expected to make news with the arrival of human guests to visit Shejidan about six days from now–was sent on holiday, evidently to celebrate his numerically significant and fortunate birthday not in the Bujavid as planned, but under the dowager’s auspices.

The rumors rapidly ran to an assassination plot underway, hence the heir being taken elsewhere; or, most elaborate, the landing of the children from space as a dark plot involving activation of the mysterious machinery from space that still sat in various areas once Murini’s strongholds.

Fueling the rumors, the same plane that had brought staff to Shejidan from Malguri was now being outfitted for the dowager’s personal use–with the configuration she used, and all the attendant changes in designation, so it was very clear that the heir was headed for Malguri with the dowager today.

The plane was real: Jago said it would take off for Malguri about the time the red train left the Bujavid station, part of a cross‑continental misdirection. That jet would fly all the way to Malguri. And by the time it got to Malguri–a quiet district on the other end of the continent, where news services were much less aggressive–the dowager, Cajeiri, his guests, and, yes, even Boji, would be safely settled at Tirnamardi, where no news services were permitted access.

Rumor‑mongering was a popular sport in the cafes and tea shops across the capital. No matter what people at the airport saw or didn’t see, there would be persistent rumors that they were all in Malguri with a horde of humans from the station and a collection of death‑machines from space, and the porcelain collection had been intended as a distraction from these movements–one point on which they were absolutely right, but not one that had originated with that purpose. Conspiracy believers were determined, and occasionally useful.

What Ajuri might believe–and do about it–depended on how convolute Ajuri’s thinking was. But they had scattered all the confusion they could.

Meanwhile, in the real world, there was a shiny red and black bus being freighted by rail up from Najida, officially scheduled to arrive at the Shejidan station this morning, for use during the official visit scheduled for a week from now. The bus would not get quite as far as Shejidan–but what did not appear was less likely to be reported.

The shuttle, strictly on schedule, was now traveling toward atmospheric entry under power, and the weather reports were good. In a little while it would shut down the engines and simply use inertia and gravity for what they did so well, until the crew took active control again near the very skin of the earth.

The whole arrangement was becoming a sort of bait‑and‑switch operation. They kicked misleading items into motion. They sowed rumors in various direction. The porcelain collection arriving was Tatiseigi’s contribution to the effort. The only actual fact evident was that they were definitely on the move with the heir in some direction . . . but then there would be some theories that everything was designed to give a false impression that the dowager and the heir had left the Bujavid, and anything anybody saw was a carefully designed appearance.

“We shall at least stretch our enemies’ resources thin,” Tano said, “and of all things, Lord Tatiseigi receiving these young guests is an idea most will not readily believe.”

What the news services might note was the red car, once it moved out of the Bujavid.

That would attract attention.

And the Transportation Guild that managed the rails was far from leakproof.

The general flurry of conflicting reports, however, was likely to be livelier than the actual event. If they reported the car moving toward Tirnamardi, well, was it the diversion?

Or was the dowager going to Tatiseigi’s ancestral enemy, their neighbor in the west, Taiben? That was Tabini’s home district, the old Ragi stronghold, deep in forest and extremely difficult for any outsider to penetrate. It was historically the place where the aijiin in Shejidan went for safety, in times of crisis. It had existed in at least a nominal state of war, never having signed a treaty with the rest of the Padi Valley.

Likeliest spot on the continent for secret goings‑on, or high security.

Of course, the thinkers among the theorists would say. The rest was a ruse. It was Taiben.

Wrong again.

Though Taiben was involved.

The dowager asked, and Tatiseigi agreed, not only because the dowager asked–but because the stakes were now, for him, the ultimate.

Tatiseigi had no heir.

Except Damiri, and her son, and her soon‑to‑be‑born daughter.

The children were, through their mother, Atageini and Ajuri. And Ajuri was in extreme disfavor.

Lord Tatiseigi had absolutely no difficulties seeing the possibilities in that situation.

Finally make peace with the Taibeni, the other clan closely related to the aiji and to those children? Oh, yes. It hadn’t been politic for any lord of the Atageini to do it for two hundred years, through various administrations in Shejidan, and even though the Atageini were intermittently at war with the other powerful clan in the Padi Valley.

But since the incident that had barred Ajuri from the capital, Lord Tatiseigi discovered himself willing to settle an old territorial claim, and thus the ancient feud, in Taiben’s favor. Correspondence flowed. There was, mediated by the dowager and Tabini, a positive effusion of good will.

He began to realize that the man who had a reputation for living in the last century could do whatever it took in this one, whether that meant sitting right next to the Kadagidi during the coup and the Troubles, while maintaining his reputation of being no threat at all, standing with Ilisidi on the tribal bill–or hosting human children at a birthday party.

He definitely had a new perspective on the man . . . and knew why Ilisidi favored him.

· · ·

Supper, with Cajeiri, who was for once short of appetite, was one question after another, accompanied by what neither of them quite acknowledged: the constant coming and going in the hall, and at the front door.

Baggage was being readied.

And there was the matter of Boji. Of all conspicuous things to try to slip past the news services–

Tano was working on that one.

“One knows you very much wish Boji to go,” Bren said, when they were having the brandy hour–a little soothing tea for Cajeiri, and a stiff brandy for Bren. “Please hear me on this. Getting him to the red car poses a difficulty and could attract attention. We have spoken with your servants. They have agreed to ride in baggage and take good care of him. You understand. Security.”

Cajeiri had opened his mouth to argue. And shut it. “One understands, nandi.”

“I think you will owe your two servants a night out in Shejidan when all this is done. They are very good young men.” It was true. They were Tabini’s own staff, and very conscious of their prospects in having seniority in the heir’s new household.

“I shall, nandi.”

“They will see that Boji rides comfortably, and they will see, too, that he stays quiet in your great‑uncle’s house. Understand, your great‑uncle is trying very hard to make you happy, but he is not at all used to young people, and has seen very few humans in his whole life.”

“One understands, nandi.”

“Well, well,” he said, “best you retire early. We are going to be up before dawn, and you will want to wear, one believes, fairly casual clothing, for comfort on the trip. We shall have breakfast here, in the apartment, lunch on the train, and a snack in mid‑afternoon, after we have picked up your young associates.”

“One is excited, nand’ Bren. One is very excited.”

“I know. Do try to sleep. You need to be at your best tomorrow, not short of temper, not falling asleep on the train.”

“Oh, I never shall!”

“Then off to bed with you,” Bren said. “And think of good things.”

Cajeiri put down his teacup. And gave a very deep bow, and another at the door, as he was leaving.

It was one very happy, very excited boy, and it was not very likely that he would sleep that well tonight, and probably not that well the night after. They were kids. And they had all had a lot of adult anxieties riding on their very young shoulders.

A habitual offender with station security, a girl whose mother had political forces nudging at her–and two about whom he had heard absolutely no complaints. One wondered how they had fared up on the station, given the politics that swirled around the visit.

Narani appeared, silent, in the doorway. “Your aishid is in conference, nandi. Will there be any other need this evening, or shall I call your valets?”

“Call them, Rani‑ji.” And on an afterthought: “There would not be any package arrived in all this confusion, from Mospheira.”

“No,” Narani said. “No, nandi. I am quite sure of it.”

He sighed, thinking of the boots. But he did not intend to end this visit hiking cross‑country through gunfire.

· · ·

Breakfast–and Cajeiri seemed a little wilted. The boy had probably not slept a wink. But with strong tea, sugared juice, and a sweet roll, spirits began to rise.

Bren just had nut‑buttered toast and salt fish, figuring substance would serve better than sugar, but he took two cups of strong tea, letting staff hurry about doing those things staff did best, and most of all staying out of the way, and letting his bodyguard instruct Cajeiri’s servants, and especially his bodyguard. The car would be secure, he had word–gone over and all monitoring disconnected–discretion on this trip would not be on the shoulders of a boy not yet nine. The aiji’s staff would have no report, and no record, of what was said.

“When we go down to the train, young gentleman,” Bren said, and got sharp attention from the other side of the table, “should we run into any difficulty, and one has the news services in mind–do not speak a word. We believe we shall evade them entirely. If there should be any other kind of trouble, do not give a second thought to your great‑grandmother or anyone else. Obey your bodyguards.” A thought struck him. “You have the slingshota.”

Cajeiri nodded and moved a hand to his pocket.

“One does not object to your carrying it,” Bren said–he wore the detested vest, and had his gun in his own pocket. “But do not attempt to use it should there be a crisis. Do not think of your guests, either. We cannot teach them what we know, and we cannot argue. Just let your bodyguard protect you. Are we agreed, young gentleman? Do you understand? We do not think it might happen. But we can never act as if it could not. Be safe. You are important.”

A very curious sobriety came over the young gentleman, who nodded very deliberately, and said, “My father needs me for his heir. My sister is a hazard.”

He was surprised, even shocked at that declaration, but he simply nodded. “Well. One trusts you, young gentleman.”

God, he thought, then. Where did that come from? He almost wanted to ask.

But not at present.

He finished his tea. Banichi had arrived in the doorway.

“We should move now, nandi.”

So. It was time.

· · ·

They were on their own, Ilisidi and Tatiseigi arriving on their own schedules. Tano and Algini had a lift car on hold. Bren entered the car and, with Cajeiri, stood against the back wall while it headed down and down, without a stop.

“My servants, nandi,” Cajeiri said. “And will mani be there?”

“Trust your aishid,” Bren said, “to have all these things worked out. It will all work. Do not worry.”

The car headed down, and down, past residential floors, past the public floor, and down to the warehouse levels, then through a set of floors only accessible from the lift they were on–and let them out finally, in that broad cement corridor that opened out onto the train tracks.

It was huge, full of echoes. The arch above the tracks was studded with lights that did not reach the far places, the other tracks and roundhouse shunts. The space swallowed light and amplified sound. And centermost, under the lights, was the old‑fashioned engine and the two cars that had taken Geigi to the spaceport.

It was three cars now, the red car and two baggage cars. They were not traveling light. The door of the red car opened and one of the dowager’s young men met them, welcoming them in, while his partner, pistol in hand, stood watching.

Their collective bodyguards folded them inside, and the door whisked shut.

Ilisidi and Tatiseigi were comfortably seated at the rear of the car, on the broad bench, the dowager with her cane planted before her. Cenedi was there, and Nawari, in attendance on the dowager, and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard, seated just in front of the galley, rose in respect for the young gentleman.

“We are here!” Cajeiri declared happily. “We are all here!”

“Great‑grandson.” The dowager gave a nod, patted the bench near her, and Cajeiri came and settled down quietly.

Bren bowed and quietly took his own seat on the end of the bench, Tatiseigi being on the other end. There was a long, general silence, a quiet so deep one could hear the occasional sounds from the station outside, the arrival of another train, the movement of baggage trolleys, the shout of a supervisor on the siding. Cajeiri fidgeted ever so slightly. He had his hands locked together as if he were absolutely determined not to let them escape to merit a reprimand.

Then came a thump from their own car, or the one next to it. Bren listened hard for any cues what was going on; and felt the vibrations as the next car loaded, heard the distinctive sounds as the engine fired up.

“Staff,” the dowager said, “is joining us. With Boji.”

They were operating under the most extreme security Bren had ever experienced, even in far worse times. With the parid’ja and its huge cage.

Doors shut, elsewhere. There was a further delay. A second, more distant thump.

And they sat.

And sat. The dowager and Tatiseigi discussed the vote count on the tribal bill, which looked good. And Cajeiri sat so very still, being so very good.

“Perhaps,” Bren said, “the young gentleman might enjoy a game of chess. I think his aishid would oblige him with a challenge. There is a chess set in the galley storage.”

Ilisidi waggled her fingers, a dismissal. Cajeiri got up, bowed silently, and went over to his aishid with that information.

The game set up and started, Veijico taking black.

Tatiseigi muttered, disapprovingly, “In my youth, one would have sat.”

“Nandi,” Bren said, “he is concerned about the flight.”

“Well,” Tatiseigi said, “well, so should anyone be, with such machines.”

“Best young minds stay busy,” Ilisidi said, not displeased, and the three of them sat quietly and talked, had one cup of sweet tea, and the chess match progressed.

Then the train, with its characteristic chuff, began to move.

The chess match paused, Cajeiri’s hand, on a Fortress, hesitated in midair.

Then calmly resumed its course toward a square.

Eight, going on fortunate nine, and a mental age above that. Cajeiri, on the most intense campaign of good behavior in his whole life, set the piece down.

Cajeiri’s opponent, Veijico, lifted an eyebrow, considering the move, then cast a furtive glance toward the dowager, and quietly advised the young rascal, likely, that they were indeed watched.

There were quiet remarks. Human ears, at least, could not hear them. Likely neither the dowager nor Tatiseigi could hear. Tano got up and renewed the teapot, and provided a large pot for Cajeiri and his bodyguard as the train made its slow passage along the restricted tunnel. The rest of the adult bodyguards continued in quiet conversation interspersed with Guild signs.

They cleared the hill, cleared the tunnel, gathered speed toward the city junction, and clicked over onto the lefthand track.

Faster and faster, then, a steam‑age locomotive bent again on rendezvous with a spaceship.

“Are they coming down yet, Banichi‑nadi?” Cajeiri turned to ask as the train gathered speed. “Shall we see it land?”

“One fears not, young gentleman, however we will be arriving there at about the time it touches down, and we shall take the bus to meet them. You will get to see them disembark.”

“One wished–” Cajeiri began to say, and then meekly said, “One is glad, Banichi‑nadi.”

“Security,” Banichi said. “One regrets, young gentleman. But these are necessary precautions.”

“Yes,” Cajeiri said quietly, frowning.

Difficult for the boy, Bren thought. But one understood. They were moving as expeditiously as possible: get the youngsters under their protection, get them to the train, and get moving again, with as little exposure as possible. The shuttle landings were fairly routine. The shuttle the children were stated to be taking was not due for days. When the news did get to observers that this one had the children, and that the heir was here, any hostile action, unless extremely well‑placed or very lucky, was going to have to scramble.

The whereabouts of the train was traceable–if one had agents within Transportation; but again, the exact routing for this train was given only at intervals necessary to shunt other traffic onto other tracks. It prioritized itself through the system on a sector by sector basis, not always at high speed, given the engine that often pulled it, but in a traveling bubble of secrecy and priority; and they would be stalling all train traffic on a very main line for at least an hour, while they performed their maneuver out to the port and back.

“The port has contact, aiji‑ma, nandiin,” Cenedi reported finally.

They were very near the spaceport.

And Nawari got to his feet. “Aiji‑ma, nandiin, you will find the port bus right off the platform, so it will be a very short walk. We shall enter the perimeter fence through the service gate, which will be open. We shall pick up our passengers, and their baggage, which is able to be hand‑carried aboard the bus. No one should exit the bus. Aiji‑ma, nandiin, as you board, please occupy the seats behind the driver. The opposing row will be reserved for our passengers, who will board as quickly as possible.”

“Very good, Wari‑ji,” the dowager said.

The operation was on schedule, and while they had no view, Bren had an excellent idea where they were: a flat prairie with very few features except grazing herds and the occasional patch of brush.

And at a certain point they slowed, and slowed further, then took that little jog of a switchover, toward the port, everyone swaying.

“They are in process of landing, nandiin,” Cenedi said. Then: “They are touching down.”

Cajeiri visibly elevated off his seat, then shut his mouth and settled, locking his hands in his lap and not saying a thing.

The dowager nodded, satisfied.

Bren just breathed a sigh of relief. The train did not regain its speed. It lazily chugged around a slight curve, then took the straight for a while, and another, opposite, curve, which led to the platform.

Brakes applied. The engine sighed out a final chuff! And stopped.

Bren got up, as their bodyguards did. Cajeiri bounced up and offered Ilisidi his hand, as Tatiseigi used the seat arm to lever himself up.

“The bus is here, nandiin,” Cenedi said. “And the shuttle has arrived.”

So. From here on until the shuttle lifted again, they were in charge of a flock of youngsters on holiday. Bren moved out into the aisle, toward the door–ordinarily protocol gave the aiji‑dowager precedence, but not into a security situation, and while he might technically outrank Lord Tatiseigi as an officer of the aiji’s court, he didn’t stand on the point–he was younger, he was stronger, he was faster, and he took the risk of finding out whether the platform was as secure as they hoped it was.

He felt Jago’s hand on his arm as the door opened on a bright, sunny day, and had Banichi right in front of him and Tano and Algini at his back. Out the door, down a slightly inconvenient step–he dropped off it without a hesitation and kept up with Banichi, headed for the black, sleek bus across the wooden platform.

It was three tall steps up and inside with the driver, with Banichi and Jago and with a handful of Guild in the port service, while Tano and Algini stood outside beside the bus door, assuring a good view of the platform, just security as usual.

The dowager stepped off the train with Cajeiri and her cane to steady her, with Cenedi to offer his arm, and with Nawari and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard to assist the old lord in his descent to the platform. They crossed to the bus at their own pace and boarded.

Tano and Algini came aboard, standing next to the driver–they had the heaviest armament in evidence, rifles, a little extraordinary precaution. The bus started moving, gathering speed on a gravel drive. Cajeiri sat with his hands clenched in fists, a bundle of anxiety.

Guild was in communication with Guild, talking back and forth as the bus reached a gate and a guard post. The wire gate swung open without them even needing to stop, and the bus bumped up a hard edge and onto concrete, and kept rolling.

A long white shape sat on the strip, surrounded by service trucks.

“There is the shuttle, young gentleman,” Bren said quietly.

Cajeiri twisted in his seat, got up on one knee, and then reluctantly slithered back down, facing Bren, hands locked so the knuckles stood out.

“You may go stand at the front glass, Great‑grandson,” Ilisidi said. “But do not give the driver problems!”

“Mani!” Cajeiri exclaimed, and got up ever so carefully and edged past her feet and Tatiseigi’s. “Thank you, mani!”

“Paidhi,” Ilisidi said wryly. “Go keep my great‑grandson on the bus.”

“Aiji‑ma,” Bren said, and as carefully got up and worked his way out to the aisle. Cajeiri was as close to the front windows as the dashboard let him get, as the bus pulled up near the service trucks and came to a stop.

The lift was in place, elevated up to the hatch, and the passengers were disembarking.

Two of them, Bren saw, from his vantage. Taller than children. He could see their heads as the lift started down.

They wouldn’t promise the boy and then renege.

They wouldn’t lie to all of them. Geigi was running this operation. He had faith in Geigi not to do something like that.

The lift settled lower and lower. He saw two men in body‑armor, weapons, carrying their helmets– ship security. That, at least, was understandable.

And then one turned his head, looking up at the hatch, and punched the communications tab on his armor. God! That was Polano. The other must be Kaplan.

Jase Graham’s bodyguards.

Those two stepped off the lift platform, and the lift went back up.

“Those are Jase‑aiji’s!” Cajeiri exclaimed.

“That they are. One has no idea what is going on, young gentleman. But they are, indeed: Polano‑nadi and Kaplan‑nadi.” The lift went up again, and now more passengers were debarking. Jago turned up at Bren’s side, and he said, “Kaplan and Polano, Jago‑ji.”

“Indeed,” she said, and then the lift started down again.

With another man. Jase. Captain Jason Graham–fourth highest authority on the starship Phoenix, onetime ship‑paidhi, the ship’s emissary to Tabini‑aiji.

“Jase‑aiji!” Cajeiri said.

Then, beside Jase–three significantly shorter persons appeared as the lift lowered and the angle shifted.

Two boys. One girl. All in station‑style dress and light jackets, one gray, one green, one blue, all with a single duffel, and with a few other bags about their feet.

“Gene‑ji!” Cajeiri said, restraining a gesture into a small movement. “And Artur and Irene! May we open the doors, nandi? May one go out?”

“Jago will go out and bring them aboard,” Bren said. “Let us not create a problem for security. They will have baggage, one is sure. Jago‑ji, assist Jase.”

“Indeed,” Jago said, and moved past him to reach the steps and the door. It opened, and Jago and several of the dowager’s young men exited onto the pavement.

Cajeiri just stood there, all but shivering, it was so hard for him to stand still.

Security in their operation, Bren thought, had just gone up several notches in firepower, if not in knowledge of the planet. Kaplan and Polano were armed to the teeth, not to mention the instrumentation on the armor. He had no idea what its capabilities were, but he knew they were considerable.

If the wearers failed to succumb to the flat expanses around them.

They were all old acquaintances, from two years on the ship together, and Jase’s own visit to the world. Cenedi recognized them, no doubt he did, and so would Nawari and several others of the dowager’s young men.

Protocol, meanwhile, did not leave a captain of the starship out on the concrete looking for an official face. Bren went to the steps and jumped down to the pavement, close to the shelter of the bus and beside Jago. He raised his arm in a very un‑atevi wave.

Jase spotted him and waved back–came toward them, with Kaplan and Polano and his young charges . . . human kids, wide‑eyed and looking around at everything.

Doing very well, however. No one had thrown up.

“Bren,” Jase said–and then did the atevi courtesy and bowed. Bren bowed. The youngsters bowed, tentatively, and then looked up in surprise–one might even say–dismay.

“Hi,” Cajeiri said from the bus steps. “Come in!”

The youngsters looked uncertain. Then the tallest boy, himself about shoulder‑high to Bren, dark‑haired, on the stocky side, waved a hand, sketched a bow and grabbed the assistance‑bar to climb aboard. It was a very tall step for him. He made it, and there he and Cajeiri were, the human boy looking a few inches up at Cajeiri.

“Gene‑ji,” Cajeiri said happily. “Hi there!”

“You grew!” Gene said. “You’re as tall as Bjorn!”

“Bjorn’s not here?”

“Couldn’t come. He’s in school. Well, so are we, but not his kind of school. Artur, Irene–” The other two were blocking the doorway, staring up. “He’s as tall as Bjorn, isn’t he?”

“Get aboard,” Bren said to the last two. “Everybody inside. Take the first seats on the left, facing each other. The aiji‑dowager and a high‑ranking lord are across the aisle. Be very polite! Bow. Low.”

They didn’t acknowledge the instruction. They just went scrambling up the steps. Irene, smallest, and straight from a long free fall, had to be pulled up the steps.

“Jase,” Bren said, still amazed. “So good to see you! Are you running security on this trip, or what?”

“This is my vacation,” Jase said. “You invited me, remember? God, it’s good to see you. Sorry about the surprise. But the Council wanted to provide their own security.”

“Backup is more than welcome! We’re headed for Tirnamardi.” Baggage was down, a lift full of it that they had not planned for, and the dowager’s young men were moving to get it and load it onto the bus. “Get aboard. My security doesn’t want me standing out here. Or you. Jago‑ji!”

“Nandi.” Jago was right by him, assisting him up, and Jase. Polano and Kaplan moved with a soft, motorized whine. Polano somewhat awkwardly managed to get a toe on the step. Then, quite amazingly, he just rose up on that one foot and took the next step. Machine‑assist. Balance‑assist. Kaplan did the same, and one had to get out of the way, because they took up a lot of room.

“Just stand there,” Jase said, which left them no view of the shuttle and the trucks. But the rest of the baggage was coming aboard, with the dowager’s young men.

Pretty damned amazing, Bren thought, and had to give a second look at Jase, to believe it.

“You’re not sick,” he said.

“Medicated to the max,” Jase said, and patted his pocket. “’Til the brain adjusts.” He spotted the dowager, and Tatiseigi, and bowed, deeply. “Nandiin. One is surprised and honored. One apologizes for the children.”

In fairly good Ragi, that was. The dowager nodded, pleased. The children, having gotten toward the middle seats, were trying their best to keep quiet, but there were excited young voices, and Tatiseigi was eyeing them with unguessable thoughts about it all.

“The two in armor, nandiin,” Bren said, “are Kaplan‑nadi, and Polano‑nadi, Jase‑aiji’s personal bodyguard, very responsible men, who always accompany him.”

“You are very welcome, Jase‑aiji,” Ilisidi said, of course in Ragi. “Lord Tatiseigi, he is one of the ship‑aiji now, and a very astute young man, who has come to supervise the children. One hopes Tirnamardi can accommodate another guest with minimal difficulty.”

“Honored, nandi,” went both directions, and Tatiseigi looked a little less stressed.

Thump! went the door, then, the last of the hand baggage manhandled down the aisle without hitting anyone, and other baggage stowed below, in the baggage compartment of the bus.

Thump! went the ferrule of Ilisidi’s cane. “Let us be moving, nadiin,” she said, and Jago relayed it to the driver, who put the bus in gear.

“Well, well,” the dowager said cheerfully, bracing her cane against the sway of the bus as it turned, while Jase and Bren stood and held their ground. “We shall reciprocate the hospitality of the ship‑aijiin, with your kind assistance, Tati‑ji. You are very welcome, Jase‑aiji. My great‑grandson is holding forth with his young associates. Come sit with us.”

“One is honored, nand’ dowager,” Jase said, in very passable Ragi, and gave a second bow to Lord Tatiseigi. “We are not of close acquaintance, nandi, but you are known in the heavens.”

“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said–impassivity had settled over his face, but he seemed to like that information. “Tirnamardi will find room for any guest the aiji‑dowager recommends. You speak very well, ship‑paidhi.”

“One is very flattered, nandi,” Jase said with a perfect little bow, and slipped quite deftly into a seat, leaving space for Bren, next to Tatiseigi.

“A very great asset,” Bren said, thinking, Geigi. Jase, incongruously, had a slight southwest coastal accent, and one knew the source.

“One does not suppose the children are as studious,” Ilisidi said.

“No, nand’ dowager,” Jase said–hit exactly the right form of address for their relative ranks. Geigi’s coaching in that, too, Bren was quite sure.

“How is your stomach, Jase‑aiji?” Ilisidi asked.

“Much better,” Jase said with a little bow, and Bren said, “They have found a medication that works.”

“Excellent,” Ilisidi said. The bus left the concrete and turned onto the gravel.

There were suppressed human gasps from the middle seats–children, with faces pressed to the bus windows as the scenery swung into view, trees, and grass. A quiet shhh!

They were under way, collected, gathered, oriented, and headed back to the train.

· · ·

“Trees?” Gene asked in Ragi.

“Yes,” Cajeiri said.

“You can look right at the sun,” Artur said, leaning.

“Don’t,” Cajeiri said. “It’s not good.” They had never seen the sun in a sky. For them the sun was something else. A star. A place that anchored planets. A place that anchored ships. “It’s a clock. 1200 hours, a little more.” He inclined his hand. “0100. 0200. 0300 . . . By 0800 it’s gone. It comes back around 0530.”

“Neat,” Gene said, and leaned forward to catch a look as Artur sneaked another peek. “Come on, Irene. Don’t be a baby.”

Irene made a try, and then the bus took a turn. Irene shut her eyes.

“Just like a shuttle docking,” Gene said. “Just like two ships meeting. It’s all in your head.”

“It’s fast ,” Irene said, and Gene and Artur laughed.

“Silly. The ship is fast. This is just a little distance.”

“There’s a black and red machine.”

“The train,” Cajeiri said in Ragi–not knowing any ship‑speak word for it. Then thought of one. “It runs on rails. Like the lifts.” He made a sideways motion of his hand. “That way.”

“We’re going on that?” Irene asked.

“Yes,” Cajeiri said. “The red one. Back there.” He tried to think of words, after all his practice, and the only words he could think of for a moment were ship things. The tunnels. The places they met. Sneaking into the access doors.

“So are we going to the city?” Gene asked.

“No,” he said. “Tirnamardi. Lord Tatiseigi. It’s his. He’s my–” He realized he didn’t know ship‑speak for great‑uncle. “My mother’s mother’s brother.”

“Wow. He owns a whole city?”

He shook his head, struggled again for the right word, this time for house, and was immensely frustrated. “We go to his . . . Where he lives.”

“Apartment?”

“Like. But big.” It came to him–they had no houses, either. There were no words for it. Even apartments for them weren’t rooms in a building, but rooms off a corridor. “We say adija. Big. Lot of rooms. We’ll be there for a few days, then we go to Shejidan, to the Bujavid, for my party.”

“We’ve seen pictures of the Bujavid,” Artur said. “It’s huge.”

“My father’s apartment’s there. That’s where we’ll go for my birthday. First we go to Tirnamardi. They have mecheiti there.”

“It’s going to be good,” Gene said, and his eyes were wide and bright. “This is so good. We knew it was your birthday again. We heard about you. We knew you were all right. But pretty scary. A lot of scary stuff.”

That opened up difficult business. “Lots of trouble.” He had no idea where even to start telling them about the Shadow Guild and the trouble over on the coast. Or Malguri. Or what had happened at Tirnamardi before that. “But safe now. All fine.”

The bus slowed down. It was time for everybody to get out. His attention was all for his aishid for a second, for instructions, and then he realized he had forgotten to introduce them– everyone had a bodyguard, and bodyguards knew each other, and things passed back and forth. “Nadiin,” he said in Ragi. “This is Gene‑nadi. This is Artur‑nadi. This is Irene‑nadi. People, this is my aishid. This is Antaro. This is Jegari. This is Veijico. This is Lucasi. I wrote you about them.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Gene said.

“Nadiin,” Antaro said, with a polite little nod, Guild‑fashion. “We go now.”

“They speak ship !” Irene exclaimed.

“A little, nadiin,” Antaro said with a second nod, pleased, and up front, people were getting off and they would have to catch up. “We go now. Up.”

“We move fast now,” Cajeiri said. “Don’t stop.” Up front, two of mani’s bodyguards had lingered, and they had opened the baggage compartment of the bus, taking out what they had put on. Antaro and Jegari led out, and he followed with his guests, Lucasi and Veijico behind them. Tano got out ahead of them, and there were Kaplan and Polano, mirror‑faced helmets on, which made them look like machines–scarily so. But that was what bodyguards did–look as forbidding as possible if there was any chance of a threat. Everybody else was already getting on the train, and Tano went ahead of them as they caught up.

The steps were high, even for him, but very high for his guests. He made it in, and Gene, with a little jump, was right behind him. Veijico and Lucasi all but picked up Artur, setting him on the steps, and Gene hauled him up the next by the hand. Irene came next, lifted up gently by Lucasi.

“Everything’s so big, ” she said, staring all around her.

“ We’re just short ,” Gene said, with his big grin. They were in the car, now, and being urged away from the door. All the bodyguards were still standing, but he caught a glimpse of mani and Great‑uncle, and nand’ Bren and Jase‑aiji through the sea of black uniforms, settling into the seats at the rear.

One of the guards was Tano, who said, with a wave of his hand: “You and your guests may have the seats over there, with the let‑down table. There will be lunch very soon.”

“Thank you, Tano‑nadi,” he said with a little bow, and now, finally, they were going to be on their way and everything was going to work. “Is mani happy, and Uncle? Is everything all right?”

“Everything is perfectly fine, young gentleman.”

He hoped it was, but some of the bodyguards were still outside. Finally Kaplan and Polano came up onto the train ahead of a few of mani’s guards, and the door shut.

They were in, they were safe.

And lunch was coming.

He so wanted to introduce his guests, but it was not proper to do introductions of complete strangers to mani and Uncle in a crowded conveyance. It would have to be as if they were in two separate cars, the adults down there, and them here, at this end, and they had to be sure not to bother anybody.

“Sit here,” he invited his guests. “Food. Soon.”

“Food!” Gene said. “Excellent!”

Their own table, and very quickly iced bottles of fruit juice. No servants were present–they were all in the other cars . . . with the baggage–so it was one of mani’s guards who set down the drinks.

It was quiet, it was safe: the red car had excellent shielding–even the red velvet curtains that made it look as if there would be a window at the end of their table were for decoration only: there was no looking out. Not from this end of the car.

“We’re moving!” Irene said, with a startled look, and grabbed her drink. “Oh, this is scary! How fast does it go?”

“A little,” Cajeiri said. “Not like the ship.”

“What’s that sound?”

“Joints in the rail,” Cajeiri said.

“The other sound.”

“That’s the train. The machine.”

“Neat,” Artur said. “You can hear it breathe, can’t you?”

Breathe. He’d never thought of it like that, but Artur was right. It was neat. And they were happy. Nobody was sick or throwing up, which Bren had cautioned him could happen to them even without windows. They were eager for lunch, and the fruit drinks were fast disappearing.

But, he realized suddenly, he had to teach them things, like not eating just anything. He had told them once about nand’ Bren having to be careful what he ate, but that was on the ship. He had to be sure nobody got sick now. Or dead. It could be really serious, with some dishes. And even some teas.

And he had to present them to mani and Great‑uncle, once they got to Tirnamardi, in a way Great‑uncle would approve. Great‑uncle was so touchy. He had to make them understand where to be and how to talk to lords and servants.

And so many, many things there were Ragi words for, just Ragi words. Where did people born on a station far, far off from any world ever see a tree or a woods? There were words in the old archive, that they all knew. And there were vids. But not all of those words fit things and vids weren’t like standing next to a tree that towered over your head and dropped leaves into your hands.

They came from a place that was all one building. Just doors and hallways and lifts and tunnels.

It was just enormous, the mass of things he had to explain. He suddenly found nothing as easy as he thought it was, and it all was going to come at them in a few hours when they got to Tirnamardi.

He swallowed a mouthful of fruit juice, and decided he should just tell them Ragi words for what they could see around them. It was, after all, the way he had learned ship‑speak, when he had been in their world.

· · ·

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Banichi said, having taken a short walk down the aisle and back, as they finished lunch. “They seem to be doing very well. No motion sickness.”

“One is glad,” Bren said. “Thank you, Nichi‑ji.” He and Jase had their lunch together, a little separated from Ilisidi and Tatiseigi, and bodyguards did their own rotation, catching lunch in the little galley. Jase was doing very well, had an appetite, had no problem with the rock and sway of the train.

“Which of us is going to handle protocols?” he asked Jase. “How much have you told them?”

“That the bodyguards mean business, and that you don’t touch people. Particularly people with bodyguards.”

Bren laughed a little. “Children have latitude. Nobody would hurt them.”

“The boy’s grown this year.”

“Eight or nine, the kids shoot up fast. Big spurt between eight and twelve. All feet and elbows in a year or so–just like a human kid. The emotions are different–there’s adjustment, a little rebellious streak. Jago’s warned me.”

“Sounds like us.”

“But girls won’t be the focus. Man’chi will be. A push‑pull with the parents. Rebelliousness. Quick temper.”

“Sounds exactly like us, in that part,” Jase said. “I was a pain. My actual parents weren’t available to argue with, and I still argued with them–in the abstract. Wasn’t fair, them being so non‑communicative.”

Jase’s humor had a little biting edge to it. Jase was one of Taylor’s Children, stored genetic material, a special kid, harking back to the original crew. Ship aristocracy, in a manner of speaking. A living relic. A resource.

Sometimes, Bren suspected, from what he had heard Jase say, those who had raised him had forgotten he was still a human being.

“You turned out pretty well.”

“Dare I say, thanks to you?” A narrow‑eyed glance his way, then around the train. “Thanks to all of them. –When they decided to come back here, they decided to resurrect a few of us. Beginning a new era, I suppose. A marker. I wonder, sometimes, what they think of what they got. Yolanda’s gone philosophical. Meditates in a dark room. She scares me.”

Yolanda was another of Taylor’s Children. Like Jase, but not like. Cold as a fish and as prickly, in Bren’s way of thinking. “Seriously?”

“I think she’s in a career crisis. She didn’t like my promotion.” Jase heaved a sigh. “Authority problems. She’s always been a person who likes definitions. The planet bothered her. Translating bothered her. She’s got more realities in her head than she likes and she won’t go into the atevi section, won’t deal with Geigi. Geigi’s learned ship‑speak, since she’s resigned. She’s dropped linguistics. She’s gone over to research, records‑keeping, history of the ship, that sort of thing. I think it’s a cocoon. It’s safe.” He shrugged. “She and I don’t talk.”

“That’s too bad.” Yolanda had served as paidhi‑aiji, translating directly for Tabini, during the time he, and Jase, had been away on the ship, settling the Reunion mess. She’d been there–when the coup came.

The world she’d tended had blown up. At least the atevi side of it had, and stayed in chaos for most of two years, until the ship had gotten back from its mission and Tabini had retaken Shejidan. “You think she blamed herself for what happened?”

“She wasn’t you. She knew that much. It’s my understanding that she made some mistakes.”

The world she was trying to deal with had blown up. She’d failed, while Jase had been coopted into a captaincy, on a mission that succeeded brilliantly. So Yolanda was retreating into old records, which didn’t have ticking bombs in them. Another paidhi could somewhat figure that reaction. His own predecessor had come back from the mainland completely shut down, close‑jawed. A very unhappy and strange man.

“Suppose I could talk with her?”

“Maybe,” Jase said. And again: “Maybe.”

He put it on the agenda. When he found a way. Granted the world didn’t explode again, because of three human kids.

“So . . . who does handle the protocol explanation?” he asked.

“You know the twists and turns. I’m a student. You do it. I’m interested in not offending the other end of this bench.”

Truth–Ilisidi had found humans an unexpectedly interesting experience, and enjoyed her position among ship‑humans. Tatiseigi was a man atevi rated as difficult and volatile, a proud old conservative with no good opinion of human‑induced changes in the world. . . . But now the old man seemed to be undergoing a sudden and strange transformation in his attitudes–inviting the human paidhi to dinner. Having his collection televised. Inviting human children under his roof and accepting Jase’s appearance with two armored, other‑worldly bodyguards, all without a visible flicker of dismay.

Something had changed in the old man’s attitude. Bren didn’t know whether it was Ilisidi’s doing, through persuasion, or the events of last spring, when Tatiseigi’s beloved Tirnamardi had taken shellfire in Tabini’s cause, and the people in villages and towns had turned out cheering Tabini’s return and all of them that had helped bring him back, all the way to Shejidan. That had been an event. Tatiseigi had never been exposed to popularity.

Tatiseigi had generously lent Bren his apartment in the Bujavid during Tirnamardi’s repairs–until Tabini could find an excuse to throw a last nest of interlopers out of Bren’s own residence. And certainly Tatiseigi had been overjoyed to get Ilisidi back in the world–was happy beyond measure to have Cajeiri back safely–and he was delighted this year to know his niece Damiri was going to produce another baby.

A daughter that wouldn’t inherit the aishidi’tat. Cajeiri would.

But there was Tirnamardi. And Tatiseigi, heirless, had become downright reckless in his support of the dowager’s adventurism in the Marid, in Cajeiri’s, regarding his shipboard associates–

One saw a glimmering of logic in it all. The old man had a sudden wealth of prospects.

“Tatiseigi seems quite happy,” he said, “happy to have Ilisidi home safe, happy to have the aiji back, happy with the way things are going. The one thorn in his side got pitched out of the aiji’s court with no likelihood of coming back any time soon.”

“The way things are going? Seems to me you’ve still got some troubles rattling about the continent.”

The sense of ease grew just a little less. There were things he probably needed to explain to Jase. But they could wait.

“We have some serious ones,” he said. “But we’ve hardened the security considerably. Very considerably. Kaplan and Polano–” He shifted a glance over to the seats across the car. “I hope they get to enjoy their visit. I hope they won’t need to use that gear. Actually–I hope this visit leads to others. Maybe we can arrange that fishing trip.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Jase said. “I’d really enjoy that. You keep the world quiet. I’ll work on calming down the station.”

“We’ll get through this mess. Maybe the next birthday.” A dark figure approached. Bren looked up, finding Algini in front of him. “Gini‑ji?”

Algini squatted beside the bench seat. “There is a small security concern, Bren‑ji. We have moved in some additional Taibeni assets, with the cooperation of Lord Tatiseigi’s aishid. He may not be entirely pleased, but we prefer to be safe.”

Damn. “Ajuri?” Bren asked. No need to translate for Jase. Jase could understand it.

Algini said: “There is a movement of Ajuri Guild forces toward their perimeter. Lord Komaji is with them. We have not yet warned Lord Tatiseigi. We see no reason, at present, to concern him. We are working with his aishid.” Tatiseigi’s bodyguards were midway down the aisle, with, he saw, Banichi and Jago. “We have prepared for this eventuality, nandi. We are simply putting contingency plans into operation. Everything is prearranged, and the lord’s aishid is in full agreement. They will talk to him.”

Ajuri making a move toward Atageini territory put Ajuri Guild, give or take the small territories of two very small affiliated clans, right adjacent to Atageini territory.

“So our cover is not holding,” he said to Algini.

“Possibly,” Algini said. “Or possibly the move has relevance to Lord Tatiseigi’s exhibit in Shejidan. It may be designed to get Lord Tatiseigi’s attention. Lord Komaji remains technically within his associational territory and within his rights. It is possible this is wholly designed to annoy Lord Tatiseigi and embarrass him while he has public attention. But Komaji is not serving himself well by this move, if that is the case. He may have no idea that the dowager and the heir are in the path of his actions. That is one interpretation. Of course there is the chance he does know and is making a deliberate move to interfere.”

“Is there danger in continuing this trip, Gini‑ji? Should we reassess it?”

“In my estimate,” Algini said, “the risk is much greater in going back to Shejidan, and moving assets to cover us there. We have people and equipment positioned to protect us in Tirnamardi. If we rearrange things, our positions may become evident, and it might expose Lord Komaji’s move in such a way as to bring far more tension to this situation.”

“I hate to nudge the Kadagidi, either.”

“If they should make any gesture of hostility toward the Atageini while we are there, it would be a serious mistake on their part. They have no motive to be that foolish–granted no change in circumstances. I told you once about the Kadagidi lord’s aishid. About the Guild senior.”

“Haikuti.” There was no forgetting that. High‑level, dangerous, and possibly a holdover from Murini’s regime, serving the current lord, Aseida.

“Aseida is taking his advice from Haikuti, and Haikuti cannot benefit from making a move toward Tirnamardi. With the aiji’s son and grandmother at issue, Tabini‑aiji would have absolute justification to act without Filing. Once they do find out the nature of Lord Tatiseigi’s guests, they should worry that we are setting up exactly such a situation.”

He felt a chill. Algini rarely looked anyone straight in the eyes. Algini didn’t, at the moment, head down, as he kept the conversation very, very low. And Algini just didn’t blurt out extraneous information. He had to ask. “Would Haikuti be right ?”

“Say that we have already hardened the defenses at Tirnamardi,” Algini said. “And are about to assume an outward posture of alert, which should warn the Kadagidi that we are completely serious, and that the openness of Tirnamardi to their threat is ended. More, that preparedness will not go away when we do. We are not attempting to provoke a situation with either clan, Bren‑ji.” A slight hesitation, a shift of the eyes, gesturing toward Ilisidi. “One does not, however, know that that statement extends to all of us.”

Cenedi? More, the dowager.

Did he mean–?

Damn. The cold feeling hadn’t gone away. It grew, with a fast mental sort through prior discussions of the Kadagidi, and Ajuri, and a very prime target they were going to deal with one of these days. Eliminating Murini had just been clipping the head off a poisonous weed. The roots remained–buried deeply, they believed, in the Kadagidi.

And they had, on this train, the highest‑value targets in current politics, except Tabini himself.

Ilisidi was capable of a dice‑roll like that. She was entirely capable, if the stakes were high enough.

“One understands,” he said, and as Algini got up and went back to Tano, down the aisle:

“Jase, did you follow that?”

“Most of it,” Jase said, and then, after a deep breath, and very quietly: “Geigi and I had a conversation.”

Geigi. Whose aishid had had a personal briefing before he went back to space.

“What did Geigi tell you?”

“I know the Kadagidi, from my own experience. I know that relationship. I know there’s some trouble in the aiji’s household. I know about the grandfather. And I know there’s a problem inside the Guild that’s ongoing, and that it’s a matter of great concern. Geigi asked me–personally–to advise the captains this is going on.”

Geigi would not have done that uninstructed. There were two people who could give Geigi that kind of instruction. “What did they say about it?”

“The conclusion was that you could handle it. Go ahead with the visit. Bring my own protection. They know your bodyguards prioritize.”

“I’m glad of their confidence, but–”

“In their view, there’s a risk if this isn’t dealt with. In their view, Tabini, and you, and the dowager, and the boy–are irreplaceable. I agree with that.”

He worked with risks. He dealt with cold equations day in, day out, and the concept that an eight‑year‑old boy could be a target was a given.

But there were bits and pieces of this he began to think were missing.

“You could have postponed this and let us handle it.”

“We had an invitation,” Jase said. “An excuse to have a look down here. To talk, as we’re doing. Tabini got caught by surprise once. Not twice, we think. But we don’t intend to end up with another situation as bad as Murini in charge down here.”

“You had an invitation. I’ve asked you down here. Fishing, I said. If you think it’s all going to hell down here, you could have kept the kids and just sent us reinforcements!”

“We have our reasons, Bren. Internal reasons, which really don’t affect the situation Algini was talking about. The kids are here because it suits our purposes. I’m here to show the Reunioners we care about those kids, enough to put one of the four captains at risk . . . should there be a risk.” A tilt of Jase’s head. “Seriously, Bren, I’m here to assess the situation. We have communications methods that don’t need to go through Mogari‑nai. If you really need Geigi to drop one of his relay stations onto the Kadagidi’s doorstep, he’s prepared to do it.”

And scare hell out of the general population. My God. “That’s a joke.”

A faint smile. “Of course it’s a joke. But not the fact we’re serious about your survival. If we sent a force down here–Geigi didn’t have to tell me it would upset things. Upset a lot of people. Kids, however. Not so threatening. A ship‑captain? Of course I have a bodyguard.”

It made a sort of sense. It apparently made sense enough that even Tatiseigi hadn’t been that upset.

It didn’t reassure him, however, about the underlying situation.

“I don’t know if you caught all of what Algini just advised me. He hints that she may be pulling the strings on this whole business. If that’s true–she’s using this the same way you are. She’s positioning assets. She won’t want to upset the boy’s birthday. But she’s preparing something. If it can stay quiet, we get through this and get all the kids back where they belong with no problem. If it doesn’t–you understand this matter is reaching inside the Guild itself.”

“I’m right with you.”

The hindbrain was working, assembling pieces. Now he began to get a grasp of why Tatiseigi had so amazingly volunteered to take in a flock of human children. Tatiseigi probably didn’t know exactly why he’d been asked to fling himself into the breach–Ilisidi’s last recourse to him had entailed the whole last year repairing Tirnamardi–but he’d bet anything that the old man had gotten a flattering, urgent, and desperate appeal from Ilisidi to do it for Cajeiri, on whom Tatiseigi doted above all things.

“All right,” he said. “These kids. Geigi said there were problems.”

“I have a dossier on each of them.”

He wasn’t entirely surprised. “So.”

“Basically good kids,” Jase said, shot a look to the rear of the car, then said. “Irene’s our problem. Not the kid. Her mother. She was very upset about Irene’s association with Cajeiri. I won’t say what she said, but it got to the net. Then the Reunioners figured out who Cajeiri was. That changed things. Fast. Some of the people we trust least have become good friends of this woman. When the invitation came, Irene’s mother said yes with not one question about the conditions, the safety, anything. The kid was scared of the trip. Scared of the landing. Scared of her mother is my guess. Artur’s parents asked every question they could think of. Sabin talked to them, and they were still reluctant, but the boy wanted it. This is the boy that wrote a letter every week. Of course the letters weren’t getting through. But he said he was always sure Cajeiri would answer when he could.”

“And Gene?”

Jase let go a slow breath. “Gene–Gene’s mother’s another story. Gene got swept up by security. Guess where? The atevi section. Turned out he’d been missing three days prior and his mother hadn’t reported it. When the invitation came, he reported himself to admin, real scared that that detention record was going to stop him. A kid, solo, going up into admin. His mother had to sign. That’s all she did. The other parents turned up to see their kids board. If you want my guess, Gene had four, five people for one year of his life who actually cared where he was. We reached port. The group broke up. That was it. He’s waited for this. Probably more than any of them.”

“Confirms my instinct,” Bren said. If there was one kid of the three that–just from what he’d heard from Cajeiri–might well be the human associate Cajeiri needed, he thought it wouldn’t be the compliant, pleasant Artur. Irene? She might or might not adapt. But Gene, the troublemaker, Gene, the kid who had showed them the tunnels, was the one Cajeiri always mentioned first.

And Gene was the one Bren resonated with personally. This solo leave‑taking from the station felt very familiar. The scene when he’d told his own mother he was headed to the mainland for a year at a time, that his assignment had come through? Her response hadn’t exactly been congratulatory.

Long while since he’d thought of that. But he certainly hadn’t had the blessing of his family.

“They didn’t do anything on the ship without Cajeiri,” he said. “Now they’re in a strange place. They’re likeliest to take his cues. Put Cajeiri in charge of them whenever you’re not there. He has his own bodyguard. And his great‑grandmother is here. He minds her more than anyone.”

Jase said: “We’ve got one more asset. Locators on the kids.”

“Can they take them off?”

“Not without going barefoot.”

“Good,” he said. “Good!”

He felt better about the situation, hearing that. He wasn’t mad at Ilisidi, or at Cenedi. She had her objectives. They were essentially atevi objectives, and for the good of the side he was on. A chance to fortify Tatiseigi, and do it by sleight of hand, so that it looked like the security that would attend the unprecedented grouping of herself and her grandson and a batch of foreign guests out at Tirnamardi? Of course she took it.

But her movement to that place was as clandestine as they could make it, and that security wasn’t going away when they went back to the capital. It was going to stay right there, and any notions the Kadagidi had of reaching out to intimidate their neighbor or remove the dowager’s most valuable ally would meet that security head on.

Sooner or later the Kadagidi were going to make that move. Sooner or later, the Kadagidi were going to realize that the sudden dearth of information from inside Tirnamardi was not a temporary condition, that the investment they’d made over centuries, getting persons of Kadagidi man’chi into positions in Atageini centers of town government, even into Tatiseigi’s household–was never going to pay off. Their entire operation was being dismantled, that at Tirnamardi first. Then the others. Kadagidi Guild would realize it. They would have to watch it happen–piece by piece–and eventually they would realize at least some of the information they had already gotten was false.

That was the slow way things could evolve.

In a way, that was what had just happened to Ajuri, on a smaller scale, when Tabini had tossed out Damiri’s Ajuri staff. Lord Komaji now found himself cut off, with no information, when his daughter was about to give birth, and when his grandson had started turning up on the news with Ilisidi and human children.

Komaji’s move toward the Atageini made sense in that context. Komaji might well be trying to get more information, among the clans next to Atageini land–it was always a soft border, with the smaller clans dealing with one side and the other.

That the dowager, who was supposed to be headed for Malguri, was actually going toward Tirnamardi at the same time was something Komaji might not know.

There was a certain danger in that. Komaji had been a fool in the Bujavid. His reputation was in tatters. If, when he found out about Ilisidi and the children, he made a move down into Atageini land–

That was the fast way the situation with the Kadagidi could evolve.

But the Kadagidi would be fools to get involved with Komaji’s mistake.

Total fools.

· · ·

Linens arrived.

Tableware. More fruit juice. Plates with sandwiches. And eggs.

“What’s this?” Irene asked.

“A pickled egg,” Cajeiri said, and popped one into his mouth. “It’s safe. Red eggs, don’t eat. The green are all safe. Enjoy it.”

Irene tried it, tasting just the end, and screwed up her face. She put it down and carefully looked into the sandwich lying on her plate.

“Don’t do that,” Gene said. “If you look, you’re just going to be worried about it. And you know what they said. Whatever it is, just eat it. They’ll be sure it’s safe for us.” He had eaten his egg in two mouthfuls, washed it down with fruit juice, and took a bite of the sandwich. “Pretty good actually, together.”

“I hate spicy things,” Irene said in a thin voice.

“You’re going to get real hungry in two weeks,” Artur said. “Better eat it, girl. You know what the captain said.”

Irene did, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She ate it like Gene, in two big bites, washed it down with sweet orangelle, which was, truthfully, not the best combination, but that was the drink she had wanted. She shivered all over. “It’s sour! ”

“Won’t kill you,” Gene said. “Got to do it. Or in two weeks you’re going to be a lot skinnier.”

“Long time ’til supper,” Artur said.

“Try the teacake, Rene‑ji,” Cajeiri said. Everybody liked cakes.

She was upset. Irene got upset when they teased her. But after a little bite of that, her face brightened. “Oh, that’s good !”

“Dessert,” Gene said. “It’ll be a good last bite.”

“Come on, Reny,” Artur said. “Dare you. You can do it. You’re not going to back out now.”

She had another bite of sandwich.

The lunches all disappeared–in Irene’s case, in large bites, quickly swallowed, washed down with the fruit drink. It was, Cajeiri thought, fairly brave of her, especially the egg, which, to be honest, he had used to dislike. He gave her his own teacake, and she looked at him.

And very reluctantly pushed it back, as his.

“I can get more,” he said, which was almost always true. If they were there for dessert, there would be a supply for tea. “Do you want more?”

They did. He asked mani’s guards if there were extra cakes, and indeed, they each had one more, to finish their lunch, and then black tea, which Irene also found a challenge, but she drank it.

“Ugh,” she said after a big mouthful, but after a moment she took another one. And another.

He had used to bring food from mani’s table to the passages of the ship, so it was not their first sample of atevi cooking, but it was a lot more elaborate. He had been afraid what he brought would poison them, before, so he had mostly stolen sweet dried things they thought were candy.

Now they had to face slimy pickled eggs. But they liked the cakes, and they had eaten all of a whole regular meal, and nobody was sick.

That was very good.

After they had cleared away lunch, they sat at their table and talked and talked–about living on the station, and where they lived now, and what they had been doing for the last year–Irene and Artur had lessons, mostly, a lot of math and science. Their parents were strict about it. “We couldn’t get out much,” Irene said. “The station’s big.” She used several words he could not get, saying something about Mospheirans that sounded unhappy.

“The atevi section you can’t get into,” Gene said. “I tried. I just wanted to see, you know. Security is pretty tight. That was a big mistake.”

His face wasn’t happy when he talked about that. The others looked uncomfortable. Everything they said about the station sounded unhappy, but he could only get the little words, not the big ones.

He tried to think of something else in the awkward silence, something that would make them happy. Something they could talk about. Then he thought about his slingshota. He took it out of his pocket, and took out the three stones and laid them on the table.

“What’s that?” Gene asked.

“One of my good things.”

“That’s weird,” Irene said, and reached out carefully and fingered the handle very carefully. Tapped it. “Is that plastic?”

He didn’t couldn’t remember their word for wood. “Tree,” he said. “Tree stuff.”

“You’re kidding,” Gene said. “Wood?” He touched it carefully. “I’ve never felt it.”

Artur picked up one of the stones, and said a new word. Irene said it again and added: “What planets and moons are made of.”

“Rock,” Cajeiri said in Ragi. “That’s a rock.”

“Rock,” Artur said. “Rock, yes. I guess it is. But I’ve never had my hands on one.”

“You’re kidding,” Cajeiri said, and then he remembered they had never been outside the ship or the station. And he could not think of anywhere on the station that was rock, or stone.

“It’s smooth,” Artur said, then, and he rolled it around between his fingers. “Is it made?”

“Water,” Cajeiri said. “Water made it smooth.”

“How,” Gene asked, “do you make it do that?”

That was an odd question. But then he realized he had no ship‑speak word for river. Or stream. There was ocean. But no word for waves or beach. What they had talked about on the ship was the ship, usually. Occasionally stories they remembered.

He had come prepared. He had a little notebook, and a pen. He started drawing the seacoast, and the peninsula. “Najida. This. Nand’ Bren’s.” He started describing things in Ragi, slowly, and Irene wanted paper, and borrowed the pen to write the words her way on her paper. So they started giving each other words, using the rocks and the slingshota and the juice sloshing in the cup. Waves. Beach. Rocks. Pebbles. Sand. Tides.

It was the old game, the way they had used to be, and he began to feel increasingly at ease. He showed them how the slingshota worked, and that got the attention of mani’s bodyguards–but he did not fire a stone, no. He just showed them.

“That’s really wicked!” Gene said, admiring it.

“Neat,” Artur said.

They were impressed. And everything was perfect.

· · ·

The young group back there, Jago reported, and Kaplan also observed, was entertaining themselves very happily, and being remarkably quiet about it. Bren and Jase sat and talked, and Ilisidi and Tatiseigi conversed at length, before Ilisidi invited them to sit together and do small talk regarding the ship, the persons Ilisidi dealt with–notably Captain Sabin.

“We are trying to persuade Lord Tatiseigi to pay a visit to the station,” Ilisidi said lightly. “Perhaps you can prevail.”

“One would realize the extreme honor of such an invitation,” Tatiseigi said with a forbidding gesture. “But I would decline. Flying does not agree with me.”

“There is no such sensation on the space station,” Ilisidi said.

“One has no desire to be sealed into a tube and flung into the heavens. With all courtesy, nandi,” Lord Tatiseigi added, with a little nod toward Jase, “toward the elegance I am told exists in the heavens. I am certain it exceeds imagination. But simply to move between Shejidan and Tirnamardi is such an untidy business. One can only imagine the difficulties of a household lifted to the station. Yet–yet I am aware both you and nand’ Bren do maintain such arrangements.”

“We have very capable staff, nandi. Extraordinary people.”

“Ah. There is the grade,” Tatiseigi said relative to the train’s motion. It was slowed a bit, then gathered speed again. “That will be a quarter of an hour to our destination, nandiin. Not so rapid as your shuttle. But one is accustomed to it.”

Guild around them were getting up from seats, putting away service items.

“Nandiin,” Ilisidi said purposefully, then, in a tone that had nothing of banter about it. “We shall enjoy the hospitality of our esteemed Tatiseigi. We shall see nothing untoward comes near these children.”

“Let me assure the ship‑aiji,” Tatiseigi said, “that he is welcome under my roof. We have ample room. Ample room.”

“Nand’ Tatiseigi.” Jase gave a very courteous bow, with no hint of bemusement–though he was amazed, Bren was sure. The old man had been pleasant the entire trip. Happy in the event? Bren wondered.

The old man was going to get off the train and run into Taibeni, who were coming in, arranged by Tatiseigi’s own staff. He thought a warning might be in order. He decided on it.

“There will be, one is advised, nandi, Taibeni at the station. An assistance. They are reliable.”

A brow quirked, just a little. The iron good will stayed in place. “Our allies,” he said, as if the words tasted entirely strange. “Yes. That is good to know, nand’ paidhi.”

12

The train pulled to a stop. The door opened. The dowager’s men went out first onto the platform. The word came back, clearly, and more went out, and the baggage cars next door opened up, distant thumps.

Bren got up. Jase did, then Lord Tatiseigi, and, last, Ilisidi, as the aisle had mostly cleared and unloading was proceeding outside. The youngsters stayed where they were–courtesy of the youngest Guild present. Kaplan and Polano, who had generally tried not to block the aisle, and who had found the far side of the galley the easiest for their bulky stance, put their helmets on, as Jase slipped a communications earpiece into his ear and from that moment on was in communication with them.

“Let Cajeiri’s aishid move the kids,” Bren said. Maneuvering was too tight for Kaplan and Polano, and Cajeiri’s aishid was getting instructions. “Bren‑ji,” Banichi said, his own signal, and he joined Banichi and Jago, going quickly down the aisle, in a fast sequence. Jase and his guard would be behind them. Tano and Algini were near the door. Guild moved their own baggage. Personal baggage stayed–it would get there, but not on the bus.

The open door brought a bracing waft of valley air, and daylight, a step down to the platform–baggage was piling up, and a cluster of Taibeni in brown and green were handing it out, one to another.

Bren followed Banichi’s gesture, left turn, moving with dispatch; the kids all together, with their young escorts, all headed toward the vehicles waiting beside the platform, in front of a small stand of trees: the red and black bus up from Najida, and two old and well‑used green and brown trucks. Taibeni colors, those, checked and secure.

The human kids stopped abruptly–frozen in place, staring . . . as three riders on mecheiti moved past the bus. Lean, towering beasts, mecheiti were built for speed, twice a human’s height, with curved necks and shining brass war‑caps on the short tusks that jutted from the lower jaw.

Stopping was prudent. The mecheiti had caught wind of something foreign, and the lead rider used his quirt to move his mecheita past, giving their group a wide berth. The other two followed, around the station office, out of sight.

Welcome to the Padi Valley, Bren thought, as he followed Banichi down the steps of the train station platform.

The kids were close behind, Cajeiri and Gene in the lead, then Artur. Irene was coming, holding to the wooden rail and looking anxiously in the direction the riders had come from. Veijico and Lucasi were right with her, wanting her to catch up, and she jogged a couple of steps, the kids bunching up again.

Off to the right was another group of riders. It was the trucks that were the rarity in Taiben. The lodge had them, for supply, for commerce; but the forest that was Taiben, the deep woods–mecheiti navigated those narrow trails and crossed the hunting ranges efficiently, with no need for costly and intrusive roads. It was a way of life far different than other clans–the Taibeni‑Atageini war had lasted over two hundred years for one thing because the Taibeni had never cared much what their neighbors did, or thought. The Taibeni used the same train station as the Atageini. They had visitors come in, and they would get them and their baggage to the lodge deep in the woods, by the sole road.

For the rest–Taibeni sons and daughters took service in certain of the outside guilds, and there was indeed a lord of Taiben, but he rarely went to Shejidan unless a vote was close. They had had occasional disputes with the Atageini, usually around this train station–but nothing like an active war.

Bren reached the bus, where Taibeni riflemen stood–hesitated there to look back at Jase. “Best we board last,” he said, and waited there while the last of their party came at their necessary pace. The train, meanwhile, continued to produce baggage that young Taibeni passed off the platform and onto the truck.

There was one large, unlikely item that came out of the baggage car. With Cajeiri’s servants.

He was aware of Jegari, observing from the steps behind him. “Nandiin,” Jegari said, and vanished up onto the bus. “They have it,” Bren heard him say, inside. “It is coming, nandi.”

A shriek rose above the platform. Boji was excited.

“A pet,” Bren said to Jase, watching Tatiseigi exchanging a word with one of the older Taibeni. It was a remarkable moment, lost in the rumbling of the huge cage as it came closer to the platform edge. They were going to have to take that down the ramp and lift it in.

“They’re moving fast,” Jase remarked in ship‑speak. “Are we worried?”

“The Taibeni want this part to go right. The dowager’s involved. Tatiseigi’s a new ally. And they don’t want to linger here. Technically the rail stations are neutral ground. They want to get back into defined clan territory–which in this case is Tatiseigi’s. There, what happens is Atageini responsibility.”

Ilisidi and Tatiseigi were headed for the bus now.

“Your lads are going to have to do what they did at the port,” Bren said. “Board last.”

“No worry,” Jase said.

Nawari and Casimi were with Ilisidi, help enough on the steps, and she had her cane. Tatiseigi had two of his bodyguard. Bren reached for the assisting rail, and Jago gave him a helpful shove from below. Jase came up, likely the same way; Jago and Banichi, Tano and Algini all boarded and went past them, toward the rear.

Bren sat down in the seat facing Tatiseigi; Jase sat down across from Ilisidi; and the children were in seats across the aisle. Kaplan and Polano boarded, and the driver shut the door.

“Well,” Tatiseigi said. Tatiseigi was to ride a pleasantly warm bus instead of his own antique and elegant open car, but not necessarily happy about it. The kids exclaimed and recoiled from the window, as the heads of mecheiti appeared, the riders passing right beside the bus as it began to move. The kids’ outcry, not the mecheiti, got a twitch from Veijico; but they were all right. Cajeiri was laughing.

“One noted Ragi colors on this conveyance,” Tatiseigi said. “Indeed, those colors are always welcome on Atageini land.”

Bren was not about to admit it was his personal bus. No. It was going to come out. He had to say something eventually. Just–not at this moment.

Cajeiri was happily pointing at something. The children leaned to look. Bren had no idea what they were looking at. The back aisle was packed, Guild seated where they could, standing where they could find room. But not enough of them. A few of Ilisidi’s young men, Bren thought, must be staying with the two trucks.

The driver took a right turn, up and over the track, and onto the road.

The packed crowd swayed. Steadied. Trees whipped past, close at hand, which had used to affect Jase. But Jase seemed perfectly steady despite the movement, the horizon problem. He even turned to have a look out the other side.

“Are you all right?” Bren asked Jase, in ship‑speak. “Medication holding up?”

Jase put a hand on his forearm. “Constant dose,” Jase said. And changed to Ragi. “One is faring very well, Bren‑ji. One needs to settle in, now. One must get the vocabulary up.”

It took only a few minutes of conversation–mutual acquaintances, the cell phone affair, the changes in the apartment and the problems getting the Farai shifted out of his residence before they could even think about reconstruction–before Jase was “settled in.” Jase glitched on the occasional words, but he’d been working. And he kept a fortunate numerology on the fly; it was no small trick.

The bus reached rolling grassland, open, a relatively unlikely spot for snipers.

Thank God, Bren thought.

They had reached Atageini land, and done it without incident.

· · ·

The road became a grassy track through the hunting range, and straight as an arrow. The mecheiti riders kept up with the bus quite handily, the bus taking only a moderate pace.

And there was, scarcely visible except at the very edge of the track, a peculiar condition on the road. The only vehicles that routinely took this track were Tatiseigi’s magnificent open car–rarely–the estate truck, traveling either to the train station or to the town some distance to the northeast, or town trucks and vans, taking people to the train station, or bringing supplies into the estate. As roads in the Padi Valley went, it was a veritable highway–

But usually the grass stood up.

At the moment, as best Bren could observe from his vantage, the grass was quite flattened. The road was well‑defined, indicating a lot of recent traffic. Bren glanced at Tatiseigi, wondering if the old man had noticed that, and noted how much traffic, most of it perhaps from Taiben, had gone to and from his land.

Tatiseigi, however, was busy talking to Ilisidi.

One had an idea that Guild on the bus, standing in the aisle back there, hadn’t missed it. But they probably had no doubt of the cause. Trucks had been moving in equipment and supplies, setting up what Cenedi had arranged.

They took a slow curving turn.

“I see the hedge!” Cajeiri exclaimed, from his side of the aisle.

The estate hedge, indeed it was, a thick green barrier that towered up as high as a two‑story building and went on and on over the horizon, defining Tatiseigi’s personal grounds. It was thorny stuff. It had grown around massive stakes, from ancient times, when mecheiti riders, cannon, and muzzle loaders had contended in district wars. Absent the cannon and modern artillery, it was still formidable, tough and fibrous strands with thorns the width of a man’s hand, and as thick as the bus was wide–a barrier even mecheiti would not attempt.

The whole perimeter had only a formal front gate, which came visible just ahead, and a smaller, more utilitarian one on the far side of the house.

The bus slowed to a crawl, then almost immediately rolled forward as the ornate iron gates opened electronically, the riders going ahead of them.

Taibeni, moving freely into the heart of Atageini land.

“Home,” Tatiseigi said, sitting with his back to the movement of those riders.

They rolled onto gravel, now. The inner road was well‑kept, running beside the southern hedge, rimming a broad, rolling meadowland, a huge expanse of it. Lord Tatiseigi’s grounds were famous and extensive, enclosing pasturage for his mecheiti herd and providing insulation from the world.

But something else showed, from Bren’s view: a cluster of trucks, one with a mast and communication dishes, and a handful of tents. The mecheita riders headed off in that direction, toward what had to be a Guild field camp.

His fixed stare had gotten Tatiseigi’s attention. Tatiseigi turned and took a look out the window, straight out, then further over his shoulder as the bus moved past the camp.

“There is a camp on my grounds!”

“There are two small camps, Tati‑ji,” Ilisidi said. “You know we are taking measures. They will be out of sight, quite out of the way. You will not know they are here.”

“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said, visibly perturbed. “All this business of new men and retiring my old servants–and taking one of my storerooms–I have resigned myself to new faces; but I am beyond uneasy to be met with this camp at the gate. How much more is there, up at the house?”

Ilisidi held up a finger. “One little antenna on the roof. A camera or two. You will not see them from the ground.”

“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said, and Bren decided it was a good time to study something off to the side and across the aisle.

“Is the threat that great, aiji‑ma?” Tatiseigi asked.

“Tati‑ji,” Ilisidi said, “our conscience still troubles us, after the damage our presence inflicted this last year. You have been so staunch an ally–well, I shall say it: brave. You have been the bravest, the steadiest, the most trusted and the closest of our allies. I lie awake at night thinking of the danger, not so much to me– I have such very extensive protections constantly about me, and I have come through every attempt. But, Tati‑ji, my closest associates are, by comparison, far easier targets, and the very ones my enemies will go after first, to do me harm. They know they cannot attack me –until they have buried my allies, my protectors, and taken away my strongest supporters. Terror is their weapon, and I know you do not feel it–nor do I–but let us not give them access here. These are an enemy that has no respect for such ancient premises. These are people who attack civilians and servants, and have not observed any such requirement as Filing. This enemy murders old servants, like gentle old Eidi, who died at my grandson’s door, brave, loyal and holding his post. I cannot suffer such losses. I will not have such things happen here. I will not have a single vase shaken on a shelf in Tirnamardi, let alone these bloody‑booted outlaws tramping through your halls, destroying what they are too crass ever to understand. No. I need you, Tati‑ji. I shall not have your bravery putting you at risk! I will not lose you! Suffer these small changes. And stand by me.”

My God, Bren thought. She had the gift.

“Aiji‑ma,” Tatiseigi said. “One hears. One is honored by your concern.”

The bus rolled on.

Jase said, quietly, “This is all your estate, Lord Tatiseigi? It is huge. I have tried to think how long it took this hedge to grow.”

Tatiseigi, still unhappy, said past a clenched jaw, “Four centuries, ship‑aiji.”

“It is very beautiful, this place,” Jase said. “I am very grateful that you have offered your hospitality. I shall try to be a good guest.”

“Honored, ship‑aiji.” Tatiseigi gave a nod of his head, unbending a little, though he kept looking anxiously out the window, in search of other tents, one could well imagine. “You hosted the aiji‑dowager aboard your ship. One is pleased to return the gesture, in her name.”

“Nandi,” Jase said properly, with a little nod.

“Those two–” Tatiseigi said, resigning his search for tents with a little shift of the eyes toward the aisle, by implication Kaplan and Polano. “Is that their indoor uniform?”

“No, nandi,” Jase said. “Not at all. They wear it now because I am traveling between safe places, but once indoors, be assured, they will be happy to put on ordinary clothes.”

“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said diplomatically, nodded, and looked measurably relieved.

The bus rolled on at a moderate pace on the graveled drive, and exclamations from the youngsters said they had seen something.

Bren looked ahead, between Ilisidi’s seatback and Polano’s white shoulder.

The last time he had seen Tirnamardi, there had been shell‑holes in the masonry and broken gaps in the low, ornamental hedge of the front drive.

It sat on its low rise looking as serene as if there had never been an attack from the Kadagidi. The road curved. The grass had grown over the trampled lawn, and, on the other side of the bus, the house, a rectangular stone affair of many windows, showed neither patches nor scaffolding.

“I can see the house, nandiin‑ji,” Bren said, “and it is beautiful again, nandi. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said, “it has been a struggle.” He drew a deep breath, and courteously addressed himself to Jase. “Understand, ship‑aiji, our neighbors attacked us with mortars, and even our allies made wreckage of our hedges. We sought out shrubs of exact girth and age, and we have nurtured them through last summer. We have brought stone from the exact quarries, and while the match is not perfect, it will age.”

“We look forward to it,” the dowager said, as the tires rolled onto the paved part of the drive, rumbling on the brickwork. On that broad curve, the bus slowly came to a halt. The doors of the great house opened, pouring out servants and Tatiseigi’s security.

The bus door opened. Kaplan and Polano had to be the first off. One hoped security was warned.

“Now you must escort us, nandi,” the dowager said, setting her cane before her, and Tatiseigi gallantly struggled to his feet and offered his hand.

Guild had sorted themselves out by the seating arrangement of their lords, and Cenedi and his group moved out, immensely relieving the congestion back there, and Tatiseigi’s aishid after them. Cajeiri got up, and his guests did, as Bren and Jase got up.

Banichi and the rest of the aishid followed right behind them. They stepped down the far last step onto the pavings of Tatiseigi’s drive, with Kaplan and Polano waiting at the left, the dowager and Tatiseigi already headed up the steps. The two trucks with the baggage were right behind them. The white dust of the gravel was still lingering in the air along the road.

The children came down next, exclaiming in amazement at everything.

“They’ve never seen a stone building,” Jase said quietly. “Or a building, for that matter. Everything’s a wonder to them. They’ll want to know everything.”

“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Bren said. “A few showers. That should provide entertainment. So much of the world one takes for granted. We have to arrange that fishing trip, Jase.”

“I’m going to do my damnedest,” Jase said. “So many textures. So many details.”

They walked up into the foyer, the hall of lilies, those beautiful porcelain bas relief tiles that were the pride of the house, and there was Tatiseigi, Cajeiri, and the dowager watching three human children standing in awe of the porcelain flowers.

“They’re cold,” Artur said, touching a flower petal with the merest tip of his finger. “But not really cold.”

Then they all had to touch, very gently.

“Ceramic,” Bren said. “Bow nicely to your host and tell him you think the flowers are beautiful.”

They did exactly that, and for the old lord, clearly anxious for the welfare of his lilies, they could not have picked a better feature to compliment. He nodded benignly.

“They are very delicious, nandi!” Artur insisted, as if Tatiseigi had failed to hear the compliment, and Cajeiri quickly snagged his arm and Gene’s and, Irene following, got them all up the steps and into the main house ahead of the adults.

“Wow!” echoed upstairs, as the youngsters got a look at the halls inside, the ornate scrollwork, the lily motif repeated, the grand hall with its gilt, the high windows, the paintings and vases.

Bren said, quietly, “One believes the boy’s attempted word just now was beautiful, nandi. The children are absolutely in awe of the house.” Indeed the old lord had just had his precedence and the dowager’s violated, in his own front hall. “One sincerely apologizes.”

“For my great‑grandson,” Ilisidi finished dourly, though Bren thought the young gentleman had been admirably quick about getting Artur upstairs before he mispronounced beautiful again. Ilisidi made the climb to the main floor on Lord Tatiseigi’s arm, as the high hall echoed to young voices. The children were standing in the center of the hall, revolving like so many planets as they gazed all about the baroquerie and the gilt stairway and the windows.

“Lord Tatiseigi is bearing up with extraordinary patience,” Bren muttered to Jase as they walked up together, his aishid walking quietly, and Jase’s pair with servos whining at every step.

“Beautiful!” was the word from above. Safely in ship‑speak, this time.

They reached the main floor to effect a rescue.

But, unprecedented sight, the old man stood beside Ilisidi with a smile dawning on his face, watching the children so admiring his house. She smiled, pleased as well. “Well, well,” he said. “They are certainly appreciative.”

Cajeiri saw them, cast a worried look at his guests, and hurried over to give a sober, harried bow. “Mani, Great‑uncle! Shall we be lodged together? May I take them upstairs?”

“As the dowager permits,” Lord Tatiseigi said, and nodded toward the handful of servants lined up by the stairs. “They will guide you. Do tell the servants, young gentleman, they should open the white suite for Jase‑aiji and his bodyguard. –Ship‑aiji, my staff will make suitable arrangements, and if there is any need, do ask my staff. –Nand’ paidhi. You will have the blue suite. I am confident it is ready for you.”

“Nandi,” Bren said with a little bow, and to Jase–not sure Jase would have understood, since when he spoke to his own, Tatiseigi used the regional accent: “The white suite is adjacent to the blue. We’ll have time to catch up before–”

About that time there was a sudden bang and a considerable clatter and sound of wheels on the marble floor downstairs.

Lord Tatiseigi looked alarmed.

A shriek echoed up from the foyer, ear‑piercing and echoing.

The human kids froze in alarm. Ilisidi simply said, with a sigh, “The parid’ja, Tati‑ji.”

Tatiseigi drew a large breath and said, “There are no antiquities in the suite assigned to the young gentleman and his guests.” He signaled and snapped his fingers for staff, who stood looking downstairs. “The young gentleman’s suite, for that.”

No breakables seemed an excellent idea, in Bren’s opinion. He had no idea how they were to get the cage upstairs but to carry it. There were no lifts in Tirnamardi, most features of which predated the steam engine.

But they were safe. They were within walls, inside a security envelope that three clans, the paidhi’s security, and ship security were not going to let be cracked. He had worried all the way. But what Cenedi had had moved in here was not just the presence of younger Guildsmen, and more of them, it was surveillance. And, he was sure, it was also armament to back it up. Nothing was going to move on the grounds without their knowing.

And count the mecheiti in that camp as a surveillance device right along with the electronics. Surveillance and armament: one did not want to be a stranger afoot with mecheiti on the hunt.

· · ·

Uncle’s house was just the way Cajeiri remembered it–only without the shells going off outside–and his birthday was absolutely certain now. Uncle had been patient, mani was not unhappy, Jase‑aiji was a happy surprise for nand’ Bren and for him, too, and it was what he had dreamed of, having Gene and Artur and Irene with him.

They all trooped along with the servants who guided them up the main stairs, and by the time they got up to that floor, there, making a huge racket, and silhouetted in the light of the windows at the end, came Boji’s cage, and his servants, Eisi and Lieidi, and two of Uncle’s, pushing it up the hall. Boji was bounding around, terrified by all the rattling and the strange place and the strange people, after the train ride and the truck, and he let out shrieks as they came, right to the middle suite on the floor, while he and his guests waited.

The servants nodded a polite respect, and rolled the cage right through the door, into a suite with big, wonderful, sunny windows, tall as a man, and filmy white draperies that blew in the breeze from the open windows. It was a beautiful room. Nippy from the breeze, but after all the traveling, even that felt good.

“Put him near the window, nadiin,” Cajeiri told the servants. Nand’ Bren’s servants had wired the cage door shut for the trip, and there was no way Boji could get loose. He was bouncing from one perch to another and looking very undone, panting, once the cage stopped, and staring at him with pitiful white‑rimmed eyes, with his fur all messy.

“Poor Boji,” he said, putting his fingers through the grillwork, so Boji could smell them and be sure it was him. “Poor Boji. I am sorry, I am sorry. –Close the window, Eisi‑ji. They have spilled all his water.” It was in a glass jar with a tube, and it had emptied with the bouncing about. He was sure Eisi and Lieidi had kept him watered and fed on the train. “Get him water. And an egg. Poor Boji.” Boji was crowding close to the grillwork, up against his hand. Boji put his longest finger out and clamped it on his finger. It was very sad.

“Is he all right?” Artur asked.

“Just scared.” He kept his hand where it was. Artur reached out, but Boji moved away.

“He’s a monkey,” Irene said. “Just like in the archive.”

“Sort of. He’s a parid’ja. They eat eggs. They climb after eggs, for people.”

“Climb after eggs.”

“Some. Two kinds.” He could not remember the word for dig. The baggage was starting to arrive, and with it, there would be eggs. He kept soothing Boji, and Lieidi came back with the water bottle filled and put that in place. Then Eisi found the right bag and came back with an egg.

“There is one egg left, nandi. He has had five, on the trip.”

Five. They had stuffed him. He looked exhausted and mussed, but his little belly looked round. “Well, he may have one more. Arrange for eggs, Eisi‑nadi. But, Eisi‑nadi, Lieidi‑nadi, these are my guests I have told you about. This is Irene‑nadi, Artur‑nadi, and Gene‑nadi.”

“Hi,” Eisi said.

“Hi!” Gene said back, looking surprised.

Cajeiri grinned. “My aishid knows more words.” Antaro and Jegari were back in the bedroom, arranging things, and he thought Veijico and Lucasi had gone out a moment ago–possibly to check in with house security. That was what they were supposed to do. “They have a few words.” He nodded, so that Eisi and Lieidi could get to work. “You hold the egg, Gene.”

He handed the egg to Gene, then unwound the wire so he could open the door.

But the moment the door was open, Boji launched himself at him, chittering, and held on–which was going to ruin his collar lace. He calmly reached for the egg Gene was holding and held it up so Boji could see it.

Boji just reached out one arm and took it.

“You do not eat that and hold on to me,” he said, and moved his arm to make Boji shift toward the cage. “Go on. Go back in your cage. You can take your egg. Good Boji.”

“Does he understand?” Irene asked.

“He understands a little. He has had five eggs already. He is not that hungry. But he always wants an egg. There.” He was able to transfer Boji to a perch, with his egg, and to shut and latch the door. He brushed off his sleeves and front. “He loses fur when he is scared.”

“Look at him!” Artur said. Boji had opened his egg his way, tapping it with his longest finger until he could make a little hole, then widening that hole until he could use his tongue.

“Amazing!” Gene said.

The egg was empty, very quickly, and Boji, much relieved, began grooming himself, very energetically. His guests were fascinated, watching every move, but staying far enough away not to scare him. Soon Boji, very tired from all the excitement, fell asleep, and they fell to exploring the sitting room, and the bedroom. He showed them the bath and the accommodation, too, which were down the hall.

When they came back to the room Boji woke up and set up a moderate racket, rattling the cage and wanting out. Cajeiri went over to quiet him.

“Can we take him out of the cage?”

“Very excited. He climbs. Not a good idea.”

“There’s a house down there,” Gene said. He had looked out the window, moving aside the filmy curtains. “Lots of rails. Look! There’s one of the mecheiti.”

He already had an idea what could be there, and he immediately came and looked out. Uncle’s stables had been set on fire last year, in the fighting. And it was all rebuilt as if nothing had ever happened. That was a wonderful thing to see. “Those are Great‑uncle’s stables,” he said in Ragi. And in ship‑speak: “Mecheiti live there. If mani lets us, we can go there.” Back to Ragi. “Maybe they will let us ride.” And ship‑speak: “Go on the mecheiti.”

There were apprehensive looks. He had told them about riding up on the ship. They had thought it would be a fine thing. Now–

“They’re awfully big ,” Artur said.

“I can show you. Even mani and Uncle may go. We can go all around inside the hedges. If they let us.”

They were far from confident about that.

“What do you do if they don’t want to do what you want?” Artur asked.

“Quirt,” he said, and slapped his leg. “Doesn’t hurt. They just listen.”

They all looked, for some reason, at Boji.

“We try,” Gene said then, in Ragi. “We do.”

“We try,” Artur said, not quite so confidently.

“We try,” Irene said last. Irene was scared of a lot of things. She was never sure she could do things. Irene had always said her mother would not let her do this, and her mother would not let her do that. Whatever it was, her mother would not let her do it. Cajeiri remembered that, and he found he understood Irene, now, a lot more than before.

“Well, you will not fall off,” he said. He became determined that Irene would get a chance to do lots of things her mother would never approve.

· · ·

Shedding the bulletproof vest had been first on the list. Changing to a simple coat and dropping into a plump chair was second, and having Jase across from him in a quiet chance to rest and talk was something they hadn’t enjoyed in a year.

Banichi and Jago, Tano and Algini all settled down to a quiet, comfortable rest right with them, standing on no ceremony. They’d all lived together. Polano and Kaplan, who didn’t speak Ragi and weren’t entirely informed of the political intricacies, had gladly opted for baths down the hall, and a quiet rest next door, in Jase’s suite.

Supani and Koharu kept the water hot and the teapot full–there had been a very nice service waiting on the buffet. They were on duty for the first time during the trip, while Banichi and the rest had seen nothing but duty since well before dawn.

“I’m doing pretty well,” Jase said, momentary lapse into ship‑speak, when he asked. “My spine’s almost quit popping, and if I can shake this headache before dinner, I’ll be great.”

Bren understood that. His own last shuttle flight had been as fast as they could make it, a hard burn from the station, to a fast dive and a landing on Mospheira. Jase’s flight this time had been far more conservative. “You certainly were a surprise. To all of us. And that’s unusual.”

Jase had said the captains had sent him. And that it was for the captains’ reasons–flatly that they were using the children’s visit. And hadn’t cleared it with Tabini or the dowager.

Assessing the situation on the mainland. He could well understand that.

“I have a little guess,” he said, “that the situation between the Reunioners and the Mospheirans on the station is making life difficult for the ship‑folk You’re outnumbered, even if you have all the power. I heard a little of this from Geigi. You and the Mospheirans and the atevi as a bloc can outvote the Reunioners on every issue. But now you’ve got them straining to break away from this station and establish a new colony out at Maudit.”

Jase nodded slowly. “That’s pretty accurate. It sounded good at first. Less so, considering the tone the Mospheirans have provoked out of the Reunioners. At first it seemed as if the Mospheirans hold the Reunioners personally responsible for the sins of their ancestors. But when the Reunioner leaders started calling the Mospheirans traitors–you’d believe the Mospheirans were right.”

“Is Braddock at the head of this?”

Louis Baynes Braddock. That was the Reunioner stationmaster–who’d resisted all reason when it came time to abandon Reunion.