Intruder

  And waiting went on, a long, long time. He finally went over to the table and sat down, too, at the head of it.

  Then he heard more footsteps, going further away. His father was going to his mother’s suite, and he had his bodyguard with him.

  That was not good. That was definitely not good.

  Time to dress.

  There was absolutely no word from Tatiseigi’s apartment.

  “They are shut down over there,” Algini said, while Supani was helping Bren dress. “They are receiving advisements from outside, but they are outputting nothing.”

  “Perhaps you should stay here,” Bren said.

  “No,” Algini said. “No, Bren-ji. We will be with you. We are determined on that point.”

  That was definite enough. His bodyguard was attending him downstairs in full force.

  Tano said, quietly: “The guest list downstairs has widened.”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “The conservative caucus is seeking an invitation,” Algini said. “There are logistical problems, primarily in chair arrangement. There are other inquiries afoot. There is a request to adjust the venue, and members of the Liberals are requesting a statement from Tabini-aiji, which is not immediately forthcoming. The Liberal Caucus will be hearing that the Conservatives are being admitted, if this is the case. They will be accommodated.”

  “Damn,” Bren said. The meeting size had tripled.

  “Accordingly,” Tano said, “you will have all of us. Narani and Bindanda will communicate with us.”

  “Keep me informed, nadiin-ji,” Bren said. “And inform Lord Geigi. And Tabini-aiji.”

  “His aishid is being kept aware of the situation,” Tano said.

  Dur had landed. Ajuri was due in, but for the aiji’s apartment, not the event, and with extraordinarily bad timing for events in that household.

  He slipped on the vest and held out his arm for Supani to fasten it.

  “They are shouting,” Antaro reported, her ear against the door. “One cannot quite hear. One believes they have the sitting room doors all shut.”

  Antaro set her back to the door, saying things had quieted. But with what outcome Antaro could not say.

  A time passed.

  And he was very glad Grandfather had not arrived yet, and he was sure now the signing downstairs must be getting organized, so at least mani would not come bursting into it.

  For a long time it was quiet. Then steps, lighter as well as heavier, sounded in the hall, and seemed to go off to the sitting room.

  But if his parents had gone to the sitting room, it might be to have tea and to sit for a moment. And talk.

  That could be good. Or not.

  He decided he should clean up. He had a complete change of clothes, with Jegari to help him, and had his queue redone, smart and smooth and pulled tight, with a new red ribbon, and he had his almost-best coat, to give his best impression if they called him. It was not just of defense of Boji. It was defense of him. Of his whole aishid.

  It was court dress to the nth degree; the flash of jewelry on Bren’s person was limited to a single pin, but Geigi turned out with an impressive flash of jewelry, most of it diamonds, which had traveled with him, brought down to the world for any chance state occasion.

  It was the paidhi’s business to be in the reception hall before Lord Machigi, and Machigi before the dowager—the same order of things as at any formal dinner.

  Getting there, however, was not without obstacles. The whole main hall was filled with onlookers—lords with their own bodyguards, other Guild officials, even Bujavid staff. Bujavid security kept the hall where the lifts were located completely controlled, and at the turn to the left, toward the great doors and the display cases, they had established a line along the wall and displays, keeping spectators back. News cameras were there, a knot of them, and another nearer the reception doorway.

  “The paidhi-aiji!” the shout went up, and “Lord Geigi,” the rumor went through the crowd; the years spent in space had made Geigi less recognized among lords, and a rare sight for the Bujavid. There were Bujavid staff in the crowd, lesser officials, and just the general public and tourists, who tended to show up for the spectacle when there was anything afoot on the hill; if one was in town, and there was some pageantry accessible to the public (and the lower hall of the Bujavid was,) the public came, dressed in their best, and partaking of whatever commemorative cards and ribbons the Bujavid might be passing out for the occasion.

  On the left, the Lesser Hall doors stood open, and the guards there, armed, let them and their bodyguards into a more organized sort of crowd, glittering lords and ladies in their household colors, all milling about in the pre-event social, a rainbow interspersed with the black and silver of bodyguards in great evidence. Chairs were at some remove, near the walls. There were three tables set up at the head of the hall, for the signing, and at the side of the hall long tables with offerings of flowers and piles of refreshments.

  One of course toured the floral arrangements, parsing them for origin and meaning, and they were always set out, with the exception of sponsoring parties, in order of receipt, so being first mattered. The arrangements all looked thoughtful and fortunate, and one trusted they were properly fortunate: that was the province of the kabiu masters.

  One read Prosperity frequently and prominently in the flower choice. One read Peace. That was good. One read Welcome, and one brave Offense Forgiven on the part of the Oturi, south of Sheijidan; the kabiu masters of the Bujavid had let that one in, but anything of greater controversy would not have made it. The next one read New Things. And Good Fortune and Auspicious Skies.

  One refused a cup of fruit drink. One wanted no accidents, either of spills or of poisoning. The occasion was, for the paidhi and all his staff, pure business.

  But not without pleasure. “Nandi!” he heard near him. Adigan, elder lord of Dur was there, and the new lord of the Maschi, with their respective bodyguards; and young Dur was there as well, grinning with complete delight—they had not parted that long ago, but now their meeting meant success.

  “Lord Machigi is on his way to the train station, nandi,” Banichi advised him.

  Immediately after there were polite greetings for them both from the legislators of the Commerce Committee, who were very glad to have a word with Lord Geigi, in his capacity as representing space industry, and the members of the Library and Records division offered polite felicitations. Behind them, a traveling backdrop, were the official secretaries of that department and their assistants; and there was a very discreet television presence—one did not miss that. The event was not going out live, but it would be out with a half-hour time delay and be done before the west of the continent went to bed this evening, and sent to the East by radio.

  One sat, in one’s almost-best coat; one even attempted to do one’s homework—anything to make the time pass—but one had no concentration on it, however one tried, with ears pricked for any sound at all from the rest of the house, the coming and going of servants, the heavier tread of bodyguards, the opening and closing of doors.

  Boji, exhausted, had had his egg and curled into a furry knot on his perch. Boji was the only one who had had supper.

  And Cajeiri was hungry, but he had no appetite. He supposed everybody was in the same state. His bodyguard were all sitting at the little table, Antaro and Jegari playing chess and Lucasi and Veijico giving advice to them. But he was sure they were all listening for what they could learn.

  It grew quiet. It stayed quiet for a while. He looked at the clock on the shelf, and he was sure mani and nand’ Bren and everybody had gone down to the signing by now, so he was really all alone up here, whatever happened.

  And it still was not good, outside. He was sure it was not. Hardly anybody was stirring, just occasionally a servant going past on some errand, but very, very seldom. When staff got quiet, things were bad.

  Once he had heard his mother’s voice. And not since. At least he had not heard his f
ather shouting.

  All the rules could change. He could be sent here or there, or forbidden this and that, because everybody in the world had a theory on how he ought to be brought up.

  At least Grandfather had not shown up in the middle of everything, and that was good. He told himself he just had to be quiet while his father settled things, if they could be settled, and if he had a punishment, he could hope it was just a talk, and maybe a sort of an apology to his mother. He could do that. He was sorry to have upset her, and he was sorry about the baby things.

  He was thinking that when Lucasi said, suddenly, pressing a finger to his ear: “Nandi, we are back in link again. Your mother’s staff is dismissed from the Bujavid. They are being sent back to Ajuri. Tonight. This instant. They will leave from the servants’ quarters. They are not being allowed back on this floor.”

  His heart began to beat very fast. He hardly knew what to think.

  “And my mother?”

  “There is no word, nandi.”

  He nodded and sat there a moment, not knowing what to do with himself, or what he had touched off, or what he even felt, if it turned out his mother was moving out.

  Maybe his father had ordered her to go home, with the new baby about to be born and all. He was not sure what he thought about his sister being born in Ajuri. He was not sure he wanted that.

  But it would mean Ajuri would have a Ragi in their midst, and not the other way around.

  He had not wanted a sister.

  But now that there was a strong likelihood of never seeing what she turned out to be for years and years, and having her grow up Ajuri instead of Ragi, he was more than a little upset about that.

  And he decided he was upset about his mother going away, if that was what was going to happen. He wished he could make everything be all right, just not with Grandfather. But he began to think maybe even his father could not do that.

  “We have a second communication from security,” Lucasi said. “Your mother and your father are in the sitting room. They request you come there.”

  He had no choice. Whatever would happen—he was not in control of it.

  “I shall go,” he said. “All of you…stay here.” That was ordinary, for them not to witness when his father was reprimanding him—and he thought that was probably to the good.

  19

  The room acquired a few more committee heads, Ilisidi’s frequent allies, and an uncommon smattering of the Conservative Caucus—among the first of whom was Lord Tatiseigi, resplendent in the white and pale green of the Atageini, with an impressive emerald pin nestled amid a very great quantity of lace, and with emeralds and tourmaline in every shade on his black fingers—it was an amazing show.

  He made an impression with his entry; and he went from person to person of the Conservative Caucus, doing his political best.

  He came then to stand where the principals were gathering, near the tables where staff set out pens and inkstands, and waxjacks, gleaming brass, were ready to be lit. A writing stand was set up with lesser seals, pens and inkstands, a vast stack of special cards for the attendees, and ribbons of the requisite colors.

  Light conversation went on. And Algini said, quietly, at Bren’s elbow,

  “Nandi, Machigi has arrived at the Bujavid train station.”

  Not that much longer, then.

  Father’s bodyguard was present. Mother’s was not. They were both calm and formal, at opposite ends of the couch. Cajeiri sat on a small decorative chair sipping his tea. There had been teacakes offered but he had accepted none, nor did they. He was starved to the point of shakiness, and yet he had no appetite, which was an unusual and upsetting feeling.

  “Have you had supper, young gentleman?” his father asked. Meaning, perhaps, had he stored food in his room, which he was not supposed to do.

  “No, honored Father. None of us have had.”

  His father had a muscle tight in his jaw; it was not quite jumping, as it would do from time to time when he was extremely angry, but it was tight. His mother did not quite look up, and Cajeiri did not, either, not wanting to be glared at by either of them.

  The servant offered another cup of tea. Cajeiri’s stomach was already upset with the first. “No,” he said, “thank you, nadi.”

  His father set his teacup aside, then. His mother did, very quietly and almost untasted, on the small side table on her side.

  “Have you anything to say, young gentleman?” his father asked.

  He was calm. Numb. He said, quietly, “One very much regrets, honored Father, honored Mother. It was an accident. We attempted to get Boji back.”

  His father asked: “What, in your briefest account, happened?”

  He took a breath, took a firm grip on the chair arms and gave a polite, time-consuming nod while he was thinking where to start—mani always said, the courtesies were a good way to stall and think. “Honored father, honored Mother,” he began, “I was feeding Boji when Metiso-nadi opened my door. Boji was scared: he broke free and headed up. Metiso-nadi kept the door open. We shouted at her to close the door, but she didn’t, and he went out right past her.”

  His father said. “You had given particular instructions to limit the servants coming to your suite.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You so instructed Eisi that he and his cousin should be the only persons to come into your suite for any reason.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I shall stay out of this,” his father said, settling back and folding his arms. “Talk to your mother.”

  “Yes, Father,” he said, with a lump in his throat.

  “Understand,” his mother said, “that I did not instruct Metiso to enter your room.”

  “One is very sorry for what happened, honored Mother.”

  “Let me explain, son of mine. My father, your grandfather, has been told he will now not have dinner here, tonight.”

  “I am very sorry for that, honored Mother!”

  “Listen to me. Hear me. As of this hour, my major domo, Lady Adsi, who has been with me since I was born, and all my servants, and my bodyguard, are all sent back to Ajuri.”

  “Honored Mother!”

  “One has had to make a choice,” his mother said with icy calm. “My servant heard that there was something going on in your apartment and was attempting to gather information, coming into an area not assigned to her. It seems superfluous to point out that you are not a foreign enemy and I have no need to spy on my son.”

  His heart was beating very fast. He knew sarcasm. He knew mani’s kind of expression. And a boy was smarter not to say a thing.

  “Your father’s security has checked the phone records between my household and Ajuri. Metiso-nadi’s calls have been frequent and direct to her male cousin, on my father’s personal staff. She does not call her mother nearly so frequently. More, she has continually gotten phone access, which is under Lady Adsi’s supervision—and my bodyguard, which my father sent this year, has said nothing.”

  He hardly knew what to say.

  “I have, at this point, the choice,” she said, “between Ajuri and marriage to your father.”

  Words stuck in his throat. He looked at his father, at her lastly.

  “So I ask, son of mine, your sentiment in the matter. Answer me. Is your man’chi to your great-grandmother or to your father?”

  That was a scary question. A very scary question. When it got that scary, the truth was sometimes the best way. “One has never seen a difference, honored Mother.”

  “And have you,” his mother asked, “man’chi at all to me, son of mine?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “And to your grandfather?”

  He was caught with his mouth open. He hesitated. And it was too late.

  “No, honored Mother. I am sorry.”

  “And if I were not sitting here, would you have claimed it to me?”

  “You are my mother! One does not want to lose you!”

  “And if put to a choice b
etween your great-grandmother’s instructions and mine, which would you obey?”

  He drew a deep breath, and told the truth. “Wherever I would be,” he said. “Either one of you—I have to obey, honored Mother!”

  There was a lengthy silence, with his mother looking straight at him in a degree of upset he had never seen her show.

  “You would have launched your guard at mine…to protect an animal.”

  “To protect us, honored Mother. To protect us.” He said it accusingly, to have her understand. “You frightened us.”

  “You felt something in that room. In my staff.” She shook her head. “Son of mine, we have wondered if you pick up certain signals…brought up as you were, with humans.”

  “There is nothing wrong with humans!”

  “One understands nand’ Bren is your particular associate. And you have gained permission for your young associates to visit.”

  “Yes, honored Mother.”

  “And you prefer your great-grandmother’s household to me. What am I to think?”

  He hardly knew what to say. “Great-grandmother is—” he began. “I was with her. I have been with her all my life. I want to be respectful toward you, honored Mother. I am not a bad son. Great-grandmother never thinks I am a bad great-grandson.”

  His mother said nothing to that, for a long, long moment. “I have never called you a bad son.”

  “But you think it. You think I meant to ruin the nursery! You think I would harm my sister!”

  “I believe you,” his mother said. “I have been worried. I have been listening, perhaps, to servants who have not offered the best advice.” His mother’s face looked very sad, very tired. “I never wanted to give you up.”

  “I was too little to have any choice, honored Mother. But one still wants to understand my Ajuri side! And my Atageini side.”

  “Your great-uncle,” his mother said with a sigh and a shake of her head. “And your grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather,” his father said, suddenly, “is ambitious. One could forgive that. But one cannot forgive other activities.”