Intruder

  “That surprises me. Perhaps I shall consult with your new majordomo, Geigi-ji.’

  “Please do. And I wish you to do something for me, Bren-ji.”

  “Beyond a doubt I shall. What is it?”

  “Will you look in on Kajiminda from time to time, even after my nephew has an heir, and that young woman moves in? One wishes Kajiminda to open its doors to all neighbors, in the way of the Padi Valley establishments, and to maintain a gallery for the exhibit of my collections. Those are the instructions I have left. I wish to open the doors to the Edi folk and to tourists I believe may come, once the agreements are in place. I wish people to see these old woodcuts of life as it was and to see my porcelains, such as—those that my scoundrel of a nephew did not barter away. I shall be making those arrangements with my staff…and setting up needful security. Visitors will keep them on full salary, and provide traffic for the region’s enterprises.”

  “I should be very happy to open Najida in the same way, except the secure rooms,” Bren said, the whole idea flashing forth with a vision of roads and tour buses and maybe an inn near the train station, eventually with all the amenities. “One finds it a brilliant notion. We should correspond about this, Geigi-ji.”

  “With great enthusiasm,” Geigi said. “Once I am on the station, I know my mind will be all plastics and metal and circuits again, except my little potted trees. I should be very pleased to have such a correspondence and a partner in such a project, to remind me constantly of my Kajiminda.”

  “You must remain lord of Kajiminda, no matter how long this young lady may be resident, Geigi-ji. I value my neighbor extremely. I shall never give you up!”

  “One is more than gratified,” Geigi said. “Ah, Bren-ji, how pleasant these days in your residence! You have been a most excellent host. Even under fire at Najida, one could feel it.”

  He had to laugh. “One accepts the compliment, nandi.”

  “Humans have the concept—friend, different than associate. Would you say, Bren-ji, that we are friends?”

  That definitely set him back. He had built such a strong wall about that word, never, ever to use it with an ateva—even with his aishid, who were closer to him than anyone on earth, even closer than Toby.

  But if there was one ateva who could use that word advisedly, exploring the interface from the opposite direction—it would be Geigi, who lived and worked with humans of every sort, good and less good.

  “I shall admit to that feeling from my side, Geigi-ji,” he said carefully. “And you may have the confidence in me that a human would have in such a relationship.”

  “It is an intimate relationship. Excluding family. Excluding loyalties. Excluding obligations of clan or birth.”

  He nodded. “It is that. Though it can admit any of those co-existing, it is independent of them.”

  “It can occasionally be unwise.”

  “As clan obligations can occasionally be unfortunate.”

  Geigi gave a little laugh. “No way of being is perfect.”

  “Regrettably, no. One thinks not.”

  “Yet you are, paidhi-aiji, my friend. I would not say that of any other human, except Jase Graham. And one has not dared use that word with him. He has not your understanding of the hazards.”

  “Advisable, that exception. He could misunderstand.”

  “But you will not. I also live on that dividing line, Bren-ji. So I say, you are a peculiar association. The connection I have with my aishid, with my staff, these things are absolute and passionate. But there has to be a peculiar word for such a peculiar position as we have with each other. We are in some ways the same person.”

  “It would be apt,” Bren said. “I think it would be apt to use that word, Geigi-ji.”

  Geigi laughed at that, and said, with a deprecating gesture, “One would hesitate to attempt the word love.”

  Geigi was joking. And there was humor in it. Friendship without love involved was a peculiar thing. But this was an ateva who, like his aishid, would fight for him. His aishid would fling themselves between him and a bullet. They in fact had done so. Geigi, if he were so physically inclined, would still be a puzzle in that regard. Probably Geigi would not be so inclined. He was a leader among atevi, having come to that position not quite by instinct but by circumstance. He was not a leader as atevi usually defined the term—strongly instinctual, driven to be that. Not an autocrat, not inspiring a following. If Geigi had ever had to take the aijinate, it would have been a cold, calculated move, and he would have been very unhappy in the office, continually feeling out of place—as he evidently did not feel, on the station.

  Geigi was what Geigi had had to be. And if an alien word defined part of what he had to be, and gave him some sense of connection, Bren thought, so be it. Geigi was Geigi. And thank God he was that.

  “How would you define love, then, paidhi? Can you make it intelligible to me?”

  “Close to man’chi,” he said.

  “So they say,” Geigi said, and then they spent the next half hour concluding it was not, quite, that.

  “Is it pleasant?” Geigi asked.

  “More so when reciprocal,” Bren said. “Miserable, in fact, when not reciprocal.”

  “Ah, we shall never define it.”

  “No more than I wholly understand man’chi,” Bren said, “lacking the appropriate responses, myself.”

  “Not lacking. But free of them,” Geigi said. “At times it seems advantageous to choose the persons one attaches to.”

  “Yet we frequently choose so incorrectly,” Bren said. “Barb-daja was an incorrect choice. We were incorrect for each other. Yet she seems perfectly correct for Toby.”

  “Tangled, tangled,” Geigi said in gentle amusement. “Man’chi is so much more direct—not needing to be reciprocal.”

  “Yet equally unpredictable,” Bren said. “The machimi plays would never exist if it were predictable.”

  “More predictable than this love,” Geigi said. “More logical.”

  “One is hardly sure it is always logical.”

  “We are sure of nothing in our most basic feelings.” Geigi laughed. “And that is what we have in common. I think we may have attained wisdom, Bren-ji.”

  Wisdom it might be. But one still wished one entirely understood what was in the minds of the principals of the upcoming agreement. Man’chi—maybe. A face-to-face meeting could affect that.

  And it was coming closer.

  Jago came in, and he broke to receive her report that they were in contact with Machigi’s plane and that that plane was on approach to the airport. Lady Siadi was on her way to meet Machigi and escort him to the de facto embassy.

  A veritable deluge of flowers had arrived at the Taisigi trade mission, Jago said, one offering from, of course, themselves, one from the dowager, one from Lord Tatiseigi—one was amazed to hear that and thought that Ilisidi had probably applied pressure. Not quite as amazing, there was one from Lord Dur, up in the northern Isles.

  There was also, from the trade mission, reported receipt of a floral arrangement from, of all sources, the Kadagidi, who had certainly been behind the attempts on Machigi’s life. The Guild had informed Lady Siadi of its arrival and asked what to do, and Lady Siadi had ordered it rerouted to—one could only imagine the consternation—Lady Tiajo of the Dojisigi, with a note regarding its origin and route.

  One could only appreciate the gesture, and one was sure Geigi would particularly appreciate it.

  Tiajo, the replacement for her late uncle—holding her lordship over the Dojisigi with Guild at her elbow and around every corner—would not likely put that arrangement on display. Likely the unfortunate bouquet would meet an indecorous end, if the young lady knew how to read a threatening gesture and correctly interpret its message: Your clan’s connection to the Kadagidi is not forgotten. Particularly when they make a threatening and insulting move. And if Tiajo failed to interpret it correctly, it was very likely the Guild would make it clear to her and her father.
br />   Meanwhile, the paidhi-aiji could contemplate sending a bouquet of his own to the Kadadigi. There were other than felicitous ones. He was very strongly tempted. Two dead flowers would do.

  But best Machigi do the honors, once he was back in the Marid and secure in his own residence. No sense stirring things up further.

  He had included his message with the floral courtesy he had arranged this morning, a personally penned note, which said,

  Felicitations on your arrival, nandi, and please be assured that representatives of the Assassins’ Guild, allied to your own bodyguard and mine, have taken direction of security at and around your residence, and that all things in my awareness are proceeding well.

  You will surely have heard that the aiji-dowager is now in residence and that the signing will go forward.

  Please accept these flowers and sentiments presented in your foyer as expressions of hope for this agreement.

  Signed and sealed.

  And to hell with the Kadagidi, who, given a chance to remake both their image and their actual record, seemed bent on the same damned course of agitation as before. The chance for peace seemed to focus now on prying the whole northern Marid out of the idea that the Kadagidi were allies. Lady Siadi, doubtless quietly consulting with Machigi, and Machigi with the advice his own bodyguard, had just taken a major first step in that effort, in rerouting, of all things, a bouquet of flowers.

  He went back to the table where Geigi waited with tolerably good news.

  16

  There was no sign of Boji, and now there was worse: Grandfather was coming. Grandfather had rented quarters down in the hotel district, and he intended to stay there, and he was coming this afternoon, late, and Mother had told Cook that she would have dinner with her father.

  It was grim, that was what. Just grim.

  Cajeiri had watched all day, all day, for Boji to show up; and his bodyguard had been on watch, and now it was sunset, and Mother was dressing for dinner, which he was doing, too, but he was exhausted. It was amazing how tired one could get, just sitting and watching one little doorway, and having to wait, if one had to go to the accommodation, for one of his bodyguards to come in to report. Somebody had to watch the door. And Eisi, who came in to help him dress, was too uncertain. Eisi would have no idea how to catch Boji. He was not sure he did.

  And then people were going to be coming and going by the front door, and it was just going to be a lot of noise and servants opening and shutting doors…his father was off at a meeting and might not be back for supper. Which would leave him alone with Mother and Grandfather.

  He had no choice about it. He had insisted on dressing in the sitting room, which distressed Eisi, but he had his way about it. He had to be on best behavior, and he knew everybody would be upset about that. He was without his bodyguard at the moment, but Antaro remedied that, coming in quietly and quietly scooping up the egg by the door.

  “There will be a formal dinner tonight, Taro-ji,” he said to her.

  “Yes,” Antaro said, encompassing the whole situation.

  And suddenly the most alarming shriek resounded through the whole apartment.

  “Damn!” he said in ship-speak and ran for the hall door, not faster than Antaro.

  “Get it out of here!”

  That was his mother’s voice. From down the hall.

  He ran for the door, his bodyguard right behind him, and skidded on the tiles in a fast turn for his mother’s suite. Ahead of him he saw his mother’s bodyguard and some of his father’s exit the security station and head in the same direction, toward the very end of the hall, where his mother’s suite door stood open.

  The bodyguard had the door and was not going to let him or his guard in, but he ducked and got under a forbidding arm. His mother and her servants were in front of the beautiful windows, by the lace-covered crib, looking up above the windows.

  “Get it!” she shouted, and at the yellow top of the room, up among the lace draperies, raced a small black streak, leaping from drape to drape.

  “Close the windows!” Cajeiri cried, because the tall windows were all standing wide open. “Quick, close the windows! Boji! Boji! Come!”

  Boji shrieked, then turned and jumped from curtain top to curtain top, coming his way. Cajeiri flung up his hands, and a black missile hurtled through his hands and hit him right in the chest at full force, arms around his neck. He stumbled backwards—would have fallen, except for his mother’s bodyguard. Boji clawed his coat and shirt, trying to get into his collar, and he hugged Boji tight, wrapping him in his coat as he gained his balance. His mother was shouting about her lace and her nursery and that animal, which was not quieting Boji at all.

  One of his mother’s guard tried to take Boji from him.

  “No!” he said, holding on; the woman got hold of Boji, and Boji bit the woman. Blood spurted all over, the bodyguard reacted, and his mother yelled, “Get that animal!”

  “Stop them!” he yelled at his own guard, and twisted away to protect Boji, ducking behind Antaro.

  “Daja-ma!” the wounded bodyguard cried, and the whole room froze. Cajeiri stood back in shock, with blood all over his coat and his young bodyguard making a wall between him and his mother’s very senior and meaning-business bodyguard, two men and two women. “You stay back!” he shouted at them. “Mother, honored Mother, he has done nothing wrong!”

  “Who said you could have such a thing?” his mother said. “Son of mine, this tops all! Who brought such a creature into this apartment?”

  “My father has said I may have him, honored Mother,” he said. He was shaking, he was so upset, but he managed a little bow. A very little one, because Boji was stiff as a wound spring and apt to make a break if he let his coat gap at all. “One regrets. A servant startled him.”

  “Are you bleeding?”

  Concern from his mother. That was at least something. And he did not want his bodyguard to have to fight off his mother’s. He bowed a second time, lower, catching his breath. “No, honored Mother.” That was not quite true. He had scratches from Boji’s nails. But all the blood, the blood on his coat, the blood spattered over the baby crib and the lace, was from his mother’s bodyguard. “He is very tame, honored Mother, just frightened.”

  “Well, he will go back to wherever you got him,” his mother said. “Now!”

  “Honored Mother, one begs you will ask Father.” He needed to get Boji back to his cage. Urgently. Boji was starting to squirm, and he had a sort of a grip on Boji’s nape, but not a good one. He was afraid Boji might bite him if he were scared. “I shall put him up, now. He has a cage, a very strong cage. I was holding him in my hands when your servant—”

  “You will get rid of that creature!”

  He was appalled. “Excuse me, honored Mother,” he said, deciding that getting Boji away from the nursery was the first thing to do, and fast.

  His father would not send Boji away.

  “Take that creature out of here,” his mother said, ordering her bodyguard.

  “They will not!” he said. “Luca-ji. Jico-ji. They will not.”

  “Excuse us,” Lucasi said politely and with a bow to senior Guild. “But we have contrary orders, and we respectfully appeal to the head of security staff.”

  Lucasi was stalling. Cajeiri ducked and ran, with Boji squirming and ripping his lace to shreds, and Antaro and Jegari close with him, getting out the door. “Help Lucasi!” he said when they were in the hall. “I shall get Boji back in his cage. Call my father’s guard. Now! Do not fight them—get Lucasi back to the room.”

  “Yes,” Antaro said, and turned off for the security office at a run. Jegari stayed with him. “I shall stand out here and not let anyone in,” Jegari said, as they came up on their own suite. “Lock the door, nandi.”

  His room had no servant passages. He went inside and threw the lock on the door, then, hugging Boji inside his coat, went over to the cage, which had its door open and an egg and water inside. He very carefully extracted Boji f
rom inside his coat—Boji had scratched his neck and chest, and it was bleeding, and it stung, but the blood that was spectacular, that was from his mother’s bodyguard.

  Boji went into the cage, dived for the perch and clung there, wide-eyed, with all his hair standing on end, and two gold eyes staring at him. Boji was so upset he was not even going for his egg.

  “It is all right now,” he said. “We are safe. We are safe, Boji!”

  But just then he heard footsteps outside, and he heard his mother’s guard telling Jegari in harsh tones that Jegari, being only a trainee, was wrong to be standing there and had better leave or get hurt.

  And he heard Jegari telling them that they would have to move him, because he would not move.

  He went to the door himself and yelled,

  “The door is locked, nadiin, and I shall only open it when my father instructs me to open it. Go away, or you will have to break the door and damage the paint, and my father will not approve of that!”

  “Young gentleman,” the chief of his mother’s guard shouted back, “you are in the wrong in this matter! Obey your mother and open this door!”

  “We shall not, nadiin!” He had never imagined being afraid in his own room. But it occurred to him in a terrible flash that Guild had been fighting Guild in the south, and that uniformed Guild had been shooting at him and at Great-grandmother in the basement of Najida, and who knew? Maybe his mother’s bodyguard were not who they were supposed to be. He was scared, his heart thumping hard, and he desperately wished he had a phone so he could call his father, or call his great-grandmother, or nand’ Bren or someone. He almost expected to hear shots break out, and he moved back from the door in case someone should try to take the lock out. No, he was not going to open that door. He edged aside, then thought of the very heavy table, and got behind it and pushed, struggling to move it across the floor. It screeched on the wood, and might scratch it.