Текст книги "Protector "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

11

It had ended up a long, long day—negotiations, letters sent out in code, letters arriving in code, and in the midst of all of it, Lord Tatiseigi’s porcelains arrived by train, for exhibit in the Bujavid museum . . .

Those had to be inspected, their display approved, papers signed by the museum director, publicity arranged—it was not Bren’s immediate problem, for which he was truly thankful. Lord Tatiseigi handled that quite ably, while Lord Tatiseigi’s security arrangements for the trip lay forming in the able hands of the aiji-dowager’s bodyguard.

Thatmeant the hovering news services, which had focused on the vote, happened on the historic exhibition before it was officially announced, and then got wind of a rumor that the heir, expected to make news with the arrival of human guests to visit Shejidan about six days from now—was sent on holiday, evidently to celebrate his numerically significant and fortunate birthday not in the Bujavid as planned, but under the dowager’sauspices.

The rumors rapidly ran to an assassination plot underway, hence the heir being taken elsewhere; or, most elaborate, the landing of the children from space as a dark plot involving activation of the mysterious machinery from space that still sat in various areas once Murini’s strongholds.

Fueling the rumors, the same plane that had brought staff to Shejidan from Malguri was now being outfitted for the dowager’s personal use—with the configuration she used, and all the attendant changes in designation, so it was very clear that the heir was headed for Malguri with the dowager today.

The plane was real: Jago said it would take off for Malguri about the time the red train left the Bujavid station, part of a cross-continental misdirection. That jet would fly all the way to Malguri. And by the time it got to Malguri—a quiet district on the other end of the continent, where news services were much less aggressive—the dowager, Cajeiri, his guests, and, yes, even Boji, would be safely settled at Tirnamardi, where no news services were permitted access.

Rumor-mongering was a popular sport in the cafes and tea shops across the capital. No matter what people at the airport saw or didn’t see, there would be persistent rumors that they were all in Malguri with a horde of humans from the station and a collection of death-machines from space, and the porcelain collection had been intended as a distraction from these movements—one point on which they were absolutely right, but not one that had originated with that purpose. Conspiracy believers were determined, and occasionally useful.

What Ajuri might believe—and do about it—depended on how convolute Ajuri’s thinking was. But they had scattered all the confusion they could.

Meanwhile, in the real world, there was a shiny red and black bus being freighted by rail up from Najida, officially scheduled to arrive at the Shejidan station this morning, for use during the official visit scheduled for a week from now. The bus would not get quite as far as Shejidan—but what did notappear was less likely to be reported.

The shuttle, strictly on schedule, was now traveling toward atmospheric entry under power, and the weather reports were good. In a little while it would shut down the engines and simply use inertia and gravity for what they did so well, until the crew took active control again near the very skin of the earth.

The whole arrangement was becoming a sort of bait-and-switch operation. They kicked misleading items into motion. They sowed rumors in various direction. The porcelain collection arriving was Tatiseigi’s contribution to the effort. The only actual fact evident was that they were definitely on the move with the heir in somedirection . . . but then there would be some theories that everything was designed to give a false impression that the dowager and the heir had left the Bujavid, and anything anybody saw was a carefully designed appearance.

“We shall at least stretch our enemies’ resources thin,” Tano said, “and of all things, Lord Tatiseigi receiving these young guests is an idea most will not readily believe.”

What the news services mightnote was the red car, once it moved out of the Bujavid.

That would attract attention.

And the Transportation Guild that managed the rails was far from leakproof.

The general flurry of conflicting reports, however, was likely to be livelier than the actual event. If they reported the car moving toward Tirnamardi, well, was itthe diversion?

Or was the dowager going to Tatiseigi’s ancestral enemy, their neighbor in the west, Taiben? That was Tabini’s home district, the old Ragi stronghold, deep in forest and extremely difficult for any outsider to penetrate. It washistorically the place where the aijiin in Shejidan went for safety, in times of crisis. It had existed in at least a nominal state of war, never having signed a treaty with the rest of the Padi Valley.

Likeliest spot on the continent for secret goings-on, or high security.

Of course, the thinkers among the theorists would say. The rest was a ruse. It was Taiben.

Wrong again.

Though Taiben wasinvolved.

The dowager asked, and Tatiseigi agreed, not only because the dowager asked—but because the stakes were now, for him, the ultimate.

Tatiseigi had no heir.

Except Damiri, and her son, and her soon-to-be-born daughter.

The children were, through their mother, Atageini and Ajuri. And Ajuri was in extreme disfavor.

Lord Tatiseigi had absolutely no difficulties seeing the possibilities in thatsituation.

Finally make peace with the Taibeni, the otherclan closely related to the aiji and to those children? Oh, yes. It hadn’t been politic for any lord of the Atageini to do it for two hundred years, through various administrations in Shejidan, and even though the Atageini were intermittently at war with the other powerful clan in the Padi Valley.

But since the incident that had barred Ajuri from the capital, Lord Tatiseigi discovered himself willing to settle an old territorial claim, and thus the ancient feud, in Taiben’sfavor. Correspondence flowed. There was, mediated by the dowager andTabini, a positive effusionof good will.

He began to realize that the man who had a reputation for living in the last century could do whatever it took in this one, whether that meant sitting right next to the Kadagidi during the coup and the Troubles, while maintaining his reputation of being no threat at all, standing with Ilisidi on the tribal bill—or hosting human children at a birthday party.

He definitely had a new perspective on the man . . . and knewwhy Ilisidi favored him.

•   •   •

Supper, with Cajeiri, who was for once short of appetite, was one question after another, accompanied by what neither of them quite acknowledged: the constant coming and going in the hall, and at the front door.

Baggage was being readied.

And there was the matter of Boji. Of all conspicuous things to try to slip past the news services—

Tano was working on that one.

“One knows you very much wish Boji to go,” Bren said, when they were having the brandy hour—a little soothing tea for Cajeiri, and a stiff brandy for Bren. “Please hear me on this. Getting him to the red car poses a difficulty and could attract attention. We have spoken with your servants. They have agreed to ride in baggage and take good care of him. You understand. Security.”

Cajeiri had opened his mouth to argue. And shut it. “One understands, nandi.”

“I think you will owe your two servants a night out in Shejidan when all this is done. They are very good young men.” It was true. They were Tabini’s own staff, and very conscious of their prospects in having seniority in the heir’s new household.

“I shall, nandi.”

“They will see that Boji rides comfortably, and they will see, too, that he stays quiet in your great-uncle’s house. Understand, your great-uncle is trying very hard to make you happy, but he is not at all used to young people, and has seen very few humans in his whole life.”

“One understands, nandi.”

“Well, well,” he said, “best you retire early. We are going to be up before dawn, and you will want to wear, one believes, fairly casual clothing, for comfort on the trip. We shall have breakfast here, in the apartment, lunch on the train, and a snack in mid-afternoon, after we have picked up your young associates.”

“One is excited, nand’ Bren. One is very excited.”

“I know. Do try to sleep. You need to be at your best tomorrow, not short of temper, not falling asleep on the train.”

“Oh, I never shall!”

“Then off to bed with you,” Bren said. “And think of good things.”

Cajeiri put down his teacup. And gave a very deep bow, and another at the door, as he was leaving.

It was one very happy, very excited boy, and it was not very likely that he would sleep that well tonight, and probably not that well the night after. They were kids. And they had all had a lot of adult anxieties riding on their very young shoulders.

A habitual offender with station security, a girl whose mother had political forces nudging at her—and two about whom he had heard absolutely no complaints. One wondered how they had fared up on the station, given the politics that swirled around the visit.

Narani appeared, silent, in the doorway. “Your aishid is in conference, nandi. Will there be any other need this evening, or shall I call your valets?”

“Call them, Rani-ji.” And on an afterthought: “There would not be any package arrived in all this confusion, from Mospheira.”

“No,” Narani said. “No, nandi. I am quite sure of it.”

He sighed, thinking of the boots. But he did notintend to end this visit hiking cross-country through gunfire.

•   •   •

Breakfast—and Cajeiri seemed a little wilted. The boy had probably not slept a wink. But with strong tea, sugared juice, and a sweet roll, spirits began to rise.

Bren just had nut-buttered toast and salt fish, figuring substance would serve better than sugar, but he took two cups of strong tea, letting staff hurry about doing those things staff did best, and most of all staying out of the way, and letting his bodyguard instruct Cajeiri’s servants, and especially his bodyguard. The car would be secure, he had word—gone over and all monitoring disconnected—discretion on this trip would not be on the shoulders of a boy not yet nine. The aiji’s staff would have no report, and no record, of what was said.

“When we go down to the train, young gentleman,” Bren said, and got sharp attention from the other side of the table, “should we run into any difficulty, and one has the news services in mind—do not speak a word. We believe we shall evade them entirely. If there should be any other kind of trouble, do not give a second thought to your great-grandmother or anyone else. Obey your bodyguards.” A thought struck him. “You have the slingshota.”

Cajeiri nodded and moved a hand to his pocket.

“One does not object to your carrying it,” Bren said—he wore the detested vest, and had his gun in his own pocket. “But do not attempt to use it should there be a crisis. Do not think of your guests, either. We cannot teach them what we know, and we cannot argue. Just let your bodyguard protect you. Are we agreed, young gentleman? Do you understand? We do not think it might happen. But we can never act as if it could not. Be safe. You are important.”

A very curious sobriety came over the young gentleman, who nodded very deliberately, and said, “My father needs mefor his heir. My sisteris a hazard.”

He was surprised, even shocked at that declaration, but he simply nodded. “Well. One trusts you, young gentleman.”

God, he thought, then. Where did thatcome from? He almost wanted to ask.

But not at present.

He finished his tea. Banichi had arrived in the doorway.

“We should move now, nandi.”

So. It was time.

•   •   •

They were on their own, Ilisidi and Tatiseigi arriving on their own schedules. Tano and Algini had a lift car on hold. Bren entered the car and, with Cajeiri, stood against the back wall while it headed down and down, without a stop.

“My servants, nandi,” Cajeiri said. “And will mani be there?”

“Trust your aishid,” Bren said, “to have all these things worked out. It will allwork. Do not worry.”

The car headed down, and down, past residential floors, past the public floor, and down to the warehouse levels, then through a set of floors only accessible from the lift they were on—and let them out finally, in that broad cement corridor that opened out onto the train tracks.

It was huge, full of echoes. The arch above the tracks was studded with lights that did not reach the far places, the other tracks and roundhouse shunts. The space swallowed light and amplified sound. And centermost, under the lights, was the old-fashioned engine and the two cars that had taken Geigi to the spaceport.

It was three cars now, the red car and two baggage cars. They were not traveling light. The door of the red car opened and one of the dowager’s young men met them, welcoming them in, while his partner, pistol in hand, stood watching.

Their collective bodyguards folded them inside, and the door whisked shut.

Ilisidi and Tatiseigi were comfortably seated at the rear of the car, on the broad bench, the dowager with her cane planted before her. Cenedi was there, and Nawari, in attendance on the dowager, and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard, seated just in front of the galley, rose in respect for the young gentleman.

“We are here!” Cajeiri declared happily. “We are all here!”

“Great-grandson.” The dowager gave a nod, patted the bench near her, and Cajeiri came and settled down quietly.

Bren bowed and quietly took his own seat on the end of the bench, Tatiseigi being on the other end. There was a long, general silence, a quiet so deep one could hear the occasional sounds from the station outside, the arrival of another train, the movement of baggage trolleys, the shout of a supervisor on the siding. Cajeiri fidgeted ever so slightly. He had his hands locked together as if he were absolutely determined not to let them escape to merit a reprimand.

Then came a thump from their own car, or the one next to it. Bren listened hard for any cues what was going on; and felt the vibrations as the next car loaded, heard the distinctive sounds as the engine fired up.

“Staff,” the dowager said, “is joining us. WithBoji.”

They were operating under the most extreme security Bren had ever experienced, even in far worse times. Withthe parid’ja and its huge cage.

Doors shut, elsewhere. There was a further delay. A second, more distant thump.

And they sat.

And sat. The dowager and Tatiseigi discussed the vote count on the tribal bill, which looked good. And Cajeiri sat so very still, being so very good.

“Perhaps,” Bren said, “the young gentleman might enjoy a game of chess. I think his aishid would oblige him with a challenge. There is a chess set in the galley storage.”

Ilisidi waggled her fingers, a dismissal. Cajeiri got up, bowed silently, and went over to his aishid with that information.

The game set up and started, Veijico taking black.

Tatiseigi muttered, disapprovingly, “In my youth, one would have sat.”

“Nandi,” Bren said, “he is concerned about the flight.”

“Well,” Tatiseigi said, “well, so should anyone be, with such machines.”

“Best young minds stay busy,” Ilisidi said, not displeased, and the three of them sat quietly and talked, had one cup of sweet tea, and the chess match progressed.

Then the train, with its characteristic chuff, began to move.

The chess match paused, Cajeiri’s hand, on a Fortress, hesitated in midair.

Then calmly resumed its course toward a square.

Eight, going on fortunate nine, and a mental age above that. Cajeiri, on the most intense campaign of good behavior in his whole life, set the piece down.

Cajeiri’s opponent, Veijico, lifted an eyebrow, considering the move, then cast a furtive glance toward the dowager, and quietly advised the young rascal, likely, that they were indeed watched.

There were quiet remarks. Human ears, at least, could not hear them. Likely neither the dowager nor Tatiseigi could hear. Tano got up and renewed the teapot, and provided a large pot for Cajeiri and his bodyguard as the train made its slow passage along the restricted tunnel. The rest of the adult bodyguards continued in quiet conversation interspersed with Guild signs.

They cleared the hill, cleared the tunnel, gathered speed toward the city junction, and clicked over onto the lefthand track.

Faster and faster, then, a steam-age locomotive bent again on rendezvous with a spaceship.

“Are they coming down yet, Banichi-nadi?” Cajeiri turned to ask as the train gathered speed. “Shall we see it land?”

“One fears not, young gentleman, however we will be arriving there at about the time it touches down, and we shall take the bus to meet them. You will get to see them disembark.”

“One wished—” Cajeiri began to say, and then meekly said, “One is glad, Banichi-nadi.”

“Security,” Banichi said. “One regrets, young gentleman. But these are necessary precautions.”

“Yes,” Cajeiri said quietly, frowning.

Difficult for the boy, Bren thought. But one understood. They were moving as expeditiously as possible: get the youngsters under their protection, get them to the train, and get moving again, with as little exposure as possible. The shuttle landings were fairly routine. The shuttle the children were stated to be taking was not due for days. When the news did get to observers that this one had the children, and that the heir was here, any hostile action, unless extremely well-placed or very lucky, was going to have to scramble.

The whereabouts of the train was traceable—if one had agents within Transportation; but again, the exact routing for thistrain was given only at intervals necessary to shunt other traffic onto other tracks. It prioritized itself through the system on a sector by sector basis, not always at high speed, given the engine that often pulled it, but in a traveling bubble of secrecy and priority; and they would be stalling all train traffic on a very main line for at least an hour, while they performed their maneuver out to the port and back.

“The port has contact, aiji-ma, nandiin,” Cenedi reported finally.

They were very near the spaceport.

And Nawari got to his feet. “Aiji-ma, nandiin, you will find the port bus right off the platform, so it will be a very short walk. We shall enter the perimeter fence through the service gate, which will be open. We shall pick up our passengers, and their baggage, which is able to be hand-carried aboard the bus. No one should exit the bus. Aiji-ma, nandiin, as you board, please occupy the seats behind the driver. The opposing row will be reserved for our passengers, who will board as quickly as possible.”

“Very good, Wari-ji,” the dowager said.

The operation was on schedule, and while they had no view, Bren had an excellent idea where they were: a flat prairie with very few features except grazing herds and the occasional patch of brush.

And at a certain point they slowed, and slowed further, then took that little jog of a switchover, toward the port, everyone swaying.

“They are in process of landing, nandiin,” Cenedi said. Then: “They are touching down.”

Cajeiri visibly elevated off his seat, then shut his mouth and settled, locking his hands in his lap and not saying a thing.

The dowager nodded, satisfied.

Bren just breathed a sigh of relief. The train did not regain its speed. It lazily chugged around a slight curve, then took the straight for a while, and another, opposite, curve, which led to the platform.

Brakes applied. The engine sighed out a final chuff!And stopped.

Bren got up, as their bodyguards did. Cajeiri bounced up and offered Ilisidi his hand, as Tatiseigi used the seat arm to lever himself up.

“The bus is here, nandiin,” Cenedi said. “And the shuttle has arrived.”

So. From here on until the shuttle lifted again, they were in charge of a flock of youngsters on holiday. Bren moved out into the aisle, toward the door—ordinarily protocol gave the aiji-dowager precedence, but not into a security situation, and while he might technically outrank Lord Tatiseigi as an officer of the aiji’s court, he didn’t stand on the point—he was younger, he was stronger, he was faster, and he took the risk of finding out whether the platform was as secure as they hoped it was.

He felt Jago’s hand on his arm as the door opened on a bright, sunny day, and had Banichi right in front of him and Tano and Algini at his back. Out the door, down a slightly inconvenient step—he dropped off it without a hesitation and kept up with Banichi, headed for the black, sleek bus across the wooden platform.

It was three tall steps up and inside with the driver, with Banichi and Jago and with a handful of Guild in the port service, while Tano and Algini stood outside beside the bus door, assuring a good view of the platform, just security as usual.

The dowager stepped off the train with Cajeiri and her cane to steady her, with Cenedi to offer his arm, and with Nawari and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard to assist the old lord in his descent to the platform. They crossed to the bus at their own pace and boarded.

Tano and Algini came aboard, standing next to the driver—they had the heaviest armament in evidence, rifles, a little extraordinary precaution. The bus started moving, gathering speed on a gravel drive. Cajeiri sat with his hands clenched in fists, a bundle of anxiety.

Guild was in communication with Guild, talking back and forth as the bus reached a gate and a guard post. The wire gate swung open without them even needing to stop, and the bus bumped up a hard edge and onto concrete, and kept rolling.

A long white shape sat on the strip, surrounded by service trucks.

“There is the shuttle, young gentleman,” Bren said quietly.

Cajeiri twisted in his seat, got up on one knee, and then reluctantly slithered back down, facing Bren, hands locked so the knuckles stood out.

“You may go stand at the front glass, Great-grandson,” Ilisidi said. “But do not give the driver problems!”

“Mani!” Cajeiri exclaimed, and got up ever so carefully and edged past her feet and Tatiseigi’s. “Thank you, mani!”

“Paidhi,” Ilisidi said wryly. “Go keep my great-grandson on the bus.”

“Aiji-ma,” Bren said, and as carefully got up and worked his way out to the aisle. Cajeiri was as close to the front windows as the dashboard let him get, as the bus pulled up near the service trucks and came to a stop.

The lift was in place, elevated up to the hatch, and the passengers were disembarking.

Two of them, Bren saw, from his vantage. Taller than children. He could see their heads as the lift started down.

They wouldn’tpromise the boy and then renege.

They wouldn’t lie to all of them. Geigiwas running this operation. He had faith in Geigi not to do something like that.

The lift settled lower and lower. He saw two men in body-armor, weapons, carrying their helmets– shipsecurity. That, at least, was understandable.

And then one turned his head, looking up at the hatch, and punched the communications tab on his armor. God! That was Polano. The other must be Kaplan.

Jase Graham’s bodyguards.

Those two stepped off the lift platform, and the lift went back up.

“Those are Jase-aiji’s!” Cajeiri exclaimed.

“That they are. One has no idea what is going on, young gentleman. But they are, indeed: Polano-nadi and Kaplan-nadi.” The lift went up again, and now more passengers were debarking. Jago turned up at Bren’s side, and he said, “Kaplan and Polano, Jago-ji.”

“Indeed,” she said, and then the lift started down again.

With another man. Jase. CaptainJason Graham—fourth highest authority on the starship Phoenix,onetime ship-paidhi, the ship’s emissary to Tabini-aiji.

“Jase-aiji!” Cajeiri said.

Then, beside Jase—three significantly shorter persons appeared as the lift lowered and the angle shifted.

Two boys. One girl. All in station-style dress and light jackets, one gray, one green, one blue, all with a single duffel, and with a few other bags about their feet.

“Gene-ji!” Cajeiri said, restraining a gesture into a small movement. “And Artur and Irene! May we open the doors, nandi? May one go out?”

“Jago will go out and bring them aboard,” Bren said. “Let us not create a problem for security. They will have baggage, one is sure. Jago-ji, assist Jase.”

“Indeed,” Jago said, and moved past him to reach the steps and the door. It opened, and Jago and several of the dowager’s young men exited onto the pavement.

Cajeiri just stood there, all but shivering, it was so hard for him to stand still.

Security in their operation, Bren thought, had just gone up several notches in firepower, if not in knowledge of the planet. Kaplan and Polano were armed to the teeth, not to mention the instrumentation on the armor. He had no idea what its capabilities were, but he knew they were considerable.

If the wearers failed to succumb to the flat expanses around them.

They were all old acquaintances, from two years on the ship together, and Jase’s own visit to the world. Cenedi recognized them, no doubt he did, and so would Nawari and several others of the dowager’s young men.

Protocol, meanwhile, did not leave a captain of the starship out on the concrete looking for an official face. Bren went to the steps and jumped down to the pavement, close to the shelter of the bus and beside Jago. He raised his arm in a very un-atevi wave.

Jase spotted him and waved back—came toward them, with Kaplan and Polano and his young charges . . . human kids, wide-eyed and looking around at everything.

Doing very well, however. No one had thrown up.

“Bren,” Jase said—and then did the atevi courtesy and bowed. Bren bowed. The youngsters bowed, tentatively, and then looked up in surprise—one might even say—dismay.

“Hi,” Cajeiri said from the bus steps. “Come in!”

The youngsters looked uncertain. Then the tallest boy, himself about shoulder-high to Bren, dark-haired, on the stocky side, waved a hand, sketched a bow and grabbed the assistance-bar to climb aboard. It was a very tall step for him. He made it, and there he and Cajeiri were, the human boy looking a few inches up at Cajeiri.

“Gene-ji,” Cajeiri said happily. “Hi there!”

“You grew!” Gene said. “You’re as tall as Bjorn!”

“Bjorn’s not here?”

“Couldn’t come. He’s in school. Well, so are we, but not his kind of school. Artur, Irene—” The other two were blocking the doorway, staring up. “He’s as tall as Bjorn, isn’t he?”

“Get aboard,” Bren said to the last two. “Everybody inside. Take the first seats on the left, facing each other. The aiji-dowager and a high-ranking lord are across the aisle. Be very polite! Bow. Low.”

They didn’t acknowledge the instruction. They just went scrambling up the steps. Irene, smallest, and straight from a long free fall, had to be pulled up the steps.

“Jase,” Bren said, still amazed. “So good to see you! Are you running security on this trip, or what?”

“This is my vacation,” Jase said. “You invited me, remember? God, it’s good to see you. Sorry about the surprise. But the Council wanted to provide their own security.”

“Backup is more than welcome! We’re headed for Tirnamardi.” Baggage was down, a lift full of it that they had not planned for, and the dowager’s young men were moving to get it and load it onto the bus. “Get aboard. My security doesn’t want me standing out here. Or you. Jago-ji!”

“Nandi.” Jago was right by him, assisting him up, and Jase. Polano and Kaplan moved with a soft, motorized whine. Polano somewhat awkwardly managed to get a toe on the step. Then, quite amazingly, he just rose up on that one foot and took the next step. Machine-assist. Balance-assist. Kaplan did the same, and one had to get out of the way, because they took up a lot of room.

“Just stand there,” Jase said, which left them no view of the shuttle and the trucks. But the rest of the baggage was coming aboard, with the dowager’s young men.

Pretty damned amazing, Bren thought, and had to give a second look at Jase, to believe it.

“You’re not sick,” he said.

“Medicated to the max,” Jase said, and patted his pocket. “’Til the brain adjusts.” He spotted the dowager, and Tatiseigi, and bowed, deeply. “Nandiin. One is surprised and honored. One apologizes for the children.”

In fairly good Ragi, that was. The dowager nodded, pleased. The children, having gotten toward the middle seats, were trying their best to keep quiet, but there were excited young voices, and Tatiseigi was eyeing them with unguessable thoughts about it all.

“The two in armor, nandiin,” Bren said, “are Kaplan-nadi, and Polano-nadi, Jase-aiji’s personal bodyguard, very responsible men, who always accompany him.”

“You are very welcome, Jase-aiji,” Ilisidi said, of course in Ragi. “Lord Tatiseigi, he is one of the ship-aiji now, and a very astute young man, who has come to supervise the children. One hopes Tirnamardi can accommodate another guest with minimal difficulty.”

“Honored, nandi,” went both directions, and Tatiseigi looked a little less stressed.

Thump! went the door, then, the last of the hand baggage manhandled down the aisle without hitting anyone, and other baggage stowed below, in the baggage compartment of the bus.

Thump! went the ferrule of Ilisidi’s cane. “Let us be moving, nadiin,” she said, and Jago relayed it to the driver, who put the bus in gear.

“Well, well,” the dowager said cheerfully, bracing her cane against the sway of the bus as it turned, while Jase and Bren stood and held their ground. “We shall reciprocate the hospitality of the ship-aijiin, with your kind assistance, Tati-ji. You are very welcome, Jase-aiji. My great-grandson is holding forth with his young associates. Come sit with us.”

“One is honored, nand’ dowager,” Jase said, in very passable Ragi, and gave a second bow to Lord Tatiseigi. “We are not of close acquaintance, nandi, but you are known in the heavens.”

“Indeed,” Tatiseigi said—impassivity had settled over his face, but he seemed to like that information. “Tirnamardi will find room for any guest the aiji-dowager recommends. You speak very well, ship-paidhi.”