Текст книги "Pretender"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“No, nadi, with all appreciation,” Tabini said from above. It was as if the old servant had wanted to build a wall at the base of the steps. “But place it about. Full about, if you will.”

Not keeping the presence that had come in from departing, nor yet lying as a barrier, but reversing the flow of the room, allowing what came in from the door to flow up to the dais, the reverse of what had always existed there. Even the paidhi had no trouble understanding that gesture. The crowd moved back and even lordly hands applied themselves to straightening that ancient, priceless runner, aiming its knotted-silk patterns from the door toward the dais.

In a moment more, a handful of other servants had brought in bare branches of the season, and vases of seasonal pattern, and tables stolen from the halls. Two more servants, from some deep and untouched storeroom, had found Ragi banners, red and black, and brought them to stand in their places, while others took down the Kadagidi colors.

“Unstaff and fold them,” was the aiji’s declaration. “They are the Kadagidi’s banners, not Murini’s. Send them to the Kadagidi. They may bring them back to this hall again.”

A little stunned silence followed that quiet statement, like the shock after an explosion, and Bren did not so much as blink, though his mind raced, and he wondered if the Kadagidi would accept that gift—their banners returned to them without remark and undamaged. That not Murini’s declared, seemingly, that if the Kadagidi could free themselves of Murini’s leadership, they would find their way back to the grace of the Ragi aiji.

No reprisals. No general purge of clan leadership.

Nothing, either, so gracious or politically convenient for the Kadagidi as the aiji himself executing the culprit and taking on the onus of a feud. The Kadagidi clan itself had a choice: To take measures, or find itself at extreme disadvantage in the restored aijinate—even at war with the aiji’s growing authority, which looked to be more solid than before the trouble.

No, it was not as gentle as it sounded at first blush. It forced a very, very uncomfortable decision on the Kadagidi.

Would they kill their own kinsman? Exile him? Break man’chi?

The little silence that had followed that remark had perhaps understood that situation at gut level, a good deal faster than a human brain could reason its way through the matter, but likely enough, Bren thought, even atevi had had to think about it a heartbeat or two.

And the reaction among the Kadagidi would be split—split right down the dividing line of factions that surrounded any provincial power, those favoring this and that policy, this and that way of managing clan affairs. There was always another side to any clan-aiji’s rule, and this little statement reached right in with a scalpel and cut certain taut threads within the Kadagidi clan itself.

Not gentle, no. Likely to have bloodshed, not all over the country, but specifically right within the very halls to which Murini’s flight might now be taking him. Let that statement go out over the airwaves, as it surely had gone through Guildsmen present, to the Guild authority, whatever it was at the moment—Tabini-aiji, reputed for sharp decisions, was back in business.

And something had clearly happened inside the Guild, among all those delicate threads of man’chi held in precise tension, among Guild of various houses and districts. Guild black was prominent here, weapons in hands, weapons supporting Tabini-aiji.

From general paralysis of the Guild, change had happened catastrophically, from the moment Guild authority had moved in on Tatiseigi’s estate—drawing a lethal reaction from high-up Assassins in Tabini’s company, possibly in Ilisidi’s guard, and—a fact which still stunned him, but which was very logical—possibly a very high one inserted into the paidhi’s household. Assassins continually in the field, his, and Tabini’s, and Ilisidi’s—met a company of Guild officers who must have thought themselves the best, the most elite, likely equipped with the latest in surveillance and weaponry on the planet, arrived to carry out a very surgical strike—and they just hadn’t moved as outrageously, as fast, as the field agents.

Arrogance had expected Tatiseigi was underequipped, and hadn’t reckoned on the heavy weapons and explosives Tatiseigi’s house had accumulated over the years, in its proximity to Kadagidi provocations. Tatiseigi’s antique equipage and old-fashioned notions had doubtless occasioned scorn and derision in the Guild, and despair in his own staff. But a shed full of explosives, as one could easily imagine existed in a rural, forest-edge estate, where the occasional stump had to be removed. (Had the aiji not wanted such caches registered, in those early, innocent years, when they were blasting roadway for the rail? And had not the lords turned very secretive about what they had, what they insisted they needed for themselves?) Lord Tatiseigi’s store, had been, perhaps, just a little excessive for stumpsc One could certainly imagine that train of events, at least, creating a very shockingly effective resource to deploy in general defense—God knew, Tatiseigi could understand blunt-force explosives. And his own staff had brought in items the planet-bound Guild had never seen. Arrogance met spaceborn technology, was what.

And met Guild members who hadn’t been present for whatever underhanded maneuver had set Gegini in a position of authority.

A woman in Guild black came from the door, bowed. “The buses are coming up the drive now, aiji-ma. A crowd is following afoot and in vehicles.”

“Let them in,” Tabini said, and Cajeiri, who stood at his father’s arm, said, in a slightly elevated voice: “That will be mama.”

“That it will,” Tabini said, and in a few more minutes there was a general gasping and squeal of brakes outside, audible even in this thick-walled hall.

And if only, Bren thought, finding his hard-used legs were going quite numb and tending to shiver on the cold stone, if only this arrival didn’t rattle a sniper or two out of the woodwork, they were home. Home, and Tabini was solidly back in power.

His own apartment was upstairs, in whatever condition. As Tabini’s was. The halls of the legislative branch were just down the corridor. His imagination painted them dark, the lamps of democracy and debate momentarily gone out.

He imagined a plane in flight, Murini’s people trying to decide where to go, if they had not picked out a landing site already. There was an airport at Mei, in the Kadagidi holdings, and that was the most logical, a pleasant enough town at the edge of the foothillsc if he dared bring his growing trouble home.

A hubbub came up the outer steps, came into the outer hall, stressed voices, voices calling out directions, but none raised in alarm. A clot of people pressed as far as the doors, demanding to be let in, and yet hanging back in fear or diffidence.

Then, “We shall all see the aiji,” a feminine voice said in no uncertain tones, and guards at the door gave way to Damiri herself, entraining her young cousin, her sister, and her uncle and aunt and the lord of the Ajuri, all of whom swept into the hall in a wave of heraldic color and dynastic determination. Damiri walked ahead of them, left her uncle and grandfather to reach the steps, and to climb right past Bren to stand by her husband and her son.

That reunion Bren turned his head to see from the corner of his eye, a restrained exchange of slight, sedate bows, a little touch of the hand, wife to husband, son to mother. There was no wild outward demonstration, nothing of the sort; but he knew beyond a doubt one young heart was fluttering hard, and youthful nerves were at their limits. Ilisidi would be ever so proud of her handiwork, Bren thought. Everyone in the hall had a view of the lad’s comportment, and it was formal and atevi to the last degree, even while other contingents from the buses were crowding and jostling their way into the hall.

“Tabini-aiji!” someone called out, and other voices joined in, “Tabini-aiji!” It became a chant, an echo in the high hall, and it went on, and went on until Tabini shouted out, “We are here, nadiin-ji!”

Which raised more cheers, rousing complete, aggressive chaos in the hall. Baji-naji, Bren thought, looking out over the tight-pressed crowd, in which black Guild uniforms mingled indiscriminately with the travel-worn colors of civilians from the central provinces.

A happy event. A Ragi event dominated by Padi Valley ambitions, the return not only of the Ragi aiji, but the heir of their own blood, in a tumult that went on and on and on, became a contest, a rivalry precarious and dangerous.

Bren felt the strength drain from his bones—was anxious for his own people, and most of all anxious for the impression he created for Tabini, this close to power. He was not popular in the Padi Valley, there was no question. He sat still, tried to look decorous, wishing he could just creep down the steps and see if he could gather his staff and get away to his estate. He presented a disheveled appearance, not to mention a sweaty and grease-stained one, black streaking his hands, smudging his coat, probably his face, God only knew. Pale colors meant he collected dirt.

And if he lived to get out of this hall, if some Assassin didn’t take him out before the night was over, upstairs was his dearest ambition. He wondered if his own apartment still existed, if there could possibly be a bath, and his own favorite chair, and above all his staff, safe and intact.

He didn’t let himself settle too deeply into that hope. Most of all he was worried for his bodyguard’s safety—knew that they were committed to the aiji’s survival at the moment, in which his own safety came second if not third, and he desperately wanted to get Jago within range to ask her about Banichi, whether he was safe.

He saw her. But she stayed out of his reach, and spent her attention on the crowd, scanning faces, it might be.

Then he spotted a conspicuous coat near the doorway, an ornate, too-small coat, and a second teenager with a handful of green-and-brown-clad Taibeni.

So did Cajeiri. “Taro! Gari!” the heir cried out, startling the assemblage to silence, and a boy who had learned some of his manners in the back corridors of the Phoenix starship went plunging down the steps to reach his young staffc Who had the planet-bred good manners to bow very deeply and bring the rush of enthusiasm to a quick halt. They bowed, Cajeiri bowed. The room—and startled security—let out a quiet exhalation and settled.

Bren did not look back to see Tabini’s reaction, or Lady Damiri’s.

The moment passed. The young rascal wanted to bring his staff right up onto the dais with him, as security staff had assumed positions near his parents, but the young people had more sense.

Antaro shed the too-small coat, exchanged it on the spot for her own, outsized on Cajeiri, and if there was a witness present who didn’t realize what that exchange was about, his instincts needed sharpening.

“Son,” Tabini said gravely, and with a single backward look, Cajeiri climbed back up the steps to stand with his parents.

The youngsters were safe, Bren said to himself, feeling his legs gone numb. That business had gone right. The youngsters had gotten through, the decoy, if it had worked, hadn’t been fatal, and everyone had come through on that side. Was that Ismini, back there near the door? Was it Ismini and his team Tabini had sent with the decoy?

For his own safety, howeverc there was no such easy answer.

Then he saw one large and very welcome presence loom in the doorway—a little frayed, it might be, his uniform jacket cut and showing its protective lining, and even his hair stringing a bit about his ears, but Banichi had come in, and with him, Nali, one of Ilisidi’s young men, in no better form. They spoke a word or two to Jago, gave a little nod.

A little shiver started, absolute chill setting into Bren’s bones, as if the final reaction had waited all this time to get a hold on him.

He tried to keep his muscles warm. He heard Tabini’s voice above him, thanking his suporters, declaring Intent on anyone who aided Murini henceforth—documents would be filed; the Guild would function as it legally was supposed to function, a force for order, atevi order and law.

“At a certain time, and before the hasdrawad and the tashrid, we shall have an accounting,” Tabini said. “The Bu-javid is in our hands again. Where is the master of the premises?”

There was a little confusion. But a tall old woman, her hair completely white with age, came forward to the foot of the steps and bowed deeply.

“I am here, aiji-ma, in my father’s place.”

“Madam,” Tabini said, “take account of the staff, those in our man’chi and those unreliable.”

“I have such an accounting,” the head of staff said, “and have kept it daily, in my head; and chiefly unreliable, aiji-ma, the head of house security and his immediate staff, who are no longer on the premises.”

“We know where he has gone,” Tabini said. “There will be amnesty for minor faults. Do not mistake, madam, the names or the man’chi of those remaining.”

A deep, deep bow. “To the best of my knowledge, aiji-ma, I have my list, and will give it.”

“Do so,” Tabini said, with that curtness only allowable in lords.

“Assume your father’s post, madam. Arrange the house, with immediate attention to our residency. My security will move in, immediately, expecting good order.”

“Aiji-ma.” A third, and deepest bow, and the old woman turned and walked away—one sure power within the house. Bren knew her, long her father’s right hand, doing all those administrative tasks that kept the halls clean and the priceless heirlooms of the people’s hall safe and maintained, down to the polish on the doors and the cleanliness of the carpets underfoot—not to mention the credentials of the lowliest sweeper and the most elegant arbiter of kabiu. Those eyes, however old, were very keen for minutiae, and that mind was sharp.

And upstairs, doubtless at this very moment, whatever Murini might have left in the aiji’s apartment was being searched out, dismantled, rearranged. Very soon she would have domestic staff going through it.

“Those of you who have residence within the halls,” Tabini said, “see to it. Those who have residency in the city, see to your own man’chi. Those of you who will house in hostels, we shall stand all charges: Apply to the master of accounts, with appropriate records, within prudent bounds. The aishidi’tat is intact and safe tonight.

Go to your residences!”

A cheer broke out, happier than the last, minatory expression—a cheer for being home, for being back in command of things—for the world being set right, dared one hope?

Bren ventured to get to his feet, to find his legs again, sore and weary as they were, and after a few tries, made it up. Tabini had gathered his staff about him, Ismini and his men with them. The lord of the Ajuri pressed forward, asserting his presence and his influence; the Taibeni, Keimi himself, with Deiso, moved in, asserting the rights and presence of their clan. Several others that had been marginally involved pressed close, including the head of (Bren recognized the woman, but the name escaped him) a major shipping company, in one of Shejidan’s notable houses, vying for her share of attention. No few of Shejidan’s powers had come in, and pushed their way into the approaches to power.

Reshuffling of the deck. People who had supported Tabini and those who had hedged their bets on both sides, all pressed hard to make sure they had the aiji’s ear at the earliest, and offered their support, now that the balance had tilted so strongly toward a resumption of Ragi clan rule.

Bren took a careful step down, onto the floor, child-sized and not seeing over the crowd. But Tano was there, quickly, and immediately after came Algini, who gave a little bow, his face as grave and sober as ever.

“One apologizes, nandi, for actions taken without consultation.”

Algini, who so rarely spoke, who never had admitted that he might have a man’chi higher than the paidhi, higher, even, than that to Tabini-aiji. And if he did hold such a man’chi, then, presumably, his partner Tano might hold the same. But there was no graceful way to ask. Dignity consisted in accepting what Algini offered, and doing it with good will.

“One has never doubted your duty, Gini-ji, or your goodness.”

That last addition seemed to startle Algini, whose eyebrows lifted just a little, whose mouth took on a rueful—was it humor? Or something else, from this man of many man’chiin?

“One has never doubted the paidhi’s qualities,” Algini said, and bowed deeply. “In any event. Excuse us, nandi. One fears Lord Tatiseigi has taken residence. There are arrangements made.”

Taken residence. Taken his residence, that was.

Well, damn! The old lord had survived, for which the paidhi could be very grateful; but he had also, always the double-edged good news, taken his apartment back, reclaimed the premises that Lady Damiri had graciously alloted to the paidhi-aiji, along with its staff, and he had nowhere to go, tonight.

“The dowager is well?” he asked Algini.

“Well, indeed, and she asks the paidhi and his staff take residency in her quarters.”

That was a shock. He was ever so relieved to know Ilisidi had made it through—but the invitation was another double-edged item. “One would be very grateful,” he murmured.

“We should go there, nandi,” Algini said, and he obediently went with Algini, as far as Banichi and Jago, who stood near the door.

The lot of them were relieved of all responsibility, one supposed, for the heir and his staff.

So they were home, and relatively safe. Concern for his secretarial staff occurred to him, but his security staff already had its hands full, just seeing to him, and the domestic staff that would have seen to domestic details and relayed messages for him had just been reappropriated by Lord Tatiseigi. He might call in staff from his coastal estate—assuming it was still standing—but he had no residence to call them to; he needed urgently to inquire after the safety of those people as well. Ten thousand domestic things needed attention, and the staff he did have was exhausted, likely as distressed as he was to learn that they were to be dispossessed of their place in the Bu-javid, that familiar beds and baths were not going to be available.

“It seems we are to lodge with the dowager, nadiin-ji,” he said to Banichi and Jago, finding his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “One hopes we can have a few hours’ rest tonight.”

“Those premises will be secure, at least,” Jago said—that was a plus, no question, the premises in question being those of a district no other lord would want to offend. The place was a veritable museum of fine carpets and heirlooms of Eastern origin, and those had surely stayed intact, whatever the troubles.

In the meanwhile, one could guess where Lord Tatiseigi would choose to lodge for a number of months, certain damages having occurred to his estate.

God, he had so wanted his own bed tonight, his own bath– his own staff. But they had never been truly his. And unwelcome as the news was, it had come in advance of any awkwardness, since the principals never had to negotiate the situation. No need, therefore, to be told at his own door that he could not come in, no need to sit miserably in a hallway until someone noticed his plight. Algini had arranged things. Ilisidi had.

“So, well,” he said, hoping that external demands on his staff now were satisfied, and that he might get a message or two through to various people, not to forget a phone call to the Island, if he could manage it. “Nadiin-ji, one hopes that we all may go upstairs.”

9

A bath, at last—a deep, soaking bath. And if nothing else, Madam Saidin, chief of staff in what had been his apartment, had sent his personal belongings to Ilisidi’s premises– coats now surely out of style, clean shirts, clean linens– trousers that were not the snug fit they had been. He had dropped weight, not an unwelcome notion.

The shirts and coats might fit, but strained the shoulders a little.

And there were Ilisidi’s servants to help, servants expert at putting a wardrobe in order, in dealing with ragged, grimy nails and bodily cuts and bruises—not to mention providing an array of unguents and salves, providing a good shave, and, thanks to Jago, a deep massage on the broad dressing bench. He might outright have gone to sleep in the course of that process, but he fought the urge, and gathered himself up dutifully to be dressed and combed and fussed over, all in deference to the dowager, who, it turned out when he presented himself in the library about two hours before midnight, had made the other decision, and taken a lengthy nap.

For once staff information had failed him. It certainly would not be proper for a guest to be found asleep in the dowager’s library, and he had no wish to crush his clothes, this first time a borrowed staff had dressed him. He thought of going to sleep, then decided someone in the household should stay awake a little longer to see if any emergency turned up.

So he called for tea and sat and shut his eyes between sips, in the selfsame library, swilling cup after cup of fairly strong tea, while he hoped his own security had found the chance for a little sleep, leaving matters to people Cenedi could call on.

Not so. Banichi turned up, washed, newly uniformed, but looking unaccustomedly tired. “Nandi,” he said, in that formal way which indicated business.

“Sit down, Banichi-ji,” he said, indicating a substantial chair, wishing not to have to strain his neck to see Banichi’s face, and Banichi, unaccustomedly, sat down to give a report.

“Your staff and the dowager’s have been gathering information,”

Banichi began, “and we have a list of unreliable persons, none of whom reside here, but Madam Saidin has undertaken to remove two maids to the country.”

“Indeed.” Removal, with the redoubtable Madam Saidin, could be more extreme than that, if she were entirely convinced of treasonous acts.

“More,” Banichi said, “we have a reasonably accurate tally of Bu-javid general staff, and are acquiring others.”

“One regrets the necessity of such measures,” Bren murmured.

“Regrets, but your staff does not hesitate, Bren-ji. Nor shall we permit any of these persons to come into your vicinity or the aiji’s, or the dowager’s.” A breath. “One regrets to say, too, that certain lords have retreated to their estates, there to reconsider their man’chi and perhaps work their way back into favor.”

“Word of Murini, Nichi-ji?”

“His plane has indeed landed in the south, in the Taisigin Marid, but he has disappeared from view—only to be expected, nandi. He may already be dead. It would be prudent of that clan. But he may also have decided to go into hiding until the wind settles.”

“That man,” Bren said, considering every syllable, “has deserved no pity.”

“He has not,” Banichi agreed. “Nor is he likely to obtain it from Tabini-aiji. There is too much bloodshed. The Filing has been made.

Any Guild member can carry it out.”

“Our staff on the coast,” he began, in the curt manner of ship-speak, and decided, weary as he was, he had to amend that two-year-old habit.

“We have attempted to contact the coast,” Banichi said before he could draw his next breath, “and have spoken to Saidaro-nadi, who says that they have suffered some attacks, but no losses. A number of persons attempted to steal your boat, but were frustrated to find a chain across the inlet. They abandoned it against the shore and fled, after doing internal damage and attempting to set it afire.”

One could only imagine the scene. And damn it, he loved that boat. “Brave Saidaro.”

“The boat is completely repaired,” Banichi reported. “The house dared not venture as far as market, and has sustained itself by fishing and by digging shellfish, and by frequent gifts from Lord Geigi’s staff, which fared very well in the crisis. Your staff would take the boat up the coast at night and load on supplies from Lord Geigi’s estate—Lord Geigi’s estate remained unassailable, since it is an Edi estate on an Edi shore, in an Edi district. One understands there was some shooting between the Edi and their neighbors to the southwest, and there were some Guild movements, all privately directed, nothing of Guild orders for the duration.”

“Indeed.” An appalling notion, the whole coast at odds, and with Lord Geigi up on the station, Murini’s folk had still had to handle the Edi district very carefully. Though Maschi clan, he was a very popular lord over the Edi. “One wonders that Murini could restrain the Taisigin from running afoul of the west coast.” The Taisigin occupied the southern coast, long at odds with the Edi; but one could see, too, that the Edi had long had a network of connections of marriage and history that ran all along the coast northward, into districts on which the center of the aishidi’tat relied for food—notably fish, a staple of the diet, in quantities the south alone could not supply. “But one believes Murini may have run up against certain economic facts of his existence.”

That drew a little smile. “Certain economic facts of the world as it has become, not the world as the Kadagidi would like to pretend it might again become. Shejidan has come to appreciate its frozen fish, indeed, nandi.”

“Bren-ji.” It nettled him when his staff withdrew into formality with him in private, where Bren-ji would do ever so well. “One is very tired, Banichi-ji. One is ever so tired, and Bren-ji is an ever so much warmer blanket.”

“Is it?” Banichi was amused. An eyebrow moved.

“Than nandi, yes, it is.” He managed a smile. “One appreciates a warm blanket, now and again, Nichi-ji.”

“That one may,” Banichi said, and added: “Salads,” which made him laugh despite sore ribs.

“Are we safe here?” he asked.

“One believes, yes, we are safe.”

“It would be a good thing if one could make a phone call to Mosphiera.”

“No, it would not be good,” Banichi said, “for the paidhi to do that so soon.”

“Indiscreet,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“Then the paidhi will be entirely circumspect, as long as need be.”

“Certainly until the paidhi has reported, officially, to the legislature.”

He understood that was coming, and only in the weakness of exhaustion had he voiced the thought of contacting Mosphiera, which would get their reports the way they had gotten other information, via the coastal settlements, and by rumor and radio.

He, on the other hand, had to be concerned how such contact would look. Not so much substance, as perception of substance, people watching the wind to see which way it would blow in what was, potentially, a new regime. “Will the legislature come?” he asked. “Is it convening?”

“It has been called,” Banichi said. “One has no knowledge as yet, but yes, certain ones are on their way.”

“My office staff.” The thought had gnawed at him ever since he had heard the situation on the ground. “One hopes they reached safety. That they may be induced to come back.”

“Shall we make inquiries in that matter?”

“Among other things that must be urgent for my staff, nadi-ji.

Perhaps if we only issued a public appeal.”

“Such things are always accomplished down appropriate and secretive waterways, one believes your expression is.”

Through appropriate channels. He had to smile. “Indeed. Indeed, Banichi. But let the word loose, down those ways, however it has to be done. I shall need them before long—if I stay in office.” And a darker thought. “And if they have lost by being loyal to me, Banichi-ji, would I insult them by offering compensation?”

“It would by no means insult them, nandi,” Banichi said.

“Bren-ji.”

“Warm blankets,” Banichi said, leaning forward, arms on knees.

“One understands, Bren-ji. Warm blankets and a safe bed tonight.”

“You should see to your own, Banichi-ji, you and all the staff. We are under the dowager’s roof. One trusts that Cenedi is well. And Nawari. And the rest.”

“A few nicks and bruises. But Cenedi—” Banichi made a little hesitation. “Cenedi-nadi is quite done in, and will not sit down, not for a moment, except the dowager has given him a firm order, which he is contriving not to obey.”

“He is a brave man,” Bren said, and added, relentlessly and with deliberation: “So are you, Banichi-ji.”

Banichi glanced at the floor. It might be the only time he had ever taken Banichi so far aback.

“Very brave,” Bren said doggedly. “And one will never forget it.”

Atevi could blush. One had to be looking closely.

“One had better see to duty,” Banichi said, making a move toward the chair arm.

“One should accept praise, Banichi-ji, where it is due,” Bren said.

“We are a quiet Guild,” Banichi said.

“All the same,” Bren said. And added: “Very well done. One will not inquire regarding the Guild. One is very grateful to all the staff.”

That seemed to be a poser. In another moment, Banichi lifted a shoulder. “Algini and Tano have a strong man’chi within this house.

Your bringing them back to the continent was a great favor to them. They express deep gratitude.”

Murdi. That gratitude word, different than man’chi.

“And man’chi?” Another small silence. In earlier years, he might have hesitated to inquire into that silence. Now he was relatively sure of the facts. And of Tano and Algini. “Will they be ours in future?” he did ask.

“They have never ceased to be of this household,” Banichi said, and folded his hands across his middle. “The Guild never discusses its internal matters. But Murini’s ally is dead, the old master has reasserted his authority. Algini is bound not to discuss it, but, Bren-ji, he and Tano are now free to continue assignment here.

They wish to do so. They are not able to answer questions.” A shrug. “But one doubts that the paidhi has many questions to ask.”

It was a shock, even so, to hear it stated. Bren cleared his throat of obstruction. “No,” he said. “No questions. They are welcome, very welcome.”

Banichi listened to that, seemed to turn it over in his mind, perhaps trying to parse what he knew of humans and one particular human, and the faintest look of satisfaction touched his face. “Algini is required to be here. Technically, he cannot have man’chi within our household, but he holds it to Tano. And we may discuss this in this house because Cenedi is very well aware of the situation. That the paidhi guessed—one is not utterly surprised. It will not likely surprise Algini.”

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