“Brandy or whatever else my bodyguard wants,” he said. “The best for them. And Banichi, accept it.”
“Bren-ji.” A nod from Banichi. “But you will not take all blame, Bren-ji. One will speak to Cenedi.”
“No,” he said shortly. It was as close as he and Banichi had ever come to an outright argument, and he meant to win it. “This is my personal embarrassment, and I refuse to share it, ’Nichi-ji, I outright refuse.”
“Nandi.” A bow. Banichi gave in, not that Banichi was not reserving the option to talk to Cenedi about the event. Banichi shed the bathrobe to Supani’s hands and stepped into the bath . . . so with the rest, while Bren belted on his dressing gown and sat down on the bench.
The tub overflowed into its side drains as three replaced one, sinking deep into the warmth and washing the salt off. Bren let Supani braid back his hair in a simple damp knot, even while his bodyguard took to vigorous scrubbing and sloshed warm water over his bare feet. Brandy arrived, with a set of three serving glasses, and none of them turned that down.
“One has requested the same for Jago-nadi,” Koharu reported with a little bow. “One hopes this was intended, nandi.”
“Indeed,” he said. He was exhausted. He was assuming things, leaning on his staff to do his thinking. The distress of an argument with Banichi had rattled him. But his bodyguard was taken care of. The youngsters, his brother, Barb, and now Jago—all were settled.
He was going to ache in the morning. Amazing how fighting the wheel had taken it out of him. Maybe it had been the death grip he had maintained on it throughout, to and from.
Things were better now, much better.
Koharu provided dry slippers, then, clear of the slosh zone, he headed back to his room to dress informally . . . informally, that was, by Bujavid standards: one did not visit the aiji-dowager in one’s bathrobe, not by a mile.
“One is so glad, nandi,” Koharu ventured to say as they entered his rooms.
“How are the youngsters?” He had not inspected them for bruises and injuries, but news of such would fly fast among the staff. “Are they well?”
“A few scrapes, nandi,” Supani said. “And a few blisters—the young gentleman particularly. But no more than that.”
Cajeiri had been at the tiller, managing the boat: likely he had been, the whole time. Brave kid: he’d done all right, past the initial flurry of young, overconfident mistakes. He’d done just all right. And hadn’t said a word about the blisters. Probably hadn’t felt them until he’d warmed up.
So the young gentleman and his aishid had gotten out with blisters and probably were going to be just as sore; and the aiji-dowager was, meanwhile, waiting, with her bodyguard, in the sitting room. He gathered himself together, put on a proper indoor coat, and went out and down the hall to the study, where the dowager waited, to give his accounting.
He entered, past one of the dowager’s young men, who stood guard. Cenedi, Ilisidi’s chief of security, rose from his chair as he came in, a warming token of respect to the house, in lieu of Ilisidi rising, which the aiji-dowager did not. She sat, cane in hand, and Bren came and gave a deeper than usual bow.
“Nand’ dowager. One is extremely regretful—”
“Oh, posh. The Guild cannot track the boy. How could you?”
“All the same . . .” He had his facts assembled. He was ready to give his account.
“We have heard the entire tale, nand’ paidhi, the promised sailing trip, the phone call from the island . . . Barb-daja’s distress . . .”
He feared he blushed. He earnestly tried not to, and bowed again. “One is extremely sorry, aiji-ma, that things under my management went so very wrong.”
“Oh, sit down,” Ilisidi said with a move of the cane. So he sat, which meant Cenedi could sit down, and Ramaso and staff, frozen until now near the doorway, could move in with the dowager’s requested brandy. Ramaso gave a bow, the servants served the brandy to the dowager, to him, and to Cenedi, in that order, and Bren caught Ramaso’s eye and nodded a dismissal for all staff.
So the first several sips of brandy went down in genteel silence and composure. It was fire on a raw throat, and then comfort, all the way down.
“We have decided we shall stay a few days,” Ilisidi said, then, “and escort my great-grandson back to the capital in person. We shall not deprive him of his promised holiday, despite this disgraceful behavior. But we shall not place such a burden on your staff. It is a pleasant venue, what little we have seen of it. We look forward to its garden and its views.”
“You honor this house,” Bren said, which was pro forma; but it was also true: the household staff would be extremely excited to host the aiji-dowager. “Any hospitality we can offer . . .”
“Oh, just carry on, nand’ paidhi, carry on as you would have, with your kinfolk and all.”
“Nand’ Toby will possibly be here the week,” he said, “but he has received word his daughter of another union is injured, and he may opt to sail . . . one has no idea.” It was in his head that, under changed circumstances, he ought to ask his brother to leave—one needed to concentrate on a guest like Cajeiri, and not have another incident. “One has not had an opportunity to speak to him.”
“One believes you were discussing this very matter when my great-grandson chose to go boating.”
“The aiji-dowager is, as always, very well-informed.”
“One gathers Barb-daja is not pleased at your kinsman’s contact with the prior union.”
God, the aiji-dowager loved romantic scandal, every morsel of it. Of course she had heard, and she was interested.
“That would be an understatement,” he said ruefully, and Ilisidi looked pleased. He could only imagine the disaster if the dowager chose to convey her amusement to Barb, and offer advice.
“Pish, pish, your brother should stay. We are acquainted with him and Barb-daja, and shall have no objection to sharing accommodations. No more of this.”
“Yes, aiji-ma.”
“And Lord Geigi’s nephew, this nand’ Baiji. We understand he not only aided in the search, but actually provided the first sighting of my great-grandson’s boat.”
“He did, aiji-ma.”
“Inconvenient.”
“Aiji-ma?”
“He has not presented himself at court.”
“His predecessor died during the Troubles, aiji-ma: there may exist some confusion in the house. One understands he is young . . .”
Ilisidi waved a thin hand and took another sip of brandy. “Excuses. But the fact, nand’ paidhi, is the fact. Geigi’s house, during the Troubles, presented no respects to the assassin of my grandson’s staff, true, but has paid none, either, since my grandson’s return. There is a list of persons who have not come to court nor contacted my grandson. It is a scandal that the nephew of our trusted associate should be on it, but he is. Geigi has promised that Baiji will attend the coming session—but that is not now.”
“One completely understands, aiji-ma.” It was not the law that a new lord had to come to court, but it was unusual, and foolish, given the importance of contact with the aiji, for a lord not to take advantage of that opportunity. “Lord Geigi still being lord of Kajiminda, the nephew never having received a face-to-face appointment from his uncle, perhaps, aiji-ma, he feels that his uncle’s frequent contacts with the aiji are the valid ones.”
The dowager nodded, reached, and began to refill her own glass. Bren started to get up to do so: Cenedi was faster. She had her sip and everyone settled.
“That, certainly, is an unusual circumstance,” she said, “and we would overlook his reticence, nand’ paidhi, but under other circumstances, notably the situation in the South, we cannot, officially, initiate contact. It would make a very unfortunate precedent that others could use to offer insolent behavior. In point of fact, Lord Geigi does suffice, for my grandson’s satisfaction with his house; but in terms of an official thanks to this young lord in Kajiminda, we are distressed to say we cannot pay it.”
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“The paidhi would willingly do so. One is scheduled to meet with him in a few days. We might change the schedule and call on him tomorrow . . . should the dowager find that useful.”
“If you should chance to express our favorable sentiments,” Ilisidi said with a slow nod, “that would be appropriate. Baiji. Certainly more enterprising and useful in his performance this night than the reports of him have said. And you will urge him to remove himself from the list of those who have not contacted my grandson: it is very unbecoming company. My great-grandson will go with you tomorrow. He will not express thanks, but being a child, he can at least honor the house that aided in his rescue, and not enter into their debt.”
An important technicality: if there was a debt, it could not bind a child who would be aiji. It had to be paid in courtesy, but being the visit of a child, would never be at issue unless this young lord someday became a true lord and delivered his man’chi to an adult and seated young aiji. Then the event might be remembered with some meaning.
So it was an honor the dowager proposed, one with limited current political value, but great potential value, if Baiji had any sense at all and bestirred himself to do what was right.
“I shall make immediate arrangements, aiji-ma. This cannot be allowed to hang fire or become gossip.”
“Exactly,” Ilisidi said. “The paidhi has an excellent grasp of the delicacy involved.” The other brandy vanished, in three sips. “Now we are assured our great-grandson is safe and that the paidhi-aiji has not frozen or drowned, so we shall sleep soundly tonight.”
“One greatly regrets, aiji-ma, to have been the source of inconvenience in your trip east.”
“Oh, pish, my cousin will still be there a week or two. A little sea air comes welcome. We shall expect to take our own turn on that boat of yours, paidhi-ji, before we fly off again.”
“Gladly,” he said. “A very pleasant prospect, aiji-ma.”
“Then good night to you, paidhi-ji.” She set her cane in place, taking just enough time for Cenedi to spring up and reach her side, to provide a more helpful, yet discreet assistance. Bren rose, bowed, and the two of them, Ilisidi and Cenedi, left the room.
Bren downed the other half of his brandy and let go a long, slow breath, then walked on out into the hall himself, and down the little distance to his own door.
Jago, meanwhile, slightly damp from the bath, had made it back to the room. She was waiting for him.
“The dowager is not out of sorts,” he said, finding cheer in that—if Ilisidi was still speaking politely to him, Tabini-aiji probably would, also. And he found even more cheer in saying, “One is relatively certain the young gentleman will be in his own bed by now.”
“We are assured of it,” Jago said. “The dowager’s guard is on watch tonight at that door, and will not leave it. The staff reports no more calls from the mainland. One supposes there is no news of nand’ Toby’s daughter.”
“None that I know. The dowager is willing for him to finish his visit here.” He sank onto the dressing-bench, and in the discreet absence of Koharu and Supani, began easing off his own boots. “In one way of looking at it, this is a good thing: he has not abandoned his own interests. He was extravagant in his dutiful response, before, which broke his relationship with his first wife: much as I dislike Barb’s behavior—I cannot forgive Jill-daja, either, for leaving him when things were at their worst, so I am far from even-handed in the matter.”
“And Barb?” Jago omitted all honorifics.
“Has admittedly behaved badly in this visit,” he said, “but she has gotten Toby’s attention—and gotten him to stay with her despite the crisis on the Island. Given my brother’s reactions previously, this is a change in him.” He sighed. “But one dreads to imagine tomorrow, when I take the young gentleman to Kajiminda, and the dowager will be under my roof with Barb.”
“Is that the plan, Bren-ji?”
“It seems nand’ Baiji, in the confusion of his situation, with Lord Geigi in regular contact with the aiji, has not paid due courtesies in court, and the aiji-dowager will not visit him. But the young gentleman will come with me, so one hopes the situation can be regularized. Certainly, we owe the man. And that is to the good. And one assumes you will come with me.”
“We shall.”
“So the dowager and Barb will be under one roof with only the dowager’s guards.”
“Barb may not survive,” Jago said. She was behind him, massaging his shoulders, but there was a smile in the voice.
“Someone who can speak to Toby must be here,” he said.
“You would not wish me to do so,” Jago said. “I would be honest.”
“Tano, then.”
“He will not be much more pleased.”
“Tano and Algini. They can understand what they hear.”
“Some on the dowager’s staff can do so. The dowager herself, one suspects, Bren-ji.”
“Nevertheless,” he said. “Nevertheless, Jago-ji, one makes one’s own provisions. I do not want Toby in difficulty. Make Tano and Algini understand this.” Algini’s hand was painful, and a little light duty would, he thought, be the best thing over the next several days.
“One will explain matters, Bren-ji,” Jago said, and a moment later: “I would actually do this duty, if you asked.”
“I know you would, but should never have to.”
They went to bed. Jago’s body was always a few degrees warmer than his. He apologized, on this particular night, but Jago pulled him close and evened out the difference.
It was soon very warm in bed. And he was out in minutes.
9
It ought to have been a leisurely morning. It might have been, had the dowager not been in residence; but Ilisidi took her breakfast at the crack of dawn, and, detecting the stir in the household, Bren got up, which consequently meant more stir in the household, and in the staff.
And that meant the youngsters got up, and once the youngsters were up, nobody was fated to get much sleep.
So in fairly decent time, Toby and Barb arrived at table, too, to meet a truly formal and large atevi breakfast, with staff attending, and bodyguards and attendants properly on duty.
Staff had mightily exerted themselves in the breakfast offering, with the aiji-dowager as their guest—there were eleven items, from grain porridge to fresh fish, eggs, and toast, and the aiji-dowager took to all of them with evident pleasure.
Which was good to see. Ilisidi was in high good humor, which was a great benefit in dealing with Barb and Toby. Cajeiri was on spectacularly good behavior, took particular care of his manners, had his staff standing at formal service, and in short order, actually wrung a good-humored laugh from the aiji-dowager when he nearly overset his water goblet and caught it miraculously before it spilled a drop.
“One tries,” Cajeiri said, in great frustration, “one tries, mani-ma, and things fall over.”
“One believes you exude a vibration,” Ilisidi said, “from the effort of sitting still. Well caught, Great-grandson.”
“Mani-ma.” A little bow of the head.
“Are you through? You may be excused. You know you have a duty to do today.”
“Yes, mani!” Cajeiri got up—thumping the table in his haste to be proper, shaking all the water goblets up and down, and gave a little bow to try to cover that, a bow to his great-grandmother, and to Bren, and to Toby and Barb, last of all to his great-grandmother again, and then he left, back to the halls, drawing his two companions with him.
Toby and Barb hadn’t said a thing, a novel and pleasant behavior on Barb’s part—who couldn’t understand a word of the conversation; and Bren was very grateful. Predictably, Barb’s temper had vanished in the excitement, and all seemed smoothed over there.
“So,” the aiji-dowager said, in the waning of the meal, during which one might properly discuss light business, “you are off to Kajiminda this afternoon, nand’ paidhi?”
“Yes, aiji-ma. The arrangement is made. We may take tea,
but no more, as we anticipate: we shall pay our respects and be off. One begs your indulgence for leaving you.”
“We shall enjoy the gardens and the coast. Cenedi and I shall walk down to the shore today and no doubt find a shell or two of a sort our Eastern lake does not provide.”
“One begs the aiji-dowager to avail herself of whatever diversion or comfort this estate can provide.”
“We plan to, we hope without inconvenience to your other guests.”
“There can only be felicity in the aiji-dowager’s presence.”
“Especially since we have recovered my great-grandson from his folly. Tell these persons of your house that we recognize them for their assistance in this latest event as well as the prior, and invite them to take luncheon with us.”
A great and appalling honor, one he conveyed with a nod to the dowager and, turning to Toby and Barb: “The dowager has just thanked you for your help finding her great-grandson and for your assistance getting to the mainland in the first place. Understand, her thanks is a very, very high honor in itself, and one an atevi house would memorialize in family records. More than that, she asks you to lunch with her. We are speaking of international relations, treaties, and peace here. There will be limited translation. You should appear in your ordinary clothes and the servants will cue you. Tano and Algini will attend you and supply some translation. I am so sorry to leave you. I have no choice, considering the relations with our neighbor. Please be extremely formal. This is beyond any state dinner in the Presidential Palace.”
“Understood,” Toby said. “Best coat, best manners, and all.”
“Best,” Barb said.
“Rely on the servants. Rely on the servants to cue you. And Tano and Algini. They will. If they ask you to do something, please don’t even question. Just do it.”
“I swear we won’t embarrass you, Bren.”
“I know you won’t,” Bren said, “or I wouldn’t leave you here, because it is that important, Toby, Barb. You both take care, will you?”
“Sure,” Toby said. “We’re pretty well done eating. Can we excuse ourselves out? Or should we sit a while?”