Текст книги "Inheritor"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Damn, he was so tired. It wasn’t just today. It was all the sequence of days before. It was the months before.

It was Saigimi. It was the meeting tomorrow. He knewJase had reasons. He knewJase had been through his own kind of hell in isolation, and he felt sorry for his situation, he truly did, but he was suffering his own post-travel adrenaline drop, and had no mental agility left. He wasn’t going to come across as sympathetic, humane, or even human, if Jase wanted to push him, and he didn’t know whether he could postpone their business until the morning without offending Jase, but that was what he should do.

Next course, the last course: Jase asked one servant for two bowls, baffling the young woman considerably.

“ Assoshi madihiin-sa,” Bren said quietly. “ Mai, nadi.”

“ Mai, nadi, saijuri.” Jase echoed him and made a courteous patch on the utterance, with good grace. Maybe, Bren thought, Jase was working through his mood and getting a grip on his emotions: he chose to encourage it.

“Difficult forms,” Bren said in Ragi. The conditional request and the irregular courtesy plurals, six of them, were to create felicitous and infelicitous numbers in the sentence. “You were never infelicitous.”

“One is pleased to hear so.” The courteous answer. The flatly correct answer.

The courtesy plurals weren’t the easiest aspect of the language. Jase had tottered along thus far using the ath-mai’in, commonly, the children’s forms, which advised any hearer that here was an impaired speaker and no one should take offense at his language. Damn some influential person to hell in Mosphei’ and it was, situationally at least, polite conversation. Speak to an atevi of like degree in an infelicitous mode and you’d ill-wished him in far stronger, far more offensive terms and might find yourself filed on with the Guild unless someone could patch the situation.

“I just can’t get the distinctions,” Jase said bitterly. “I’m guessing. You understand me?”

“It’s like the captain,” Bren said, drawing his inspiration from sailing-ships and human legend. “Never call the captain mister. Right? And the more important the person, the greater the politeness-number: just err on the side of compliment.”

“I know it’s a melon!” was the approximation of what Jase retorted.

Jase clearly wasn’t in a mood for mild corrections. A servant was fighting laughter.

“You know it’s important,” Bren corrected him, deadpan, deciding on confrontation.

“Damn,” Jase said, and pushed his plate back in the beginnings of what could become an outburst. Bren thought, having grown tolerably cold-blooded over the course of several months of Jase’s temper-fits, thank goodness he’d gotten almost to dessert. He’d been hungry. And damn Jase anyway.

“Jase.” He attempted diplomacy. “This is the rough part. This is really the roughest part. I swear to you. The language comes to you pretty quickly after this. You’ve done a marvelous job. You’ve done in six months what takes much more than that on Mospheira. You’ve done a brilliant job.”

“I don’t see how you do it! I can’t add that fast!”

“It develops.”

“Not for me!”

“It will come. Maybe you’d better let me do the translations for a few days and let me muddle along with the engineering and develop the questions I really need to ask. Going back and forth is confusing. There comes a time you should be totally inside the language. You seem to have reached it.”

Jase looked aside. “Not all I’ve reached.”

“Well, I’m back for a while,” Bren said. “And if you can just get the courtesy forms down, maybe we can go together on the next trip out. Would you rather?”

“I’d rather be on my ship, nadi!”

“It won’t everhappen if you break down, nadi. And you know that.”

“Maybe,” Jase said, with a slump to the shoulders and a sadness he’d not heard. It was defeat. He’d not seen Jase defeated. Jase turned quietly back to the table, drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and said: “I apologize, nand’ Bren.”

The servants served the next course, a light fruit ice. Jase had two spoonfuls and wanted a drink to go with it.

“Serve us the liqueur, nadiin-ji,” Bren said quietly, “in the sitting room. We can open the windows and sit and breathe the fine spring air. The workmen are through for the day, are they not? We can tolerate the paint.”

“Indeed, nand’ paidhi,” the response was. “And the paint smell is much abated. One will advise nand’ Saidin, nandiin-ji.”

He rose from table, waited for Jase and walked with him to the formal sitting room where other servants appeared, opening the jalousies and letting the night air waft through.

It was on the verge of cold air that billowed the gauze curtains wide. But their chairs were near a comfortable gas-fired stove, wasteful notion, and the maids gave them lap robes and glasses of a liqueur like brandy.

“Do you want to talk?” Bren asked. “Jasi-ji?”

“I’m having trouble-with-a-neighbor,” Jase said.

“You mean trouble-in-the-house,” he guessed.

They were alone now in the room. “I am a fool,” Jase began. Possibly he meant awkward. The words sounded alike. But Bren forbore to suggest so or to correct him further: he’d beenthrough sessions like that, and had sympathy for someone trying to collect his thoughts in another language. “May we speak Mosphei’, please?”

“If you wish.” He spoke in that language. “What’s the matter?”

There was silence. A long moment of silence in which Jase breathed as if air had gone short in the room. “I’m not likeyou. I don’t know if I can take this.”

“Only two other people on Mospheira are likeme,” Bren said mildly, “and the staff completely sympathizes with your mistakes. They admire your tenacity. They shouldn’t laugh, but it’s very well-intentioned. If they didn’t laugh, you should worry.”

“You mean it’s all right if they think I’m a fool.”

“If you were not a member of the household they wouldn’t laugh. They call you Jasi-ji. They wish to please you. That’s progress. You’ve worked very hard and come a long way. They respect that. Dealing with complete aliens to their way of life is comparatively new for this staff. It’s not something nature or their culture equipped them very well to do. They’ve never met strangers, either.”

“Can I be blunt? Can I be terribly blunt? I don’t care. I don’t want to live here. I want off the planet. I want to go back to my ship. If I have to stay here I’ll die. I don’t likeit. I know I’m not supposed to use that word, but I can’t take it here. I dolike. I dodislike. I’m cold half the time. I’m hot the rest. The light hurts my eyes. The smells bother me. The food upsets my stomach. And I’m sorry if it’s funny among the staff, there was a flying thing in my room—I didn’t know it wasn’t poisonous.”

“This morning?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s spring. Flying things do come to the lights. That’s informational, not a criticism. If they laughed, it wasfunny, Jasi-ji. And probably your reaction was. They do not mean you ill.”

“You say. I made a fool of myself!”

“And I’m sorry to state the obvious, but you have no choice—you have no viable choice but to smile and be pleasant. You knew when you came down here with no return that it wouldn’t be easy. I know the exhaustion that sets in when nothingyou touch or deal with is the same. I know what you’re going through.”

“You can’t know! You were at least born to a planet! I wasn’t! I don’t likethis, and I don’t care that the language can’t accommodate likeand dislike, it’s what I feel!”

“Possibly I can’t imagine.” He thought, and didn’t say, and then did: “But I can’t go home either, Jase, as I’m sure you’ve overheard at some time in your stay here, so be a little easy on me, if you can find it in you. I can’t go home, and if we get this ship flying sometime this next couple of years, you cango back. And you’ll be a hero and I won’t, not among the people that I was born with. So don’t say I don’t know at least something about how you feel.”

Jase wasn’t prepared to grant that point. He saw that in Jase’s angry expression, and didn’t push the point.

It was training. He was always professional, always rational, and when good reasons made him want to get up, drag Jase out of the chair and pound Jase’s head against the wall, he didn’t. This was, he reminded himself, a man capable of gentle humor and lightning wit, though neither was in evidence tonight.

“I’m telling you,” Jase said, “I don’t know if I can take it. I don’t know that any more, Bren.”

“And you know that it’s not only you in danger if you cave in. So you won’t. That’s all. You won’t.”

“I can’t exist here and not talk to human beings except on a radio!”

That stung. That really rather stung, right in the area of his own self-doubts. Bren sat there quite still and told himself there was nothing emotionally significant to him in Jase’s unthought remark.

But to the diplomat, it was significant information regarding Jase’s view of him.

And being the diplomat, he didn’t bring that slip to Jase’s attention. Pointing out that Jase might have a bias against the natives, including humans on Mospheira, was an egg which, the atevi proverb had it, once cracked, had to be eaten.

And, in truth, it was possible he himself didn’t wholly trust the Pilots’ Guild, the old human distinction between crew and passengers on the ship. The crew had once maintained the passengers didn’t have a vote, until the descendants of the crew needed the descendants of the passengers for dangerous and vital work.

There was a lot of history between the long-ago passengers and the crew; and a lot at stake for the ship in that interface. The Pilots’ Guild had never wanted the Landing, and had given in on the issue only grudgingly and in the confidence the project would have no support from the station management. The ship had surely expected to return to a spacefaring civilization with a well-maintained station, maybe with the original landing party dead; but not what they’d met—no station presence, no launch capacity, and a thriving planetary colony with very touchy relations with the native atevi.

“I understand your frustration,” he said finally, and maybe Jase never realized his slip, but damn sure if Jase were taking the tests to enter the Foreign Studies program over on Mospheira, he’d have washed out, right there, first for making the slip, and then for not realizing it.

Though, again, maybe Jase did realize. Once you learned, atevi-style, to disconnect your face from your thoughts, you grew harder and harder to track in human terms.

And old friends in the human world grew harder and harder to keep.

“I know,” Jase said. “I know that you do, Bren. But—”

Jase left that statement unfinished.

“You may never bewhat I am,” Bren said. “I say that with no arrogance at all. You may not want to be. But your way to space has to go through atevi construction workers, to whom the paidhiin must be polite and infallibly encouraging, and it has to go through Tabini-aiji, to whom the paidhiin must be useful, and we can never, ever forget either fact.”

“I try. God, I’m trying.”

“I know you are.”

“Bren—Bren, tell me the truth. Tell me the honest truth. When that spacecraft goes up, am I really going to go with it?”

What in hell brought that on? he asked himself. “Who said otherwise?” he asked.

“I just want to hear it.”

“There’ll be test flights. But when it’s proven safe, you’ll go.”

“Dependent on the aiji’s permission, of course.”

“He’ll let you go.”

“How do I know that?”

“Well, outside of the fact he said so—which is considerable assurance—he’s investing quite a lot in your education. This place. The training. Why shouldn’t he want you on the job translating to the ship?”

“I might be a hostage.”

“It’s not the aiji’s style. It wouldn’t be dignified.”

“He did with Hanks.”

“Say he knows the Mospheiran government. It’s different. He chose not to shoot her.”

“I don’t see the difference. What about when he wants something from mypeople?”

“Have you had a hint he does?”

“Don’t be naïve, Bren.”

“Whatever brought thisup?”

“I just want to know there’s going to be an end to this!”

“It doesn’t seem to me you’re being reasonable. Why do you think he wouldn’t let you go?”

“Look—I want to get out of this apartment. Who do you have to ask?”

Maybe Jase wouldn’t have washed out of the program. The paidhi, experienced in diplomacy, nearly fell into that little pitfall.

“I can take you wherever I like.”

“Then why noton this last trip? Why not on the next?”

Because it wasn’t that simple. But Jase wasn’t in a reasoning mood. “You go nowhere until you learn the verb forms.” That set it at some distance. “And until you don’t make statements as rash as that you just made about our hosts.”

“The hell with the verb forms!”

First the disorientation, then the anger. He’d been there, too. At least Jase wasn’t fool enough to damn Tabini. “You can die of old age on this planet if we mistranslate a design spec and the program fails. You could die sooner if you don’t understand culturally where you’re likely to find security wires. You can die if your insults to the aiji disturb the peace of this country. Or you can sit idle and become a ward of the state while I do your work. These are serious choices. It is not‘to hell with the verb forms.’ Your choices otherwise are all unpalatable.”

He’d made Jase mad. Real mad. But Jase didn’t get up from his chair and stalk from the room as he’d done once last autumn.

“You do it even in human language,” Jase said, “don’t you?”

“What?”

“Nadi,” Jase said in measured tones, in Ragi, and with no expression whatever, “one understands my options to be balanced with a felicitous fifth choice.”

“That being?”

“The one you wish: my compliance, nadi.”

He hadposed it in a foursome, infelicitous four, when three, the human cultural choice, was felicitous. And Jase had at least feltit. “Good. Very good. You’re catching on.”

“Nand’ Saidin has assigned a servant to assist me. And I have worked, nadi. I work very long hours because I hope for a release from this confinement and a sexual assignation with my job.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t let his face twitch. “An opportunity.”

Jase’s face went red.

“Yes, nadi. An opportunity.”

“I’m encouraged, nadi-ji, none the less. And I shall make every effort to include you in the next itinerary. Jase, it will get easier.”

“How doyou stand it?”

A deep breath. A sip of the liquor. “Stubbornness. I had alternatives early on. Now there aren’t any. You do what you have to.”

“You could quit. You could go back.”

“I’d have Deana Hanks for my successor.”

“Does that matter? Ultimately you’re one man. After you, things will be what they’ll be. Does that matter?”

“Yes, it damn well matters. This is my job.”

The conversation was depressing him. He didn’t want to discuss his own situation. He didn’t think it would help.

“You have people harassing your family,” Jase said.

“Where did you hear that?”

Jase had a troubled look. “I’m not deaf. And, as you say, I dopick up things from the staff now.”

“My family’s situation isn’t the official situation. There isa difference, Jase, and the ship needs to know that. Theoretically—” Theoretically the government was looking for the perpetrators. But it never found them. The police never caught anyone. And he had to ask himself how long before he had to hold international politics hostage to the threats against his family and get Tabini to demand something be done.

It was what the perpetrators wanted. It was exactlywhat they wanted. It would give themthe leverage to threaten the government and become noisier than they were. And he tried to deaden his nerves and not react when he got news that upset him.

“Theoretically—” Jase said. Possibly Jase didn’t know that word.

He’d not wanted, for one other thing, to lose his credibility in a descent into name-calling and accusations. He’d never wanted to bring the whole of the stresses on him into question in the household here: it would raise concerns even with the staff. But maybe Jase wasable to understand the complexity of the constraints on him. Maybe he’d been around atevi long enough not to draw wrong conclusions and maybe it wastime to lay some of the truth on the table, if Jase was listening behind doors. He changed to Mosphei’.

“More than theoretically, Jase, the sons of bitches are calling my mother at three in the morning. She’s got a heart condition.—But they’re freelance operators so far as I know. Isolationists. Pro-spacers. Anti-spacers. The whole damn gamut, Jase. It’s the radical fringe that wants another war. Or an end to building on the north shore. I’m sure Ms. Mercheson has had lunch with them, though I haven’t wanted to act as if I were trying to affect herindependent judgment. They’ll be perfectly polite to her. They’ll be dressed in their Sunday best and telling her atevi can’t be trusted.” He knew he’d wandered further than he’d intended, into areas he probably shouldn’t discuss with Jase, politically speaking. But if he didn’t find a starting point to include Jase on the inside of the information flow, Jase couldn’t understand the atevi’s chosen isolation, either.

The hell with it, he thought. It wastime to talk, seriously, about the con job the Mospheiran government was bound to be trying on Yolanda Mercheson; and he’d tried to take the high ground rather than have his own side sound like a con job. But that strategy could backfire, if Jase had gotten some report from Yolanda that painted the other side of the strait as flawless and cooperative; and he wasn’t sorry to have hit Jase with the nastier truths of Mospheira’s underside.

“There’s a lot of humans,” he said, in Ragi again, and more calmly, “who don’t want atevi to go to space. And among those, some are crazy. Some are honest, law-abiding citizens.”

“An infelicity of two: you mean—some are neither.”

That was a first. He waspleased. If Jase had gotten that far, they couldtalk, and he was ready to do so. “Just so, nadi. Better and better. Another such improvement and I might well present you at court.”

“Not—quite ready for that, I think.”

“But very much better. I don’t know if information helps the digestion, but that’s the truth from my side. What’s yours?”

A slight hesitation. Then: “My father’s dead.”

For a moment he didn’t even hear it. Or didn’t believe he could have heard what he thought he had.

“God, Jase.—When?” He couldn’t figure out how Jase would learn such a thing. Whenever the ship called, it created a stir in the household; and he hadn’t heard of it.

“Four days ago.—I got it from Yolanda. I haven’t even been able to call my mother. Security wouldn’t let me call the ship because you hadn’t left instructions and I couldn’t reach you.”

Thatwas the distress over the period out of contact. That was the aborted conversation before supper.

“Damn. Damn, Jase, what do I say?—I’m sorry.”

“It’s one of those things, you know. Just one of those things. He just—just was working—” The glass trembled in Jase’s fingers, and he lifted it and drank. “An accident. Yolanda had talked to the ship. She heard. She thought I already had. She offered condolences—All right?” The glass met the small table. Click. “But I haven’t been able to call herback. I found out four days ago and I haven’t been able to get hold of you. I haven’t been able to call the ship.”

He had to revise a great many estimations of Jase, with this performance, both cool-headed and confrontational, recklessly so: Here’s what I know, be damned to you, I want off this planet.

No wonderJase had been bearing down on the lessons in the last several days. To the point of hysteria, alternated with cold, clear, bloody-minded function. He was speaking now in Ragi and doing it with steady self-control.

“Jase. I didn’t hear. I don’t know why I didn’t hear. And I don’t know why you didn’t get a call from the ship. I’ll ask official questions. I’m extremely sorry.”

The facial nerves were verywell under control, as perhaps his were. He forgot, he feared, to adjust between languages. Between mindsets, he forgot to respond in the human sense. He forgotto use human expressions.

“Jase.” He switched to Mosphei’ and, like an actor assuming a role, brought expression consciously to his face. “I didn’t know. I’m going to find out why I didn’t know. I know that atevi will be concerned that you didn’t learn this in any proper way.”

“Can we use the word ‘care’ here? Are we finally permitted?”

“In this, Jase, I assure you the staff would care.”

“Shed tears, I’m sure.”

“No.” He refused to back up from the attack, and equally refused to attack back. “But making demands like that serves no one.—I’m sorry. I’m extremely sorry. I put you off and I’m sorry. I wish I’d been here. I am here now. Can I do anything?”

“No. I’ve been keeping up with my studies.” Jase’s tone was light, his eyes distracted by something across the room. The wall, perhaps. Or a blowing curtain. “It’s the only choice I have, isn’t it?”

“Is your mother all right?”

Slight pause. Restrainedly, then: “I have no idea.”

“Damn. Damn, Jase. I willstraighten out the phone situation.”

“I’d like to talk to my mother. Privately. If you can arrange that.”

He didn’t know what to say. “I’ll arrange something. As soon as I can. Do you want to speak to her tonight?”

“If she’s gotten to sleep, I’d rather not disturb her this late.” The ship-folk had sensibly adjusted their day-night schedule to the Mospheira-Shejidan time zone. And it was still evening up there on the ship, as it was evening here, but he didn’t argue that fine point with Jase, either.

Excuse, he thought. And asked himself why, and with what motive, and didn’t come up with charitable answers, a reaction he didn’t trust in himself. Hewas angry. He didn’t know why that was, either. He didn’t think he was angry at Jase. Or the staff. Having just talked about his own home situation, he knew why he mightbe angry.

He wasn’t sure, though, why he wasangry, or at what he could even be angry, and was far less certain that his anger would do any possible good to anyone.

The servant came in, hesitated, and at a slight lifting of his hand, poured two more drinks.

But Jase said, after the young woman had left, “I’ll take mine to my room, if you don’t mind, nadi. I’m feeling unsteady.”

Jase rose. Bren did. One part of him said in spite of Jase’s evasions and in spite of his anger he should go over to Jase and put his arm around his shoulders. He should offer—something of an emotional support.

But he didn’t. As Jase never quite addressed him with the intimate form in Ragi, though he did it toward Jase.

Jase had never made such gestures toward him in that interpersonally sensitive language. Maybe Jase didn’t think he was of status to do it. Maybe there was another reason.

Whatever it was, they’d never made such gestures toward one another, certainly not intruded so far as an embrace, between the only two humans on the mainland. He’d held out a hand to welcome Jase when he’d pulled him from the capsule and into the world. Jase had accepted that hand, but hadn’t met him with the enthusiasm or the openness the transmissions from the ship had prepared him to expect.

The one gesture, nothing more, from either side. And somehow they’d found no way to begin again. Not in six months.

It seemed impossible to try in this situation, when sensibilities were raw-edged and, he admitted it, when he wasn’t sure he’d mean any such move toward a greater closeness with Jase, because of an anger the causes of which he wasn’t himself right now sure of.

He stood there as Jase walked away and out the door.

6

Maybe he should have made the try. Maybe, Bren thought, he should go after Jase all the same and make the gesture and try to sort out exactly why and at what he was angry, and why (he detected so, at least) Jase was so deeply angry, too.

But at such a juncture, what he did could intrude on sensibilities and shove the situation beyond all reason. He might instead do something he could bring to Jase as a peace offering. He might take measures to calm the situation. He might try to ease the strain on Jase and then talk to him, once the anger had settled. In both of them.

He saw the servant standing at the door, hands folded, waiting for his order, aware, perhaps that something was wrong.

“Is nand’ Saidin still on duty?”

“I believe she has retired, nand’ paidhi, but I doubt very much she is asleep. Shall I call her?”

“No. Is nadi Tano awake? Or nad’ Algini?”

“Both or either, nand’ paidhi. Shall I call them?”

“Do,” he said; and stood sipping his drink until a quiet step and a shadow in the doorway advised him of presence.

“Nadi?” Tano asked. Both of them had come, and entered the room at his implied invitation.

“Nadiin,” he said, intensely aware how they would blame themselves for a failure in information. “Jase says his father has died. He had this news from Mospheira, he says, four days ago, and complains he was not able to contact his mother on the ship because security couldn’t clear a call to the ship or contact me. Are we able to remedy this?”

“I will make immediate inquiry, nand’ paidhi,” Algini said, ever the proper, to-the-point one; and Tano, equally atop any business he was supposed to monitor: “The record shows the call from Mospheira. The staff has it on tape. It was in Mosphei’. Do you wish to hear it?”

“I do.” It was his business to. Someone had better find out what was going on, and how much else that message had contained, and he was the one who admitted to speaking the language. He was sure that certain atevi did, even that certain atevi close to him were staying up nights increasing their fluency at Jase’s expense, while Jase persisted in resorting to human language, but with what accuracy atevi were understanding the biology behind the vocabulary, he was far from certain. “Did nand’ Jase seem upset?”

“That was not in the report, nadi. He stayed to his room a great deal, that was all. One phone call came to him from Mospheira, late in the evening, four days ago. No others are on the record.”

He didn’t have enough information to cue them to report information they might not know they had.

More, he had to be extremely careful. Everything at the interface of atevi responsibility and human emotions was difficult and subject to error. As long as he’d lived among atevi, he could guess one’s man’chi toward a lord, and he knew the specific man’chi of Tano and Algini and others toward Tabini, but he knew very little of their family ties or how man’chi to a lord fit into man’chi toward a mother or a father. He’d heardTano speak of his own father, and of a desire to have the man’s good opinion, but he also knew that Tano had defied his father’s wishes to pursue a Guild career. He’d had Tano recommend relatives for posts as ‘reliable persons,’ a reliability one could attribute to man’chi, and the fact that it wasn’t biologically likely for treason to operate where man’chi existed.

He knew that Damiri had defied her clan to associate herself romantically and politically (or should that be, politically and romantically) with Tabini, who was close to an ancestral enemy of her clan, a close neighbor in the Padi valley holdings, and certainly persona non grata with uncle Tatiseigi, the head of the Atageini clan. Antipathy on the part of a clan head (toward whom Damiri held man’chi) certainly hadn’t daunted Damiri—but then, few things did.

The one wisdom about atevi family relations that two centuries of paidhiin had gathered was that the bonds of affection that held a human family together were not only not present, they weren’t biologically possible.

Different hardwiring.

Different expectations.

Different familial relationships and different necessities.

One didn’t know, for instance, what an atevi child expected of his parents. Food and shelter up to a certain point, yes. The point of separation seemed to be about seventeen years, maybe twenty. That was all the accumulated experience could say. Anything else was rated speculative, in the textbooks. He himself tentatively theorized that as humans had to mature beyond emotional dependency on their parents, atevi had somehow to get out of man’chi toward their parents or the family unit would never mature. There had to be a psychological break, somewhere, for the culture to function beyond the family.

“If this were an ateva who had heard this news,” he asked the two closest of his companions and guards, persons who, if they were human, he would have called friends, “what would other atevi expect of him? Principally, what would other atevi expect him to feel, or do, under these circumstances?”

“If relations with his father were good,” Tano said, “then one would expect sadness, nand’ paidhi. He would go to his household. He would bury his father. He would confirm man’chi within his house and within his associations.”

Confirm man’chi. Confirmman’chi. With atevi, it was not only an overriding emotion. It was theoverriding emotion. A homing instinct under fire. The place you’d go. The person you’d rescue from a burning building.

“In what manner can one confirmman’chi, nadi, if I may ask such a question? Please decline to answer if I cross some line of decency.”

“An expression, nand’ paidhi. It’s an expression. One visits the household. One remembers. One assembles the living members of the household, for one thing, to know where their man’chi may lie now that this man’chi is put away. The household has to be rebuilt.”

“The man’chi to the dead man is put away.”

“Into the earth, nand’ paidhi, or into the fire. One can only have man’chi to the living.”

“Never to the dead?” He watched a lot of machimi plays, in the standard of which man’chi and its nuances was the pivot-point of treachery and action, double-crosses and last-moment decisions. “In the plays, nadi, this seems possible.”

“If one believes in ghosts.”

“Ah.” It was a belief some atevi held.

And more had believed in them, as a matter of course, in the ancient world of the machimi plays. Such a belief in the supernatural didn’t include the two men present with him, he was quite sure. But belief in ghosts of course would tie directly into whether or not the dead could still claim loyalty.