Conspirator

  “I never did such things!” Baiji cried.

  “And he is a liar!” Ilisidi snapped. Then she smiled sweetly, and extended the phone toward Baiji. “Your uncle wishes to speak to you, nadi.”

  The servants who surrounded Baiji still did so, and Cenedi would not let Baiji touch the dowager, even indirectly: Cenedi transferred the phone to a servant, who gave it to Baiji, who put the receiver to his ear with the expression of a man handling something poisonous. His skin had acquired a gray cast, his face had acquired a rigid expression of dismay, and as he answered, “Yes, uncle?” and listened to what Geigi had to say, he seemed to shrink in size, his shoulders rounded, his head inclined, his occasional attempts to speak instantly cut off.

  “Yes, uncle,” he said, “yes, uncle, yes, one understan—” A bow, a deeper bow, to the absent lord of his small clan. “Yes, uncle. One assures—uncle, one in no way—Yes, uncle.” And then: “They just left, uncle. One has no idea why. One did nothing to—” Baiji was sweating. Visibly. And Ilisidi sat there with the smile of a guardian demon, staring straight at him, with Cenedi standing by her side.

  Bren—just sat listening, until a movement in the doorway caught his eye.

  Cajeiri had shown up, his two companions barely visible in the hall . . . Cajeiri in an oversized bathrobe, hugging it around him and drinking everything in with large eyes and two very good ears. He didn’t create a stir, didn’t say a thing.

  And, silent, like two black ghosts, Banichi and Jago turned up behind Cajeiri, likewise listening.

  Bren found he himself had dropped a couple of stitches in the moment of noticing that arrival: Baiji was handing the phone back to one of his servant-guards, who offered it back to Cenedi, who offered it to Ilisidi.

  “Yes?” she said . . . and looked fiercely satisfied. “Excellent. We shall see he does, Geigi-ji. We shall try to learn the whereabouts of staff. And we shall expect you.”

  “Expect you.” So Lord Geigi was coming down from the station, on—Bren found he had lost track of the launch schedule and had no idea of the date of the next shuttle flight; but it was weekly. It would not be long, likely, before Baiji found himself accounting to his uncle in meticulous detail.

  Ilisidi handed the phone to Bren. “Lord Geigi has signed off, nand’ paidhi. But he wishes you well.”

  “Indeed.” He set the handset back in its cradle. “And you, neighbor?” Lord Baiji, he did not say: Ilisidi had removed that title with that simple, deliberate nadi, and he didn’t argue.

  Baiji clasped his hands between his knees and compressed his lips to a thin line as he bowed to the dowager and to him. “One apologizes,” he said. “One so profoundly apologizes, nandiin.”

  Whack! went the cane.

  “About time!” Ilisidi said. “Confess, wretch, or we shall lose all patience! What began your unfortunate association with these notorious troublemakers? Name their names, each one!”

  Baiji stammered something. Bang! went the cane a second time.

  “You have this single chance to redeem yourself,” Ilisidi snapped. “Your uncle will ask us what your subsequent behavior may have been, and we assure you we shall answer him. As things stand, we cannot construe a use for you. As things may become, we may consider a quiet settlement that may let you recover some respectability. Choose, and choose now!”

  “With greatest appreciation, aiji-ma, with greatest appreciation for your intercession—”

  “You bore us. Talk! Give us your account!”

  The dowager did nothing to steady Baiji’s nerves. His mouth opened and closed. He mopped his face with his sleeve, and he said: “Aiji-ma. My fault began with the Troubles, when the whole world was going toward Murini. The Marid supported him in everything. But the lords of the Marid—after supporting Murini in his—in his ill-considered enterprise—”

  “Attacking my grandson and murdering his staff. Let us be specific.”

  “Attacking—attacking the aiji, yes, aiji-ma. Once Murini had done that, once he had taken over the central clans, the Marid would, one is quite sure, have replaced him if they could. One saw them manuevering for power, in the old way.”

  “A reasonable assessment,” Ilisidi said mildly.

  “And in their maneuevers, aiji-ma, in the nature of their manuevers, one feared they wished to extend their power up from the South without challenging Murini up in Shejidan. It was no profit to them to go eastward. All the economic profit lay in their going westward and north, along the coast, which is a kind of enterprise—fishing, and all—that they understand. They were sending out emissaries and promising extravagant things in their own name, saying that they were Murini’s allies and that favor and economic union with them would gain great profit. The alternative—the alternative—was down in Pura, where they assassinated—assassinated Lord Kaien and his whole household.”

  “A disgrace.”

  “It was so tiny a house. It threatened no one, but it suggested independence and no one could protect it. That was the point, aiji-ma. From where we stood it was very clear. And houses capitulated, one after the other, the Udiri, the Wori, the Maisi and the others, right up the coast. Even Dalaigi was . . . was growing quite chancy: Southerners openly walked the streets, and there were assassinations of small people, even shopowners, for refusing to deal with them. The Edi were not able to withstand these assaults. The little villages—these people could by no means pack up and go into the hills, and there was no safety in the inland, nor any aiji to hear their request for help. There was nothing for them to do, aiji-ma. I had no support—I could no longer contact my uncle! I could no longer protect Kajiminda!”

  “Go on. Omit nothing.”

  “Aiji-ma, a letter from the South was by no means unexpected. Murini was by then in Shejidan. Receiving this letter—one might have appealed to Shejidan and voiced one’s opinion that the Marid was only supporting Murini as a convenience, and that they meant to assassinate him once the center of the aishidi’tat was in any sense stable under his rule. One thought of this act. But from a coastal lord and a relative of Lord Geigi—one had no confidence that Murini-aiji would hear such an opinion with any understanding or gratitude. He would be just as likely to report all I said to the Lord of the Marid, and then where would I stand? I would be dead. I believed I would be dead in short order did I attempt to reason with Murini or divide him from his Southern allies.”

  “Not badly reckoned,” Ilisidi said more mildly. “You begin to interest us . . . even to make some sense. Name names and recall that we have been out of the current of Southern politics for three years.”

  A soft movement brought Cajeiri to the back of his great-grandmother’s chair, beside Cenedi. That space in the doorway having cleared, Banichi and Jago entered the room and stood against the wall, grimly listening.

  “The Dojisigi district of the Marid,” Baiji said, “the lord of Amarja, Tori . . . he sent to me, offering his granddaughter, Tiajo—promising support for this whole district if I made this alliance.”

  “Tori,” Ilisidi said, “son of Badissuni.”

  “The one, yes, aiji-ma. The proposal said—that the western coast—that I—had the choice of falling by force and assassination to the Kadigidi aiji and the North—or I could join with the Marid, by a close alliance that would respect the existing Associations of the coast. And one knows—one knows, aiji-ma, and knew then—”

  “Out with it!”

  “One suspected Lord Tori lied about respecting the coastal Associations. The Edi and the Marid are old enemies. But it has always been the position of the Maschi to protect the Edi of this coast—which we have always done, aiji-ma!”

  “Then where are they?”

  “Aiji-ma, one asks understanding! This was my thinking—that if one started to form new alliances, if you were lost, if the Marid and Murini of the Kadagidi were going to divide the world between them—at least one could save something. I could not contact my uncle. If one began to negotiate with the Marid at least with a starting ag
reement that the existing associations should persist, then one at least had a basis on which to negotiate for better things. One was no longer negotiating for things as they were—that was lost. One was trying to save what could be saved. The wars of the Edi with the Marid, the piracy, the raids—all these the Maschi had been able to calm. Could one not do this best in a new age by making an association with the Marid, rather than fall to the Kadagidi and become a target when the Marid ultimately moved to assassinate Murini and seize the aijinate? If I had attempted to fight either of them, this whole coast would be under assault—and all the ancient agreements would be trampled down. All the old grudges would be paid off, Contracts would be issued on every hand . . . the very living of the people would become impossible if the coast came under blockade, in a struggle between Murini and the Marid, and the humans would—” Baiji’s eyes shifted anxiously to Bren. “One has no idea what the humans might do if the Kadagidi and Marid started fighting in the strait, off their very shores. If humans invaded, and we had no association to protect us—we would become a battlefield.”

  “Humans would not have invaded on their own behalf,” Bren said, hoping he believed it. “One strongly doubts your scenario for an invasion, nadi. Mospheira was aiding the Northern Isles to remain independent. Had you appealed to the Presidenta, you might have joined the Northern Isles and they might have interdicted the Marid. Their navy might have saved you.”

  “But it was an association we have never made, nandi,” Baiji protested.

  “The Edi have close connections with the Isles,” Ilisidi said. “You might have asked them . . . if they had not already seen in you a policy and a future they would not tolerate.”

  That panicked Baiji for a moment. His eyes shifted from one to the other of them, wildly. “So. But—with a successor, me being a young man, my honored mother having died . . .”

  “Another interesting point. How did she die?”

  “You cannot think, aiji-ma! You cannot, you cannot think—”

  “She was in ill health, we understand. And when did your flirtation with the Marid begin?”

  “Aiji-ma, no! That had nothing to do with it! One never—never would have tolerated such a thing.”

  “Back to the Edi. Why did you not use their good offices to reach the north? Was it possibly too great an exertion for a young man? Or did the Edi already question your dealings?”

  “They—they were upset by the death of my honored mother. One was in shock, aiji-ma—one hardly knew when—one day there were no servants. There were just no servants.”

  “Indeed.”

  “One was overwhelmed, nand’ dowager! One had no means to ask Uncle what to do. There was—there was this offer of marriage. This offer of alliance. If I refused it—it might be fatal. There might be no time for such maneuvers. So I thought, I thought—being new to my post, aiji-ma, and without your sage advice—”

  Bang! “Do not annoy me, wretch! Your mother was dead, unfortunate doting woman, and you, still more unfortunate for the region, were alive. Go on!”

  “I was stalling, aiji-ma. I was continually pretending to agree. One hoped—one hoped, aiji-ma, that your ship would any day reappear in the heavens with the true aiji’s heir, and that would solve everything. And if one could play for time . . .”

  He had looked to Ilisidi a second time, and his voice faltered.

  Bang! went the cane. “Go on. We are listening.”

  “So I protested I had favored a lady of the district, and I lied, aiji-ma, that I had spoken to the daughter of the Hesi. But—” A tremor entered his voice. “This unfortunate girl—this entirely innocent girl, whom I had only met socially—she died within the month. At her own father’s table.” Baiji’s lips trembled. “And I knew—I knew surely it was my fault. It was because I used her name. They removed—removed her from consideration. And now—now I have the gravest doubt whether my mother’s death was from her illness . . . I had not thought that. I never had thought that, aiji-ma.”

  For the first time Bren felt a twinge of sympathy for the man who had harbored assassins . . . not overmuch, since they had shot one of his people, killed two of Ilisidi’s, and attempted to kill him and Banichi and Jago. But the young man was a fool. Possibly he had tried to match wits with the Marid.

  “Go on,” Ilisidi said.

  “Within two days I received a letter expressing condolence and renewing the offer. I have this letter. I have saved everything, aiji-ma—if you wish to have these things.”

  “We shall expect it. Say on.”

  “So—I could not call my uncle; I had the fate of the young lady of the Hesi on my conscience. One had the estate to protect—”

  One noted he never said “my people.” And that he reverted to the remote formal when speaking of them.

  “—so one hoped to temporize, never naming names: one pleaded grief for my mother, grief for the young lady. One asked questions, pretending not to understand clauses in the agreement. One conjured every remote provision of treaties and agreements which I wished specifically to be preserved—I have the list, aiji-ma. I have all those papers.”

  “On, I say! You were grieving. And you saved the papers, as any reasonably careful accountant might do. What more?”

  “Then—they wished me to visit the Marid, aiji-ma, but—but then you came back from the heavens, and Murini was about to fall, and I—one feared to travel in those days in the first place, and then my bodyguard left me, just like the servants. I thought they had gone to fight for you, aiji-ma, but I never saw them again.”

  “Where did you acquire the ones you had?” Banichi asked from the side of the room.

  “They came from the Guild. They gave me regards from my own guard and said they had taken their place.”

  When the Guild itself had been suspect, in those last days of Murini’s administration.

  “One fears you may never see your bodyguard again,” Bren murmured.

  “The replacements,” Banichi said, unasked, “are dead.”

  Baiji looked from one to the other of them, and his jaw trembled. “I was afraid of them, nandiin. I knew—I knew they reported elsewhere.”

  “My grandson’s men,” Ilisidi said, “have taken the estate in hand until your uncle’s return. In him we have confidence, and there will be questions and an accounting, a rendering of the books and records, a task in which he will have your assistance, if you wish to regain anything.”

  “Aiji-ma.” A seated bow. “One longs to be of service.”

  “We hold this notion for consideration,” Ilisidi said, “since we have not heard how you continued this dalliance with the Marid after our return from space and after my grandson took Shejidan and drove Murini in retreat. Now present us your excuse! Was there some unreported difficulty with the phones, that would prevent your calling Shejidan or sending a messenger covertly?”

  “I was afraid, aiji-ma! My very guard was sending secret messages! I had no idea whether they were reporting to the aiji or—or to the Marid! How could I move in any regard without them knowing?”

  “Ingenuity might have overcome this. A phone call, I say. A visit to your neighbors. A shopping expedition to Dalaigi. Shopkeepers would surely have acted for you at your request.”

  “They would know.”

  “They would know. A call to my grandson, man! A note, contained in a basket of produce, sent to your neighbor!”

  “But—one thought—aiji-ma—the aiji himself was negotiating with the Marid. Things might yet change. Perhaps—perhaps I could do something favorable by marrying the girl. I could draw her house into association with the coast . . .”

  “Marry a Dojisigi girl, part of a scheme the Tasaigi clan no longer had any motive to move forward? Draw the Dojisigi into conflict with the Tasaigi, perhaps? Bring the eastern peninsula of the Marid into conflict with the western, which has had their man’chi for seven hundred years? Gods above and below, what do you think your help is worth, man?”

  “Aiji-ma—”


  “You had one value to them: as a foothold on the western coast, within its association, a foothold that would be shortlived, but one from which they could work to alienate the Edi from the aishidi’tat; one from which they could plan an assassination that would shake the entire world. Not my great-grandson. Not a power for the future of the aishidi’tat. That was not their aim. The paidhi-aiji was their target, the power that connects my grandson with the Mospheirans and with the heavens and all its factions—and you agreed.”

  “No, aiji-ma, by no means!”

  “You ignored the chance my great-grandson would perish in your scheme. No, that was of no import to you and your advisors. You were set on the paidhi’s life, and have made two attempts on it!”

  “Not I, aiji-ma! Not I!”

  “Where is your aunt, man?”

  “My—aunt.”

  “Lord Geigi’s wife. Lord Geigi’s Samiusi clan wife. Did she maintain ties with your mother?”

  “Not—not that I know, aiji-ma. She—”

  “Once before, the Marid tried to achieve a foothold in Sarini province—attempting to impoverish your uncle, do you recall that event? They made every effort to bring him down, and Lord Geigi’s last-contracted wife, your aunt, was in frequent correspondence with her sister, who—ah! I remember—just happened to be married into the Marid! What a grand coincidence! And Lord Geigi’s sister—”

  “I cannot hear you speak ill of my mother, aiji-ma!”

  “Your mother was a virtuous woman, certainly, in Lord Geigi’s confidence—ah, but how could I forget? She corresponded with Geigi’s former wife . . .”

  “Innocently, aiji-ma!”

  “Well, well, she administered Kajiminda well enough in difficult times. I wonder where the change happened. A message from your aunt’s end of the continent, perhaps? Communication from your cousins in the Marid? One is certain you have cousins in the Marid. . . .”