Текст книги "Deceiver "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Arrogance? That went with the office.

Tano and Algini were busy with their seatful of gear. Likely the experts at the rear of the bus, with their own collection of black boxes, were listening to the ambient. Whether they attempted to contact their allies at this point, or whether they were only passively gathering information, was a Guild decision, specifically Banichi’s, as far as he could tell, Damadi having ceded command to him—the paidhi-aiji being in charge of the situation. Banichi and Jago both did have recourse to short-range communication, and no reaction came from the truck that was guiding them.

The city was on a level with them, now, and the road became a real road, and then an avenue leading inward, but not in a straight line, rather in that sinuous fashion of atevi main streets, with little branches to the side, with clusters of dwellings and shops in inward-turned associationc in that regard, Tanaja was not that foreign. Pedestrians, mostly clustered around restaurants and such, were on the lighted streets– pedestrians who stopped and stared at the anomaly passing them, and cleared a path for them.

The road wended upward slightly, and the avenue became a tightly wound spiral uphill, through gardens and hedges, and this, too, was not that foreign a notion. The citadel of a town was its seat of government, and it was most commonly on a hill—though that hill was most commonly built up and paved over.

This hill was simply gardens, formal gardens, until they reached a lighted building, and a cobblestone drive, and a major doorway.

They were in. They were at the heart of what was not that large a city—Tanaja had a population, one recalled, of about a hundred thousand in itselfc more of the Transportation and Commerce statistics. Fish. Spices. Game. Roof tiles and limestone. Those were its major exports.

The mind leapt from fact to fact. It was not time to panic. The bus was coming to a stop now, as the truck stopped ahead of them, and more people came toward the bus from the lighted portico.

Banichi got up. So did Jago. “Open the door, nadi,” Banichi said, and Bren got up, feeling a little panicked, his collected thoughts scattering. He had no information to process. Just things to absorb, the number of those about the bus that they could see—about twenty, he thought, which probably meant at least that many again that they did not see.

The door opened. Another Guildsman, an older man, came up into the bus and looked at Banichi and Jago, at him, and back over the bus as a whole. It was a scowling, intent face, deliberate, Bren thought, betrayal of hostility, in a culture that avoided display. But no weapon was drawn.

Banichi’s face, in profile, was completely serene. So was Jago’s.

“The paidhi will come with us,” that man said.

Unvarnished, but not impolite, skirting the edge of courtesy. And here it was. Bren moved a step. Banichi and Jago, who were in front of him, moved. And a hand went up.

“Only the paidhi’s aishid,” the man said, and gave way.

A better requirement than might have been, evidencing a certain willingness to follow the courtesies—or seeking to remove leadership and direction from the rest of the Guildsmen on the bus: thatwas not the case. Damadi was perfectly capable of acting on his own.

Bren descended the bus steps behind Banichi and Jago, and heard Tano and Algini behind him. His bodyguard had their sidearms and their hosts had not objected. That was another courtesy. At this point one took any encouragement one could get.

They reached the cobbled drive, and Machigi’s Guildsmen offered them a path up the steps to the lighted portico of the building, and the open doors above.

Golden light, carved doorposts, big double doors: it was at least a formal entrance to the place, not necessarily the main one, but it might be. Banichi and Jago walked ahead of him, just behind the primary two of the local Guild, Tano and Algini behind, with the other half of the local team bringing up the rear. Matched, force for force: a good sign, that. But one didn’t take anything for granted. It was, minimally, good behavior in full view of the bus, which now had to be self-contained, a virtual security cell, for many, many hours, at the very best outcome.

And figure that Machigi’s forces would be out there arranging themselves around that little kernel of foreign power, to neutralize it fast in any confrontation. If the paidhi-aiji could figure that out, damned sure every Guildsman out there was planning and counterplanning.

They reached the top of the steps. More security stood about the door. The odds were decidedly tilting in favor of the local Guild. But no one moved to interfere with them, and they kept walking, into a hallway smaller than the foyer at Shejidan, to be sure, but certainly ornate, with gilt scrollwork, marble columns, and displayed porcelains of subtle colors—two, astonishingly intricate, columns of sea creatures, flanking another double door on the right.

Fragile. Precious. This was surely not a back entry.

The pale doors between those porcelain towers opened, pushed outward by attendants in brocades and silk. That was their destination, evidently, and their escort led them inside, onto a russet carpet, with a pattern of waves and weeds in muted greens. Precious things were all about them. The furnishings, small groups of chairs, were all inlaid, and a long marble-topped table held a tall arrangement of shell and water-worked stone.

Their escort stopped here. Other Guild entered from a side door and took their places. And still others arrived. Heavy weapons were in evidence.

Bren drew a slow, deep breath and mentally took possession of the room, these people, not least his own escort, calming himself.

A man entered from a side door, a young man in the muted blue and green of Taisigi clan, brocades with the spark of gold thread, ample lace. He matched the description: an athletic young man with a scar on his chin—not an unhandsome young man, with a countenance flawed by a very unpleasant scowl, and carrying an object in his hand, a rather large Guild-issue pistol.

Bren walked toward him, Banichi and Jago one on a side of him, and stopped, then took a step beyond that, and bowed, slightly and politely, the degree for a court official, himself, to a provincial lord. He gave Machigi that, at least, face to face with him.

Machigi did not reciprocate. Bren straightened, and Machigi raised the pistol to aim it point blank at his face.

Well. That was a first.

A gentleman didn’t flinch, or change expression. Which left the rude act just as it was. Rude. And in the possession of the other party.

“Nandi,” Bren said moderately. “One appreciates your caution, and your reserve. There are matters underway, however, which my principal does not believe do you justice, and we are not here in hostility.”

“Your principal being?”

“The aiji-dowager.”

“The aiji-dowager, who has stirred up the Edi pirates and promised them what she has no right to promise?”

“The aiji-dowager, who has heard that the Assassins’ Guild council is now meeting on charges that may or may not be justified. I have in my possession a message, an instruction and a question. Did you in fact order the mining of the public north-south road in Najida district, and did you order the kidnapping of a child?”

The gun barrel did not waver. It was no less nor more lethal than the intent in this young man’s mind, and he was not stupid, nor cowardly. All the guns round about would not prevent the paidhi-aiji’s aishid from taking him out if that gun went off.

“No,” Machiji said. “We did not.”

“Then I am here to gather information which may change the Guild council debate.”

“I have told you all you need know.”

“You have not heard, however all you will find of mutual benefit for us to discuss, discreetly, nandi. One gathers that you have confidence in your aishid. I do, in mine. My principal suggests that the attacks near Najida were aimed more at you than at us. She suggests that destabilization of the Marid, while temporarily beneficial to us, would not be beneficial, in the long view, and she is prepared to take the long view.”

“Who is your principal?” Second asking of that question.

“So far as I am aware, nandi, onlythe aiji-dowager at this point. The Guild with me, outside, are Tabini-aiji’s, but attached to his grandmother in this instance, and under her orders.”

“You are fast-moving, paidhi. This morning in Najida. This afternoon in Targai. This evening meddling in the Marid.”

“Circumstances have been changing rapidly. It is far from my principal’s intent to contribute to instability in this region. If that were her intent, she need only sit back and let appearances carry the debate forward in the Guild.”

“Perhaps she intends to tempt me to an incident here and now.”

“I am not lightly sacrificed, nandi.”

The gun clicked. Dropped to Machigi’s side. “You have nerve, paidhi.”

Now the pulse rate skipped. One could not afford the least expression. This was not the point to waver, not in the smallest point of decorum—never mind that Machigi was tall, and he was inevitably looking up. “The things I hear of you, nandi, encourage me to believe the same of you. Clearly, with my principal, you have accomplished things in the Marid that have suggested a reconsideration of associations.”

“Your principal has no power to negotiate.”

“Shejidan has said nothing to prevent her current action. This is, in my own experience of this lifelong association, more than significant.”

A moment of silence followed that statement. Machigi’s hand lifted. He snapped his fingers. His guard, round about, opened side doors. Bren stood his ground. So did his bodyguard.

“Tea,” Machigi said, and with the left hand, without the gun, made an elegant gesture toward a grouping of chairs.

Bren gave a slight nod and went, as directed, to stand by the chairs; his bodyguard moved with him, perfectly in order, as did four of Machigi’s. Machigi sat down, he sat down, and servants appeared from the side doors, bearing a beautiful antique tea service, of the regional style.

There was, by courtesy, no discussion of the issues. Which somewhat limited one to the weather.

And necessitated Machigi, as host, defining the topic.

“So how have you found the region, nand’ paidhi?”

One had to avoid politics. “One enjoys the sea air, nandi,” he said. “And the uplands are quite scenic.”

“You are alleged, paidhi-aiji, to have voyaged to very strange places.”

“I have, nandi,” he said.

“One is naturally curious,” Machigi said. “Were there placesout there?”

“Where we were, nandi, was a place much like the space station.”

“A metal place.”

“Very much so. Indistinguishable from the ship itself, except in scale.”

“And do you take pleasure in such places?”

He thought a moment, over a sip of tea. “Mountaintops, nandi, are similar in some respect: one may be uncomfortable in some regards getting there, but the view from the top is astonishing.”

“And what did you see from that vantage, nand’ paidhi?”

“Farther worlds, farther suns, nandi, people more different from both of us than we are from each other—but people with whom we have found some understanding.”

“What use are they?”

“As much as we are to them—occupying a place in a very large darkness. As Tanaja sits at the edge of a very large sea, with all its benefits. Space does have shores, in a sense, and people do live there.”

“The world has had enough foreignness.”

“There will be no second Landing. The space station will see to that.”

“How?”

“Because outside visitors will be limited to that contact, as much as we find beneficial, and no further, nandi. But we are verging on business, now, one of those matters in which one would very much like to see the Marid have its share.”

“Why should you think so? And why should your principal think so?”

“Because the opportunity is that wide. There is no point to hoarding it. If the Marid prospers, it is no grief at all to the world at large. It will notdisturb the trade of the south coast. The unique items which the Marid produces and in which it trades are notduplicated by manufacturing or found in space.”

Machigi emptied his teacup and held it up to be refilled. “Another round, nand’ paidhi.”

That was good. Bren held up his own cup, and they settled back to discussion of more polite nature.

“An extraordinarily beautiful service, nandi,” Bren said.

“Three hundred years old,” Machigi said, “one of the treasures of the aijinate of Tanaja. The island which produced it was devastated by a sea wave. This service happened to be on a ship which survived, being at sea at the time.”

“Extraordinary,” Bren said.

“There are a few other items surviving of that isle. But increasingly few. They have suffered somewhat in the centuries since. We have attempted to discover the source of the glaze, but the isle is gone, submerged. We suspect it came from a plant which may now be extinct.”

“A loss. A great loss, nandi. The blue is quite deep, quite a remarkable color.”

“Greatly valued, to be sure.”

“One is honored even to see it.”

Machigi made a wry salute with his cup. “And you a human. You are the second human I have ever seen.”

Thump went the heart. “The second, nandi.”

“There is a woman,” Machigi said. “A member of your household, so I understand.”

“Barb-daja.” Thattook no far leap. But it called into question the dowager’s theory, on which they had come here, and the safety of themselves and everyone on that bus. “You have indeed seen her, nandi?”

“Indeed.” Machigi said.

“Is she well, nandi?”

Machigi shrugged, and this time set his cup down. “Who is this lady, nand’ paidhi?”

“The lady is my brother-of-the-same-parents’ wife, to put the situation simply, nandi, a naive woman of no political connections.”

Machigi smiled, and took up the cup for a final sip, then set it down. “Let us get down to business, nand’ paidhi.”

Bren nodded and did the same, schooling his face to absolute calm. His chest hurt. Breaths hurt, but he kept them regular. He had managed not a tremor in setting his cup down, and diverted his thoughts from Barb and Toby, from Najida and those at risk there, even from his bodyguard standing behind him. And quietly smiled back. “One is very glad to do so, nandi. Shall I give you the dowager’s message exactly as it came to me?”

“Do you have it?”

He reached carefully inside his coat pocketc the one that did not involve a loaded pistolc and handed the folded paper across.

Machigi took it in a scarred hand and read it. He had a young face, lean, hard, that scar on the chin a streak on his dark skin that ran quite far under the chin as well, as if someone had once tried to cut his throat. An interesting wound, that.

Machigi read, folded it in the agile fingers of one hand and handed it back, laying it on the small service table between them.

“The dowager does not have a reputation for such easy trust.”

“The dowager, nandi, sees what I see: a situation in which your associated subordinates cannot profit while you exist. You exert an authority they must surely view as dominating theirs, as your interests take precedence over theirs. This is not, in the dowager’s view, a bad situation—keeping the Marid from wasteful wars.”

“An interesting analysis, paidhi.”

“Accurate, I think. It would also be accurate to say that the Marid has long had a quarrel with the aishidi’tat, from its formation, a quarrel regarding the balance of powers in the association. The dowager believes there is a way around this situation with honor.”

“Enlighten us.”

“One is certain you see it, nandi, but I shall declare it: association of the entire Marid with Ilisidi of Malguri, an association to be, so far as the Marid, under your leadership.”

He had actually surprised Machigi, and Machigi let him see it. That was both good and bad.

“A pleasant notion,” Machigi said, “but your own man’chi is to Tabini of the Ragi.”

“My longtime association is to the aiji-dowager as well, and one might recall, nandi, the aiji’s cooperation with his grandmother in providing that force now sitting on the bus, and her providing it to me. What she has done is not done in the dark.” ”

“So, also with his knowledge, she has made a grab for Maschi territory and taken the Edi in as well.”

“Neither with his foreknowledge, but with his tolerance, nandi. She has made good on old debts, dating back many decades, even before her grandson’s birth, but she has not made any hostile move against Tanaja, nor does she wish to do so, having no territorial interest in doing so. This is one advantage, allow me to suggest, of forming outside associations that do notrun into the troubled old territory of the central clans. The dowager’s lands are distant and, so far as Tanaja is concerned, untrammeled by old debts, except the two obligations on which she has already stood firm. If you should accept her invitation to become her associate, nandi, you may expect similar firmness of alliance, which can cast many old disputes into an entirely different framework of negotiation. Her grandson values her for this quality, and, one may say, respects her alliances.”

A lengthy silence, then a drawled: “You have an extraordinary forwardness of address, paidhi-aiji.”

“You also have that reputation, nandi, as a man who does not cling blindly to precedent. The dowager values this quality, and suggests it should not be wasted.” He saw that look of thought. It was not the time to lose it. “The plain fact is, I amhere, nandi, meeting with you in confidence, and accurately relaying the dowager’s objectives, which are favorable to a negotiation at this point, thus preventing Guild action from destabilizing the Marid. That is the bottom line.”

“What is her offer?” Machigi asked bluntly.

“Alliance,” Bren said with equal bluntness. “Association. New times, new thinking, horizons not limited to this earth.”

“Access,” Machigi said, “to the orbiting station.”

“That willhappen, nandi,” Bren said. “One has no doubt of it, granted association exists.”

“You do not ask further into your own associate’s whereabouts or welfare.”

“A personal matter. I am here in an official capacity.”

“Indeed,” Machigi said, leaning back in his chair. “Yet you represent the aiji in Shejidan.”

“By courtesy, I represent only his grandmother, who doeshowever, hold independent association in the East.”

Machigi looked to the side, to one of his bodyguard, and back again, eye to eye and steadily. “ Independenceis an interesting position to hold.”

“Propose it, nandi. Independence of the district within the aishidi’tat. One does not say it will be rejected. But,” he added sharply, “in order to claim such a position for the Marid, you need an authority equal to the dowager’s authority over the East.”

“She was challenged as recently as this fall.”

“With notable lack of success, nandi. And the East is both hers, and an independent district, with its native rights and prerogatives intact.”

Another lengthy silence. “Have you dined, paidhi-aiji?”

“I have not, nandi.”

Machigi snapped his fingers. Servants moved into view. “The paidhi-aiji and his aishid will have the guest suite tonight. His company on the bus may be housed in the east wing with whatever equipment they choose to offload.”

Crisis. Bren gave a deep nod. “A courtesy much appreciated, nandi, but the bus is self-contained, and my company on the bus is prepared to attend their own needs. One hopes, as negotiations proceed, I shall have other instructions from the aiji-dowager, for their comfort, but for right now, despite your generous gesture, my indications from the dowager suggest my request would not be honored. They are, once we quit the bus, much more under her direct command.”

A little steel flicked through that glance. “It is blocking the drive, nand’ paidhi. Our suggestion is simple expediency.”

“If you request the bus moved somewhat, I am sure we can comply with that very quickly, nandi.”

“Let it stay,” Machigi said with a wave of his hand. “But where is this trust, nand’ paidhi? This offer of association?”

“I have yet to convey your reply to the dowager, nandi. Everything comes from her. When she wishes my company to stand down and leave the bus, it will stand down. But as for myself and my aishid, we are extremely appreciative of the hospitality of your household.”

Machigi gave a dark little laugh and stood up. “Follow my servants, and join us in the dining room in an hour. Your aishid may attend your baggage.”

“Delighted,” Bren said, stood, and bowed in turn. In fact he was delighted—delighted there hadn’t been a shootout. Delighted Machigi hadn’t pulled that trigger. Delighted Machigi had sounded as intelligent—though also as dangerous—as reports said he was.

And that bit about attending the baggage—no lord in his right mind would have his belongings taken off that bus, put into the hands of servants of a hostile house, and taken into his room. Two of his staff would handle it all the way from the bus to the rooms, while Machigi’s staff watched with equal care to be sure that clothes were allthat came into the house.

The servants gestured the way to the side door. Banichi and Jago went with him, Tano and Algini split themselves off to attend the matter of the baggage, and Bren walked just behind the two servants who led the way—a short distance, he was glad to see, and up only a single flight of stairs. He knew where the front door and the bus were from here, at least.

But that was notthe knowledge that was going to get them out of this.

The servants opened the doors to a magnificent suite, mostly in sea-green and gold, with pale furniture, and led the way through to a fine bedroom, even with its own bath, an uncommon amenity.

“Very fine, nadiin,” he pronounced it.

“Would you care for a fire lit in the sitting-room, nandi?” one asked. “It will grow chill before morning.”

“Please do,” he said, and looked at Banichi and Jago, just a questioning glance to know their opinion of the arrangements.

Banichi simply nodded. No question every room was bugged to more and less degrees, right down to the bath. He didn’t need a word on that score. He simply sat down in a comfortable chair, rested his booted feet carefully on the footstool, and waited, while Banichi and Jago went into that statuelike quiet of their profession, just watching the servants at work.

The fire came to life. And other servants came in, carrying a modest amount of luggage, with Tano and Algini in close attendance.

“Set it in the bedroom, nadiin,” Jago said, “with thanks. That will do.”

There were bows, very inexpressive faces gave them a last lookover, and the servants retreated out the door.

At which point they would of course be fools to say everything they were thinking.

“How are things outside, nadiin-ji?” he asked Tano and Algini.

“Well enough, nandi,” Algini said, and that little formality said he was likewise thinking of bugs. “We have passed word where we are and wished them a quiet night.”

“One hopes it will be,” Bren said, and cast a look up at Banichi and Jago. “Well done?” he asked in the alien kyo language.

“Yes,” Banichi said, and Jago echoed the same.

Tano and Algini had gained a little of the language. They had made earnest efforts at it. And of all means of communication they had, that was the only one no code-cracker could manage.

But one had no desire to frustrate their hosts. It was only a confirmation: he had done what he could, gotten them this far, and God, he wished he could discuss Machigi frankly with his aishid, but their vocabulary in kyo didn’t extend that far, nor did it bear on the intricacies of atevi psychology. All he had for comfort was that one yes: they were alive, they were not too likely to be poisoned at dinner—which his aishid would not share—and, disturbingly enough, he had some indication Machigi held some answer to the othermatter he had come out here to pursue, namely what had happened to Barb.

He couldn’t ask. Ethically and in terms of simple common sense, he couldn’t make Barb an issue in this.

“One had best dress for the occasion,” he said, and got up and went to the bedroom. The packed clothes had been layered with fine silk, which kept them from being too disreputable on being shaken out. The court coat, being heavily figured brocade, had not suffered much. The shirt was a little the worse for its trip in baggage, but with the coat on, the wrinkles would not show; and a fresh ribbon for the queue always improved a gentleman’s appearance: those came carefully wound on a paper spool.

Beyond that—the boots could use a dusting. Tano saw to that; and to everyone else’s; and ribbons were renewed, Guild leathers dusted with a prepared cloth. They all went from slightly traveled to ready for dinner in a quarter hour, with no conversation to speak of, except a light discussion of the recently dry weather and the quantity of dust, plus the likelihood of rain, since there had been clouds in the westc all disappointing material for eavesdroppers, but far from surprising. Guild could convey information by the pressure of fingers on a shoulder, and Bren had no doubt information and instruction was passing that he did not receive. He knew the all-well signal, and got it from Jago as she helped him adjust his shirt-cuffs.

It was even possible that short-range communication was working, in a set of prearranged signals going to and from the bus. It was remarkable if the Taisigi had allowed it. It was certain, if it was going on, that the Taisigi were monitoring it and attempting to decipher it. But evidently the bus was still all right, as far as any of his staff could tell.

“One hopes,” Bren said cheerfully, actually hoping it would be reported, “that their cook knows about human sensitivities. One would hate to have negotiations fail with the paidhi-aiji accidentally poisoned.”

“This is a worry to us, as well, Bren-ji,” Jago said.

“Well, well, I shall have to avoid the sauces and stay to what I can identify,” he said. “Wine is safe. I am safe with what I can recognize. Things cooked together in sauce—well, one hopes there are alternatives, or we stay to the bread.”

Thatmight send an honest majordomo scurrying to the kitchen to be sure his lord’s guest had alternatives—or send him to the references to find out what human sensitivities actually were. He thought worriedly of Barb, somewhere unknown, and hopedshe was safe and that whoever was feeding her knew humans didn’t find a moderate level of alkaloids a pleasant addition to a dish.

“A quarter hour,” Banichi said aloud, reminding them all of the time.

His bodyguard would eat and drink either before or after him—after, in this instance, clearly. One could only hope for safety in simple.practicality—the fact that things could have blown up before now, and had not. And that there was a busload of Guild out there prepared to do damage if things did blow up.

Machigi was not an easy man to read. He had seemedto turn receptive. He had showed, if nothing else, curiosity. Keep satisfying it bit by bit, enticing him further and it might be enoughc but that game ran both directions.

He and his aishid talked about the room, the porcelains, the fine hospitality. And about the magnificent tower-porcelains outside the reception hall, and whether they were all one piece or an assembly of pieces.

They kept the conversation as esoteric and blithely innocent as they could manage, not without a certain grim sense of humor. Tano had quite a fund of knowledge regarding the historic methods of firing of large porcelains that easily filled a quarter hour and enlightened the lot of them on the subject, though it probably disappointed any listeners. “My birth-mother’s brother-of-the-same-father was a collector,” Tano said, “of books on porcelains. I used to entertain myself with the pictures for hour upon hour. One can even venture a guess that those were made in the same tradition as Lord Tatiseigi’s lilies.”

Victim of more than one disaster, those porcelain lilies.

And Tano went on into detail.

“One hopes these beautiful things will stand untroubled,” Bren ventured to say, charitably, and as an advancement of policy. “One can only think, if tourism ever does extend here, they will certainly be greatly admired.”

A knock came at the door. They had timed it admirably. Algini answered the door and allowed the entry of one of a pair of Machigi’s Guild guards. “Nand’ paidhi.” A bow. With use of the honorific that acknowledged the paidhi’s rank in the aishidi’tat: significant, courteous, and reflecting Lord Machigi’s usage, almost certainly—accompanying a gesture toward the door.

“One is honored.” Bren acknowledged the courtesy with a nod, and gathered up onlyBanichi and Jago, precisely the arrangement when one guested under uncertain circumstances, and exactly what Machigi ought to expect—two of his aishid staying to protect the room, two to protect him and raise hell in the house if there were any untoward event. They would likewise eat by turns—him first, then Banichi and Jago, then Tano and Algini, who might have to wait quite late for it.

It was what it was: chancy.

But they walked downstairs with their escort, through the elegant hall and on to a brightly lit, quite open dining room.

They walked in, and a waiting servant appeared to indicate a seat, of three, one other place besides Machigi’s. An intimate supper, then, with a long table and four servants, besides the obligatory bodyguard. And some third person, of Machigi’s choice.

“Bren-ji,” Jago whispered urgently, brushing close to him. “ Veijicohas just arrived at the room, under guard.”

Veijico. The other of Cajeiri’s bodyguard, who’d been tracking the kidnappers.

Oh, give Machigi that: he knew damned well the news would get to him: they were not interfering with short-range communications.

Veijico, whose brother he had personally set off the bus as an insupportable risk on this mission.

Uncharitably, he could not think of a less stable individual to have in the middle of their operations. Or a more unanswerable puzzle to have land in the middle of negotiations.