Moving with slow deliberation, the first clerk’s first aide positioned at the end of the document both red and gold ribbons, the colors specifically of Malguri, by Ilisidi’s signature. Then a second aide poured wax from the small pan that collected the red wax drip and conveyed it to the first, who poured the wax for the dowager’s seal impression.
Ilisidi removed her ring and affixed the seal into the soft wax. The chief clerk, holding open the document that now trailed red and gold ribbon, conveyed it down the table to lay it before Lord Machigi, who likewise dipped a pen in a matching inkwell, signed, and was similarly assisted to affix his seal over blue and green ribbon. The first and most official document was then conveyed to the chief clerk and conveyed to another small table, where the Master of the Archive waited with yet two more clerks and another waxjack, this one also with red wax, to affix yet one more red ribbon, and atop it the seal of the Archives, signifying the official recording of the agreement in the records of the aishidi’tat.
A little murmur of applause went about among those invited. The cameras took the event into most of the provinces of the aishidi’tat.
Not to the Marid, unfortunately, where television, even radio, was a rarity.
Not to the East Coast, where somewhat the same conditions prevailed.
But that would begin to change, one hoped. Schools, electricity, communications, trade, and prosperity…one hoped. The whole room hoped. But reservations were as universal as hope, on every hand.
Four more copies followed, one apiece for the signers’ own archives, and one apiece for public display.
The dowager rose. Machigi rose and gave a gentlemanly bow to age and rank.
A clerk moved to collect the last papers and knocked a pen off its stand. The twitch on the part of security and on the part of lords expecting trouble went through the room like an electric shock.
“Ha!” Ilisidi said, and banged her cane against the floor, with nearly as abrupt an effect. “We have ordered refreshments! Bring them! There will be signed cards in a while. My new associate—” She held out her hand, as she would for her accustomed companions, to move closer. “Walk with us. Lord Tatiseigi, Lord Geigi, nand’ paidhi, —join us.”
It was nothing less than a triumphal procession. Ilisidi walked her handsome young prize a wide circle about the room, introducing him formally to Lord Geigi…
“You will be very useful to each other, nandiin-ji. Rely on Lord Geigi, nandi: you have many things in common, and if Lord Geigi sees you as his ally, he will be your ally in the most difficult of circumstances.”
And to Tatiseigi: “We three all share traits, nandi: respect for the old ways, appreciation for regional diversity, the belief that our people should live better because of our decisions. We three have very, very much to talk about. Lord Machigi, on Lord Tatiseigi you may definitely rely, for honesty, for steadfastness, and, fortunate third, for fearlessness in defense of his allies.”
They progressed to the head of the legislative Commerce Committee and on to Transport and to the head of the Merchants’ Guild, and slowly, slowly there spread through the room a sense of relaxation in the moment, and a sense that things were going well. Souvenir cards were being distributed in the outer hall to the crowd who had attended there; those were without ribbons and seal or signature, merely giving the event and the printed Bujavid seal, but they would be important mementos for those folk and their families. The cards given out in the reception hall itself were signed and ribboned and sealed, a hundred and thirty three of them that would be important displays in the homes of the attendees, cards eventually taken about the room to be signed by various of the participants in the negotiations and by personally significant persons present. Bren signed cards until his hand ached; Geigi did; Tatiseigi signed with a brush, in the Old Alphabet, no less. The principals, including Ilisidi and Machigi, had to stay at the table, apart from the refreshments, signing and signing—a courtesy to the attendees which was not required, nor even expected. Machigi’s willingness and his quick good humor and winning ways, as Jago reported, were gaining good report throughout the room.
“We take encouragement,” a lord of the Conservative Caucus said to Machigi in Bren’s hearing, “in this meeting and in your welcoming of the guild structure in the Marid, nandi. We are most encouraged.”
“We are very pleased, nandi,” one of the Liberal Caucus said, “that you are bringing technology to the Marid.”
“Technology,” Machigi said, “and education. One has read the history of education in the North and foresees a similar set of obstacles, but we are prepared to undertake it. We actively seek advisement.”
That man was so engaged it took a reminder from the event marshals, part of Bujavid security, to move him on.
It was going well, it was going very well, and Tano turned up with a cup of punch, not innocent of alcohol, which he set carefully on the table.
“It is sworn safe, nandi,” Tano said, on best formal behavior.
Bren took a sip, in a momentary lull in the proceedings.
“The Bujavid guards,” Jago said quietly, leaning her hand on the table on Bren’s other side, “have sent Lord Komaji downtown by way of the train and the aiji’s car, and they are at his hotel. Tabini-aiji has ordered him and his entourage to leave the capital. With Damiri-daja’s former staff.”
God. “Damiri-daja.”
“Is still in residence,” Jago said.
That was a relief. And a development. A serious one.
But it was nothing to discuss where they were.
It was nothing to discuss during the long social that followed, a session in a back room of the lower floor, with the dowager, with Machigi, with Geigi, Tatiseigi, Dur elder and younger, and involving more specifics on the first steps in the new agreement, shared over a glass or two of brandy.
It was a happy occasion. It was optimistic.
And the event was of far greater moment than a frustrated power seeker headed for an unwilling train ride to a minor clan holding in the North.
Damiri had stayed by Tabini, rejected her Ajuri staff, swung over to her Atageini heritage—which her father had never favored.
One understood why a contract marriage was a dangerous undertaking in an ateva’s life, and why a lasting marriage was among the greatest. So much changed, over a lifetime.
So much had changed. And the year was still young.
Bren sipped his drink, set it down, and listened to Lord Geigi and Lord Machigi discussing the southern climate and fruit trees.
So very much had changed.
C. J. Cherryh, Intruder
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