Emergence

  “The aiji will undertake to share his own discoveries with Mospheira in due course,” Bren said. “How Mospheira allots the patents therefrom will be Mospheira’s problem. We expect that same openness to come from your side.”

  A slight smile touched Shawn’s mouth. “We’ll take the security advances you’re handing over as an earnest of that.”

  “You can. Honestly. But in your own interest, don’t disseminate them at this point. We’d only have to bring up other systems you really, culturally, don’t want on this side of the water.”

  Ironic amusement reached the eyes. “Trust. I’d never have predicted we’d have Guild security inside our perimeter.”

  “We can do this because we’re at parity. We’ve chased it for two hundred years. We’re there. Two different economies. One technology. We won’t give up all our secrets. Nor should you.”

  “We. Being the atevi.”

  Point. Definite point. “I am that, where it counts. I’ve no hesitation to say so.”

  “There’s a certain comfort knowing I can contact the atevi mind that easily. You. Lord Geigi, who did his best during the bad years. It is different, dealing with you these days. It’s a good difference. You seem at peace.”

  “I am. Linguistics is not going to be happy in the least as things change, starting with those three kids. But a direct contact is a good thing. You’re always a phone call away from Geigi. Or Jase. He’ll help you as quickly as I will.”

  “We haven’t tended to rely on the ship.”

  “You can rely on him. If ever I’m not in reach. Seriously. Trust him. You can tell him anything.”

  “I take that as a solid fact. But—I continue to rely on you. I won’t cut you free of us. Understand that. Linguistics can have its fits. But I get my advisements from you. I depend on it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Bren said.

  “Gin’s documentary is forceful, beyond forceful; but if you’re predisposed to believe it’s all a lie, that’s the only color some will see. And once Heritage splits—we’ve got the spillage, and we’ll have to expect problems.”

  “I take it your security has names. And expectations.”

  “Plenty of them,” Shawn said. “But it’s the quiet ones from out of nowhere that cause the worst trouble.”

  That, in Mospheira’s history, had tended to be the truth. It wasn’t the ones that vented their anger that acted out irrationally. The ones to watch were the disconnected, the ones atevi called the clanless, who didn’t join much of anything.

  “I’ll send that gift,” he said. “Use it.”

  13

  Everybody was late, everybody except the servants, most of whom had had their sleep, and except security, who decidedly had not. “Wake me when Mother or Uncle wakes,” had been Cajeiri’s last instruction, which had routed itself from bodyguard to bodyguard, and turned out to be later than he thought. He had no problem but lack of sleep, but Antaro was very sore and Jegari was nursing sore muscles. They were a sad little household, none of them looking cheerful, with Boji now starting to fret about his second breakfast, and Eisi and Liedi trying to see to everybody’s wardrobe concerns while pacifying a spoiled parid’ja.

  “Lord Tatiseigi is awake,” Rieni said. Rieni’s team and Mother’s senior aishid—which was actually from Great-grandmother—had taken turns in the security station all night, but at least it was turns, and not long watches.

  “How is Uncle?” he asked. “We might advise his physician.”

  “The physician is indeed on his way down,” Rieni said, “but your great-uncle is insisting to dress and inquiring about breakfast. How he may descend the stairs, however, is a question.”

  “Please keep me aware. And Mother?”

  “The aiji-consort is just waking,” Rieni said, “by all we know.”

  “Then I should hurry,” he said.

  He washed, and dressed in his other good coat—likely Uncle’s staff would do their best, but cleaned and pressed wardrobe every morning was no longer a certainty. They would have to do as they could best do, and he did not expect even Mother to be critical.

  Nomari most probably was awake as well, with staff stirring about, but the guards on his door would not permit him to go walking about.

  He had no idea what to do about Nomari and Uncle’s admission of him as a guest in the house.

  But Uncle was up, and one was very glad to believe that Uncle was back in charge of his own house, at least in the important points. Uncle had the natural advantage in the courtesies balancing Nomari and Mother, and he truly thought it would be better to go to Uncle personally and explain how things stood, even if staff talked to staff with the details.

  “I shall call on Uncle,” he said, and his bodyguard, all eight, set themselves in order and moved with him, even Antaro, who was a little unsteady on her feet, and wearing her jacket over the injured arm.

  Given Uncle’s injuries and it being Uncle’s house, it seemed excessive, however, to come in with all his bodyguard. “Wait here,” he said, and, there being no response to a quiet knock, opened the door himself and slipped in, reckoning that Uncle’s staff was likely all busy with Uncle, or just exhausted.

  He had never seen the inside of Uncle’s rooms before. They were less elaborate than he would have thought—there was, conspicuous on one wall, a helmet, a lance, and a shield that he had no doubt at all was something very special. It all looked old, and the Atageini lily figured on the metalwork. On one table was a figured pot with a seasonal arrangement, and a tapestry on the other wall, faded though it was, was a beautiful scene of ancient Tirnamardi, flying its banners on the outside.

  The age of Tirnamardi decorated this room, a deliberate sparseness and aged functionality. These were real weapons, the swords above the door. They were not decor. The drapes were tapestry, and the floor was wooden and unpolished—the wooden section of floor in his room was polished till it shone.

  “Well, Nephew. Welcome.” Uncle had appeared in the inner door without his seeing, and he turned in half-guilty surprise.

  “Staff informs me,” Uncle said, “how you managed. How very well and sensibly you managed.”

  He felt his face quite warm. “One only hesitated to disturb you, Uncle, and Mother, well, one is sure she felt the same. Staff did everything.”

  “The Ajuri are settled, your mother and sister are safe, and we have lived to see the sunrise. Searchers have found only the one dead man, who can only have been up to no good at all, and we are secure. Well done. Well done, all of it.” Uncle walked in, using a cane this morning, which was no wonder at all. “How are your two young bodyguards?”

  “Both well, both moving gingerly, and greatly in awe of what you did, Uncle, getting control of the herd. I wish I might have seen it.”

  “I am very glad you did not. That poor two-year-old. —Heisi.”

  “Nandi?”

  “How is the youngster doing? Ask the grooms.”

  “Nandi.”

  “It was a night,” Uncle said, again to Cajeiri, and walking slowly, with thumps of the cane on the flooring. “It was a night, indeed. Have you spoken to your mother this morning?”

  “Not yet, Uncle. I wished to know whether you will go down this morning.”

  “Ah, well, I have not lain abed a day in twenty years. I shall go down after a while. Though I think I shall ask staff to arrange breakfast. The question remains how staff shall compose a table, with your mother and our other guest. Shall you ask your mother, young gentleman?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I shall go advise her.”

  “Staff may serve breakfast to our other guest. One trusts breakfast for the lower stairs must soon be underway.”

  “Nandi,” the major domo said, “it is.”

  Uncle had a habit of waving his hand when dismissing a topic. Between sling and cane, he could manage no more th
an a flick of the fingers. “Kindly go, nephew. Invite your mother. We are, we understand, saying nothing to Nomari-nadi. He must simply wait. —We may tell him, Heisi-ji, that we are still taking account of the damage last night, that his associates are safe, warm, and breakfasted, and that with injuries to myself and others, we are moving just a little slowly and out of order this morning. Tell him . . . well, mention nothing about the great bus sitting in the driveway, or about the arrival last night.”

  Nomari had been shut in his small suite, with Guild at the door, since midnight. He surely was pacing the floor by now, Cajeiri thought, and looking out the window—which would tell him nothing: the north windows overlooked the hedge and the closer part of the orchard, neither of which might inform him what was going on.

  “I think,” Uncle said, “that we shall unfold the table and have breakfast here, in this room, in half an hour. Advise your mother we are keeping no great state this morning. We do not wish to be outdone.”

  • • •

  Mother was indeed awake, dressed in pale green and paler lace, with Beha and her other staff, and her bodyguard. A crib stood in the corner, and standing by it, Beha held Seimei in a fringed blanket. “We have been inquiring about Uncle,” Mother said, “and we are very glad to hear he is up and about. Half an hour, you say. And will this Nomari attend?”

  “Nomari is next door,” Cajeiri said. “And one believes Uncle will leave it to you how and when you will meet him. He has not been invited.”

  “Well, well, and what is your estimation how this meeting should be, my wise son? You have dealt with him.”

  Perhaps it was an attack, for his presumption. A challenge to the fact, embarrassing to him, that rank did put her here and not in mani’s habitual rooms?

  The first sounded one way and the second sounded the other, and he found nothing to do but to say politely, “He does not know you are here, if staff has done as they should. One might wait. But the secret might not last.”

  “Indeed,” Mother said. Seimei fussed a little. “Walk with her, Beha. And not near the window. She frets at too much light.”

  Beha turned away from the window and Seimei was quiet, then.

  “I do not think we shall take your sister to such a meeting,” Mother said, “but come, let us call on this person and see what he has to say for himself. I am beyond curious.”

  “Yes,” he said, and walked with Mother to the door, with her guard, his guard, and the whole entourage except Beha and Seimiro. They went outside, they went to the left, where Uncle’s guard sat watch at Nomari’s door, and that guard rose to hasty propriety.

  “Advise the gentleman he has visitors,” Mother said, and one of the pair opened the door and went in to deliver that message.

  “Nandi,” the same guard said, exiting and holding the door open. Mother walked inside, Cajeiri did, with all their bodyguards—there was no preventing that under the circumstances.

  Nomari was standing by the little table, in quite a modest suite. He looked at them in shock, surely, then gave a little bow and looked up.

  “Nandiin,” he said quietly.

  “You know me,” Mother said.

  “Not for years,” he said. “Not since we both left.”

  “I do not recognize you,” Mother said.

  “I would not know you, Damiri-daja, except I have seen pictures.”

  “Time,” she said. “I have no doubt who I am. There is some doubt as to who you are.”

  “There was a statue,” he said. “And you were bound to sit on it.”

  “Someone else might know that.”

  “There was a fence, too, and you were bound to climb it. I would think you still have a scar on your elbow.”

  “That, someone might know. It was a fair scene I made.”

  “There was a day,” he said, “that we ate orangelles, that you stole.”

  Mother ducked her head and folded her arms, then looked up. “That I did. I bribed you to silence. And you were the one cook blamed.”

  “My father knew the truth,” Nomari said, “so there was no consequence of it. I told him. But your father said I was a bad influence.”

  Mother nodded, and nodded again. “You indeed are that Nomari.”

  “Daja-ma.” Nomari gave a little bow. “I am glad for your good fortune. I am glad, baji-naji, that you are where you are, and well. I hope you can find it possible—to take up the welfare of Ajuri. It is not resting in a good place right now.”

  “You are claiming the lordship, do I understand correctly?”

  “In the absence of any other, daja-ma, who could claim a trace of the right. I would step back in an instant if you took it, with the aiji’s support. I have never wanted it, I have never thought of it, except when my family died, but I was a boy, and I was a fool. Now I know who ordered my family killed, I know the name in the Guild that moved things, and he is gone, and revenge went with him. Whoever takes up the lordship now—” Nomari paused, seemed to rethink whatever he had been about to say, and gave a shake of his head. “Now the clan is in difficulty and the leadership it has is not what will bring it out again. Someone has to take it out of the disgrace and the trouble. Someone not a caretaker. The whole clan leadership is wrong. Too many have scattered, too many that would die in a fortnight if they came home. There are too many inside who are trying simply to preserve their farms, their shops, their children, and they cannot not speak out where they are. They are not the ones to make a move, with so much at risk. But myself, I have no one. I have nothing to lose but my life, and I am willing to take that risk—not to throw my life away, not to throw away the ones who have come here to support me and appeal to Lord Tatiseigi. Geidaro has been here, daja-ma. Your son can tell you. She has made threats in this house, under this roof, and last night—last night—you have surely heard what happened.”

  “I have heard,” Mother said quietly. “And Lord Tatiseigi has Filed Intent on my great-aunt in consequence. But—she might say in her turn—perhaps it was one of your people who loosed the mecheiti last night, to persuade Lord Tatiseigi to a move which could advantage you, nadi.”

  There was stark, dreadful silence. Cajeiri held his breath, and saw shock on Nomari’s face. Shock and dismay. Mother had cut deep.

  “Can you think that, daja-ma?”

  “The Bujavid has a proverb. Who gains most?”

  “If I have lost your good opinion,” Nomari said, “then I have lost my oldest ally, and I am likely dead. But I do not admit that possibility. And I swear to you I had no hand in it. Nor would shelter anyone who did.”

  There was a terrible silence. Cajeiri thought of saying, He has not seemed like that. All he knew, all he had felt around Nomari for all the time here, said that he was in absolute earnest. But Mother stood there, looking at Nomari, waiting for some answer.

  “It has been years,” Mother said. “People change.”

  “They do change. You have changed, daja-ma. You are not that little girl.”

  “And you are not that boy. What are you? A workman? A spy?”

  Nomari’s brow knit.

  “What have you to do with Lord Machigi?” Mother asked sharply.

  An intake of breath. Then a nod. “I have dealt with him, daja-ma. Somewhat. For a while. It was a place to be.”

  “Indeed, the district of a lord who held off Murini’s people would offer some safety—a refuge for someone trying to escape the notice of the rebels. But you were not in the Taisigin Marid. You spent your time up in Senjin.”

  “Spying, yes, for him. To warn him if Senjin moved against his border. To watch the rail up there, what moved, what cargoes. I watched the watchers on the railroad. I informed him. I also informed my people. I told many of those people gathered downstairs where to move, where safety was, because Murini’s moves and Ajuri’s whisper from the Guild were the same thing, bent on finding us and k
illing us singly, if they could. I spied for Lord Machigi. And I spied for every Ajuri trying to stay out of the reach of the Guild. No few of us were down in the Marid, those that were not sheltered in the guilds and trades. We informed each other, we gathered information, we moved people about and we warned people where we knew the hunters might be getting close. Open that gate last night, with my people in the way? No, nandi, that I did not! Nor can I believe my people did it.”

  Machigi, Cajeiri thought. A spy for Machigi? Machigi was their ally now, or said he was, so it was not so bad, but it was still the other side—of the three sides there had been. Machigi had always been at odds with Father, from before Murini’s time. Shishogi had been backing Murini; and Father and Mother had spent two years dodging people trying to kill them, sleeping in hedges, trying not to bring the hunters down on the allies they had.

  “Have you continued to work for him?” Mother asked, relentless.

  “On occasion I have,” Nomari said. “And done it with a much better will, daja-ma, once he made peace with the aishidi’tat.”

  There was a silence then. “Come to breakfast,” Mother said. “Lord Tatiseigi is suffering from his fall. He will have breakfast in his quarters. You will be welcome.”

  Welcome, Cajeiri thought. After that! He was not sure he wanted breakfast himself.

  Should he say, Nomari has been very proper, when Mother had just attacked him for the purpose of getting at the truth? Should he say anything?

  Yes. He should.

  “Honored Mother, he has answered questions for me.”

  Then he thought, too late, of the things he had asked Nomari before everything had happened, and how reluctant Mother was to talk about herself, or Ajuri, or any of the unpleasantness around her goings and comings in Ajuri.

  “Indeed?” Mother said. “What is your opinion, son of mine, of what he says here and now?”

  There was nothing for it. “That it sounds like the truth.”

  “There are shades and degrees of that,” Mother said. “But the boy I knew has apparently walked in the borderlands of it as long as either of us can remember. Nomari.”