Текст книги "Intruder"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“And their man’chi?”

He saw that trap and stepped right across it. “Their man’chi is like nand’ Bren’s.”

“One doubts it is that extraordinary,” Father said. “But it has impressed you.”

“They are strong,” he said. “They are quick. They have protected me.”

“Protected you.”

“They have taken the blame for me, honored Father, when I was stupid.”

“An impressive gift. So.” Father was quiet for a moment. “And you were ordered, strictly, to forego this association.”

“I was ordered. But I have learned it would be improper for me, honored Father, to disrespect their man’chi.”

“That is how you read them, in particular. All of them.”

Another trap. It was a test.

“Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father. And Bjorn. Bjorn is a year older. One does not believe the rest have such man’chi, but these four. These four.”

“A fortunate number for an aishid. Was that your thought?”

“I have an aishid, honored Father, and they shall be. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene—they are the three I would most rely on. Bjorn I would rely on to help me and to fight for me. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father, these three would be with me through anything. Bjorn has man’chi to them most. But to me, too. I am older, now, and much wiser.”

Father nodded. “And you think it unjust that we have severed you from these persons.”

He could get angry if he let himself. Anger, mani would say, is your enemy’s servant.

“I know why you have ordered it, honored Father. I need to be with atevi. I shall live here and not in space. I shall need to know things I could not learn in space. I need to know atevi and not to be confused about what I am. I need to learn man’chi. I need to learn from atevi.” It was a recital, of things all the adults around him had said, over and over. “Now I know what everybody was telling me about grown-up feelings. Now I know what you and mani wanted to teach me about that. Now I am ready.”

His father leaned back in his chair, as he would do when he was taking a view of something, and ending a conversation. “You are almost fortunate nine. And extraordinarily precocious.”

“One hopes to be respectful.” He had learned to say that under the threat of a thwack on the ear. “Honored Father.”

“Are you? Respectful?”

His heart ticked up. “One wishes always to be respectful, honored Father.”

“Yet you send secret messages by a lord who may in the future wish your favor.”

“Nand’ Bren says Lord Geigi is honest and I should rely on him. But nand’ Bren has man’chi to you, and so does Lord Geigi. So I know he would have told you. But I suppose he might have forgotten to tell you. Things were very confused at Najida.”

“Oh, do not be elusive, son of mine. It hardly becomes an aiji. Speak your mind.”

“Then you should not be angry at Lord Geigi for sending my message. I am the one. I was not proper to him, to ask him to carry a message you would not approve. I did not expect him to send it. He may not have known you disapproved.”

His father’s face was quite grim. “He is no fool. Do you think he is?”

“Not at all. But he may be busy.”

“It was quite clever. He did come to me. I told him to send the message. And all the rest.”

“All my other letters?”

“I saved them.”

He drew a deep, slow breath. Bowed, which was always a good idea when the conversation was getting tense.

“Honored Father.”

“So here is your answer,” Father said, nudging the glassy envelope closer. “A letter carried down on the shuttle. One inquired of Jase-aiji as to the propriety of the exchange.”

“Jase-aiji.” Jase-aiji was one of nand’ Bren’s associates. Jase-aiji had been good to him, on the ship.

“I asked him, through the ship-paidhi, how your association with these persons stands. He responded that they often ask about you and often wish their good will sent to you. You are right. The association has not broken, though strongly encouraged to break.”

A second deep breath. A second bow. He did not trust his voice. His heart was beating for all he was worth.

“These three,” his father said, “and the fourth, are an inconvenient symmetry in ages. There will be comment on that, among the ’counters. And much as we belittle the ’counters for folly, there is reason in this. There is something missing. One does not think it is this Bjorn person, who wrote only briefly and formally and has entered technical preparation on the ship. He will not come.”

“One—has no idea, honored Father.”

“There will be someone,” his father said. “A fourth. Everyone will say so. But you are approaching your ninth and felicitous year, and one has asked oneself what sort of celebration there should be. Your grandfather and your great-uncle will of course have their plans, andtheir regional ambitions, about which you know something.”

“I know, honored Father. But—”

“Do not interrupt me.”

“Forgive me.”

“I am having a generous moment. I am having an extremely generous moment—and perhaps a moment of far less charity toward these pestilential regional ambitions. I shall not have a civil war breaking out between your grandfather and your great-uncle, or between your mother and me, or between me and my grandmother. Each will deplore the other’s influence. Half will deplore the association with nand’ Bren, half will support it. And it is in my mind to give everyone something else to deplore, if I can prevail upon Jase-aiji to move the parents of these three young people to permit them to attend you on your birthday—down and back up to the station again on the same shuttle cycle. Would that please you, son of mine?”

“Honored Father.” He found himself all but speechless. “Indeed.” He remembered to bow. “One would be extremely pleased.”

“One had little doubt of that. Your mother is anxious. I am not. One will expect extraordinarily good behavior before, during, and after this event. You understand the word ‘incident,’ do you not?”

“Yes, honored Father. One does understand it.”

“Do you understand my desire not to have one surrounding this event?”

“One understands very, very well, honored Father. One will be on absolutely the best behavior. And likewise my associates.”

“This entails the consent of their parents. Jase-aiji can strongly suggest they give it. He cannot order them to permit this, nor is it certain that your young associates will wish to come here. But you may invite them, and Jase-aiji will support your request, as will I. As will your mother.”

He bowed, and bowed again for good measure. “One would be ever so grateful, ever so well-behaved, ever so polite—”

His father lifted a hand for silence.

“Go,” his father said. “Go begin behaving well, today. Let us have another good report from your tutor.”

“You shall have, honored Father! Thank you!”

“Out.”

He left. He left with a look back at the doorway to see whether his father was still serious. He was. He ducked out and shut the door and went straight down the hall to his own door, and inside.

“Nadiin-ji!” he said when he had come in, and he scared Boji, who hopped from perch to perch in his cage and chattered at him.

But he had such good news, such absolutely unexpectedly wonderful news he could hardly hold it.

He had to start reading and writing in ship-speak again. He would teach his aishid. They needed to know it, being his bodyguards.

The whole heavens had opened up.

And when all his bodyguards appeared in the doorway, Antaro in only her underwear, he hardly even noticed that, he was so excited.

“I have news,” he said. “Nadiin-ji, I am going to have the best birthday there could ever be! My ship-associates are coming!”

“Indeed?” Antaro asked.

“For my birthday! Father sent the message, and I have letters!”

It was very little time until his birthday happened and until he could see his shipboard-associates, and they could meet his aishid, and they would all get together and talk until all hours.

Oh, and then he could show themhow clever he had taught Boji to be. They would never have seen a parid’ja, or a mechieta, or anything of the kind. That would be wonderful to them.

He would show them the Bujavid and mecheiti. He would take them on the train, and they could go to Uncle Tatiseigi’s estate, and he would show them all how to ride.

And he would have Boji travel with them, because by then he would have trained Boji. Boji would amaze them. They all told stories about dogs and cats and horses, and he had seen them in the human archive, but he was sure nobody alive had ever seen one. And hehad Boji, who would do wonderful things by then, and everybody would have a grand time, and maybehe could get permission to take his associates from the ship out to nand’ Bren’s estate at Najida, too, and they could see the ocean from right on the boat dock, and maybe even sail on nand’ Bren’s boat. Even if nand’ Bren could not be there, there were people who knew how to sail the boat, and with nand’ Bren’s permission, they could do it.

There would be so many wonderful things. So incredibly many things to do.

He had the envelope in his hand. Wordsfrom them. Shipspeaka.He had drawn his pictures to remember the ship and remember the words. And he had taught a few of the words and the alphabet to his aishid, but now it was urgent, and they were all going to learn and practice every single day.

Oh, it was so good!

Bindanda insisted he needed no day off to recuperate, and the result was a splendid and elaborate breakfast, the junior cook having had the foresight to have made a very large and extended food order, not just the staples for feeding twice the number as before, but the full array of ingredients, as the junior cook put it, that a master chef might expect to find in the best of kitchens.

Bren had signed off on the order, and the market had sent it up. And doubtless their junior cook had made a brilliant move, since Bindanda was clearly in a good mood.

Narani had the running of the household now, that venerable old man, and a dust particle would not dare linger. Narani had ordered flowers and started an arrangement of spring blossoms for the front hall, while staff scurried about on routine tasks, and Jeladi was supervising an inventory and assignment of staff to particular maintenance and supplycit was, in short, becoming a very well-run household this morning, one in which Bren found no fault at all.

Anticipating that he would have a household in reorganization and that his approval might be needed to set up certain accounts, he had not scheduled any committee meetings, not a one. He had foreseen also just the shade of a hangover after last night, but he had wisely avoided one and felt—surprisingly—extraordinary.

He blazed through the policy statement he had promised his clerical staff. Aliens might arrive in the heavens, as foretold, but they would not likely descend. The kyo were not the sort that coped well with strangeness, and that disposition at least seemed part of their makeup, not just a mutable cultural condition.

They are, however, very respectful of elders, and they were fascinated by the aiji’s son, who very favorably impressed them, as did the aiji-dowager, as an elder of great rank. We have a very good grasp of the basics of the language and are confident that the paidhiin on the station and the paidhi’s office in Shejidan will be able to translate adequately to enable a productive and well-conducted meeting. They have conceived of the atevi-human association as a good model for their own situation with their neighbors, and they wish to observe it in operation, which is their reason for contemplating a visit. They expect only to see how we live and to adapt it for their own circumstances.

One omitted the fact that the kyo had had no idea what to do about strangers and had gone to war with whatever strangers they met—though it was a little debatable who had shot first. Their troubles with their own neighbors was a problem one earnestly hoped never arrived on their planetary doorstep.

The world had, however, no choice about a kyo visit. The kyo either would come, as they had indicated they would, or they would argue themselves out of the notion and try to ignore the existence of a different model than the one they had. Politics must operate among the kyo. It did seem likely.

Rest assured they are very, very remote from us in space, and it will never be a frequent association, but a good one, out on the fringes of what we know of the universe. They have already given us better numbers and better information than we have ever had on the space beyond.

Please God that was allthat happened regarding space beyond.

Then there was the statement he needed to write for the Transportation Committee, comprised of members of the hasdrawad and the tashrid. The Transportation Committee was the interface between the legislature and the Transportation Guild. Theywanted to know whether to send the full text of materials the paidhi had provided to them on to the relevant Guild, which managed rail and air transport.

No, damn it, he did not want the full text of the Machigi documents going to that Guild—yet. Not yet. He had already said so, in no uncertain terms. This was the second query. One hardly knew what one needed say to make it clear.

Kindly await the paidhi’s office in consultation with higher authorities regarding this matter. We have not yet concluded an agreement, the seal on the matter is not yet firm, and we are far from contemplating specific routes, although if there are any of merit being suggested on the basis of rumor, we should appreciate those suggestions being referred back to the paidhi’s office for consideration by the parties to the agreement. Meanwhile, please advise the Transportation Guild to exercise patience. Once information begins to be released, the paidhi assures them they will be in the very first tier of that release.

That should keep the committee busy long enough. He already damned well knewwhere the expanded rail line had to go, the only route that had ever been available to it because of simple geology: it had to pass through Ilisidi’s lands, up from the coastal region where her name carried far more weight than any of her neighbors could claim. The fact that geology delivered Ilisidi the only route might not please certain of her neighbors, but no degree of debate would ever deliver a different route. Perfect example of endless circular argument, at which that committee excelled lately. One burst of brilliant leadership in the development of the space initiative, and then—the current chair took over, and nothing had changed since.

Afternoon tea, and it was so very pleasant to have Jeladi bring him only a scant amount of mail.

And most of it in ornate message cylinders from within the Bujavid.

One of those was white lilies on green. Tatiseigi.

Thatwas potential trouble.

Bren Lord of Najidac

Well. That was interesting. It was the second time Tatiseigi hailed him not as paidhi-aiji, as he always had, but as a fellow lordcthough using the lesser of his two titles, that of a minor country estate, instead of the admittedly grandiose Lord of the Heavens. Twice now, seemed to be a social advancement. Lord Tatiseigi went on:

One is in receipt of an inquiry from Lord Brosan regarding matters before the Transportation Committee, expressing concern about the security of rail crews working in the Marid. If you would be so good as to reassure Lord Brosan and other members of the committeec

Et cetera.

God. The Transportation Committee. Again.

One hardly blamed the workers in this case. But their safety was already being assured by the Assassins’ Guild, making it very unlikely there would be trouble. What else could the paidhi-aiji do?—take up a rifle and stand guard over the work crews?—with far less skill than the Assassins’ Guild, one was quite sure.

He wrote, in reply:

Tatiseigi Lord of the Atageini,

From Bren Lord of Najida

Esteemed Lord Tatiseigi, one certainly understands the anxiousness of the Committee and will undertake to assure the gentleman Chair that the Assassins’ Guild isc

A knock at the office door. Jeladi returned, bringing the basket back, this time with only one message-cylinder, one of the polished steel sort used by the Messengers’ Guild for items relayed electronically.

“Thank you, Ladi-ji.” He took the offered cylinder and opened it, hoping it was not from Machigi, with a disaster.

Ilisidi.

With good news.

I shall expect you at supper this evening, nandi, following our arrival. We have likewise invited Lord Geigi and Lord Tatiseigi, and I hope to see my grandson, if he can arrange matters on so short notice. As anticipated, we have important matters to discuss. We understand that Lord Machigi’s representative has now arrived. Would you do us the favor of calling on her and assessing her situation and intent?

Supper this evening. And Geigiwas coming in, having been in direct contact with Ilisidi. Doubtless planes were already in the air. Something was up with those two.

Meanwhile he was going to have to make a delicate social call on extremely short notice, and thank God he hadn’t been caught with a schedule full of committee meetings.

He got up from his desk, went out to the foyer and found Narani at his flower-arranging.

“Rani-ji. Lord Geigi must be picked up at the airport this afternoon, one believes, and he may choose to guest in my premises for a few days. He must be urged to do so, on grounds of security, if you will see that message conveyed to him. I have just received word from the aiji-dowager that I am expected, with Lord Geigi, at formal dinner this evening. This afternoon, a mission on her behalf—I need to go down to the city to visit the Taisigi representative at her offices; one estimates about an hour for that meeting, excluding transit, but arrangements must be made that let me get back to the dinner in good order, ideally with time to consult with Lord Geigi beforehand.”

“Nandi,” the old man said, and one could at that point trust that every single detail of that arrangement would come off in the best possible order. One could do Narani the greatest possible favor by getting out of his way and letting him do his job, which was not going to involve flower-arranging for a good half hour: that it would entail advising Bindanda and Jeladi of the likelihood of a guest; having Banichi contact Geigi’s bodyguard and find out if Ilisidi had included an invitation for lodgings, or if Geigi could be persuaded to accept the paidhi’s; having Koharu and Supani have the paidhi’s best court dayclothing ready for an afternoon outing; having his best eveningclothing ready for the evening; and being sure that the social and meetings calendar for tomorrow morning was cleared of any other obligations in the most courteous possible way in case the dinner ran late—a good guess—or that there might be need for office work in the morning—another good guess.

One could meanwhile heave a sigh of moderate relief and think about the next thing, which was to advise Koharu and Supani he needed to bathe and change.

He had visited the foot of the Bujavid hill very seldom in his career. It was a train trip down to a small station that had a secure transfer point to transport. Legislators used it, committee witnesses might use it; court officials and secretaries used it; and servants of Bujavid households traveling on passes used it.

It rarely had the aiji’s own train pulling into the station at the bottom of the hill. But that was how the paidhi-aiji traveled, when he traveled. He had his bodyguard about him. He had his briefcase. He had the cooperation of a Guild special attachment, who were in contact, besides the ordinary security that surrounded this little substation. The van, specially protected and held for him, with a Guild-approved driver, would transfer him a short distance through the hotel district, and another Guild detachment would meet them at the curb of the Taisigi mission.

Time to move. He got up, moved briskly to the exit, debarked with a quiet assist from Jago, and the four of them went quickly down the four steps to the street level, where the van waited, all very nearly handled. He boarded. They all did, Banichi hindmost, settling for the short drive through the streets, in a van with comfortable padding, but no windows.

It wasn’t as if he got to seethe hotel district.

He sat with his briefcase at his feet and his bodyguard a comfortable presence around him.

Far different than the early days, before so much neon had blossomed at the foot of the Bujavid hill. There was a new public tram, he knew, an improvement on the old uphill funicular, a conveyance for those for some reason unable to make the ancient long stairs of the Bujavid. The tram, which essentially ran forward and back, up and down the hill, would have had him on the street in front of the main hotel in ten minutes.

But no. A secure van. No windows.

They turned corners, several of them. Old Shejidan was a maze of red-tiled roofs, twisting streets, neighborhoods defined by man’chi, by association, from antiquity, and the heart of Old Shejidan was right here, clustered around the Bujavid and beyond the thin shell of neon. Far more people wantedto live in Shejidan than couldlive in ShejidancThere had been talk about emulating Port Jackson and building massive apartments over on the eastern hill, but, thank God, the traditionalists had won on that one. So increasingly there were suburbs and a busy rail traffic to the main train station.

Tabini had come down hard on wealthy influence-seekers buying up the maze of little shops and red-tiled houses that made up the heart of the city to turn them into office and lodging space. There was a Preservation Association, and Tabini had given it teeth, unfortunately just after the explosion of neon light around the two chief hotels. By the covenant, a shopkeeper could sell his shop only to another similar shopkeeper, and a house could not take in boarders without approval, no matter how legislators’ aides cried out for rental space. There were some islands of modernity farther out in the city—the neon in the hotel district was the greatest unfortunate exception—but those had not spread, thanks to that measure. The little shops prospered more than ever in the influx of visitors who wanted to see that antiquity and quaintness, and the householders continued to pass down their greatly envied old houses to their descendants.

So the heart of the largest city on the continent was going through a phase, as residents began to suspect that preservation was a good thing, not a vile plot to deny current residents a great deal of money.

In Murini’s brief tenure, however, there hadbeen renewed pressure to sell in those red-tiled neighborhoods—to some of Murini’s supporters. Some owners had signed, and then regretted it, which was why there was now one modern office block stalled under construction next to the hotel.

But at least that one half-built construction was all Murini had gotten away with. The residents of the Old City, as they called themselves, had stuck together, and mysterious roof tiles had fallen very near speculators in the neighborhood, even in those scary days. There was talk, now, of tearing the half-finished building down, or allowing one more hotel, or refinishing it as a set of shops more in tune with the neighborhood. There was even a proposal to rebuild what had been there, but that was mired in controversy about authenticity.

He approved of the struggle to preserve the central city. And he leaned forward, elbows on knees, to get the best view of its winding streets through the front window, once they passed the busy commercial area. The way ahead was gray and brown, old buildings, those traditional red-tiled roofs, and there was a logic to the street layout that stemmed not from geometry, or convenience, or even topography—but from interfamilial associations that had lived and operated there for centuries.

The Guild had lodged Siodi-daja in a little aosi, that was to say a property without heirs, which happened now and again, a status always met by a frenzy of offers to buy. In this case, the Guild had used its influence, and the aiji’s funds, and had bought the property after the decease of the last of the family, one understood, some seventy-eight years ago.

A residence and an office this close to the Bujavid, when there were important lords like Geigi who did not have a residency inside the Bujavid—was amazing; and if ever the Guild released the property in which they had installed Siodi-daja, there would be another furious bidding war.

It somewhat answered the question what in hell they were going to do with Machigi when hearrived, not so long from now. Move Siodi out and Machigi in, maybe, except that the chief lord of a whole district could not lodge outside the Bujavid without some inconvenience, not to mention loss of dignity, unless in his own premises.

Machigi’s arrangement was going to be a headache from the outset; and hope to God the promised aosi was large enough to decently accommodate Siodi-daja andLord Machigi in sufficient propriety. If not—

If not, there had to be some sort of arrangement for Machigi aside from that.

The van pulled up on bumpy old brick cobbles at the front of an ordinary looking house of the district, in a lane only scarcely wide enough to admit one such vehicle—ordinary-looking, except that uniformed Guild instantly came down the steps to the curb, and Tano and Algini got out and exchanged signs with the guards, looking up and down the block.

Banichi and Jago got out, and he did, with dispatch. Their driver would wait in the van, and any other vehicle that needed to come down the street was simply out of luck. The restaurant catty-angled across the street would get a fair amount of foot traffic in another couple of hourscbut distinguishing an alley from a thoroughfare in the Old City was sometimes difficult, and most deliveries came by hand truck. So they would just have to walk the extra block, that was all, cursing the while, perhaps, but there that van would sit.

The local guard led the way. He and his aishid climbed a modest flight of stairs, up to a modest old-fashioned hallway with elaborately carved doors and two Guildsmen standing waiting for them.

Up two more steps to the main hall. A young woman in civilian dress waited to open the first side door, and within the room, with two more bodyguards, the Maridi lady was evident by her seniority and her manner. One immediately thought: this is a respectable lady, old enough to be Lord Machigi’s mother. Machigi could guest here without scandal. That solved one important matter.

“Siodi-daja,” Bren said, pleased, and bowed. She bowed in turn.

“Nand’ paidhi. One is astonished to receive so distinguished a personal visit.”

“One again represents the aiji-dowager, Siodi-daja. One trusts you have found the premises acceptable. It is beyond difficult to find lodging in Shejidan in any season, but in the spring—”

“Very fine,” she said and added, with a little wry humor, “and we find it extremely safe.”

He rather liked the woman, for that little spark. At the invitation, he appointed himself a seat in the obvious place, in a little sitting group with a little low table and a dry arrangement, aside from her desk.

The windows on this second story were all old-style, with white lace curtains, and admitting an uncertain light. The furnishings had seen at least a century and had come with the house. The lady’s coat sparkled with silver thread in the light of two dim lamps—antique, and quiet, like the rest of the lighting. It might have been gloomy, but it seemed genteel and pleasantly old-fashioned instead.

Quickly then, there was tea, as they faced each other in a house mostly occupied by the Assassins’ Guild and poised on a hair trigger against any threat. One imagined a basement full of armament and surveillance gear; and one began to get the entire picture, that this house, with all its other rooms, was as safe as a bank. Machigi could truly lodge here in safety, give or take the exposure of a van ride to the train.

“And how is Lord Machigi?” That much business could politely be discussed over tea.

“Very well,” Siodi-daja said. “And the aiji-dowager?”

“Well, and on her way to Shejidan at this hour. As is Lord Geigi.”

“And my lord is likewise ready to proceed, at the dowager’s invitation and as her guest.”

“Which will come, indeed, and quite soon. One trusts he will stay here in comfort, and his conveyance to the Bujavid will be with guards you appoint.”

A nod. “Excellent, nandi. One is glad.”

“You have received the final form of the documents, I trust?”

“To our knowledge, the final form. They have been couriered to Tanaja, to my lord’s hand.”

“Excellent. I can then report everything in order. Is there any other thing the dowager may wish to know in advance?”

“I have had no information.”

“Indeed. We hope to have everything covered. —And how doyou find the city?”

“Very large,” Siodi said with a pleasant, grandmotherly laugh. “Very land-bound. I have never been out of sight of the sea before.”

“We are very much in the heart of the West,” he said. “One does recommend the Bujavid Museum if you have leisure, your guard permitting, and if you extend your stay, which of course we hope you will do. It is a public area of the Bujavid and generally has excellent personal security and excellent exhibits. No one will trouble you or they will answer to the very proper Director, one assures you. There is also a textile museum somewhat across town and a beautiful public garden, the Kosa Madi. All of these places you may find enjoyable.”

The talk ran on pleasantly through a second cup of tea, quite, quite easy and free and increasingly cheerful. The lady was charming. And no fool. When they were past the opening courtesies, the lady said, “And are we to meet with the various Guilds in this place, nand’ paidhi?”

“You are indeed, nandi. I know the Merchants’ Guild is quite ready to meet with you, most likely in the Bujavid committee rooms, if you are so kind, and it has abundant questions and a generally positive outlook. Transportation and the Messengers have been deluging me with queries, and those two Guilds are likely to request meetings in their offices within the Bujavid—those two will be full of questions, a far harder set of questions than the Merchants’ Guild will ask, but the paidhi’s office and, I am sure, the aiji-dowager’s staff will support you with research and communications. The Merchants are quite impressed with the porcelain, which is on exhibit, let me add, in the foyer of the Bujavid, under the auspices of the museum director.”