Conspirator

And the longer some things went unsaid, the worse. He didn’t particularly look forward to doing it—but if they let one more meeting go by without ever reforging the links they’d once had—

Well, it just got harder and harder to bring up the topic of his two-year absence, harder for him to find out what had gone on, harder for him and Toby to discuss family business. Harder to be anything but old friends who’d somewhere lost the “brother” part of it all.

They could become more distant than that, if events intervened and made their contacts rarer still. If Toby married Barb, and finally settled. It was a good thing in that sense that Toby had taken to the boat, and lived from port to port. He didn’t know what in hell income his brother was living off of— whether the government runs kept him in fuel and dockage and repairs. And he didn’t ask. Maybe Barb brought in resources. He hoped she did something constructive.

And he really, really wanted not to have Barb in the conversation.

Sure enough, Barb was there when he gave a single rap on the door and walked in on her and Toby in the sitting room of their suite. She was in the act of getting up, perhaps to answer the door—not the atevi way of things. Lacking the formality of a servant’s attendance, and he had absently signaled the maid on duty in the hall that he would not require that—the caller would open the door himself, if it was not locked; and he had done that. He bowed—not their way of things: the bow was as reflexive as the lift of the hand instructing the servant.

“Having a good morning?” he asked.

“A relaxing morning.” Barb went back to sit on the arm of Toby’s chair, a detriment to fine furniture. Absolute anathema to the staff.

He decided not to say anything. It just led to unpleasantness. And he might not, unless he had Barb dropped in the bay, geta chance at Toby alone.

So he did the only thing he could do, decided on intervention, and pulled the cord before he sat down, calling staff to serve a pot of tea.

“I really don’t like tea that well,” Barb said after the door had shut again.

“Well, it’s a bit early for brandy,” he said.

“Your rules,” Barb said with a little laugh, and finally got off the hand-embroidered chair arm, Toby’s hand following her, and trailing off the ends of her fingers. “Rules, rules, rules.”

He smiled, not in the least amused. “They’re everywhere, I’m afraid.” And got down to basic business. “The staff is still prepping the boat. Tano and Algini will be down there supervising. I hope you’ll go along on this trip. I’ve rather assumed you both would.”

“Sure,” Toby said. “Of course we will.”

“The two youngsters with Cajeiri haven’t likely seen water larger than ponds. I hope they won’t be seasick. Probably they won’t be: they’re athletic youngsters. I promised the boy specifically my boat, or we might all of us fit without sleeping bags. But at least one person’s going to end up sleeping on the deckc probably one of my staff.”

“I don’t mind the deck,” Toby said, “but Barb would want a cabin.”

Notably, Barb did not chime in with, oh, no, the deck would be fine.

“No question,” Bren said. “And my staff won’t let me do it, I’m afraid. The kids may want to. It’s an adventure to them. I wouldn’t turn them down. My staff deserves soft beds. But they assuredly won’t let you do it, Toby. Kids are one thing—it’s play for them. But you’re nand’ Toby. Won’t do at all. Dignity and all. Although they did talk about sleeping below the waterline. I think the notion intrigues them.”

“Just the security people are going?” Barb asked.

“Just the four. House staff will be busy here.”

“Not too much for them to do without us,” Toby said.

“Oh, they’re busy: they have the village to look after, too. Not to mention setting things up for the upcoming visit to Kajiminda—that’s Geigi’s estate. They’ll be seeing the bus is in order, that the road over there is decent, all of that. There may be some potholes to fix. Given the recent rain, that’s likely. They arrange things like thatc and that road only gets used maybe once a week, if that.” The tea arrived, and service went around, to Barb as well.

“All right,” Toby said. “Once a week. Why once a week?”

“Market day in the village. The Kajiminda staff will come over and buy supplies. We have the only fish market on the peninsula.”

“Here?” Barb asked.

“The village.” Inspiration struck him. “You asked about shopping. I suppose you might like to do that.”

“Can we?”

“Well, it’s fairly basic shops. There’s a fish market, a pottery, a cordmaker’s, a weaver’s, a woodcrafts shop and a bead-makerc I should send you with one of the maids. They’ll take you to places they know and I don’t.”

Barb’s eyes had gotten considerably brighter. He got up and pulled the cord again, and when the maidservant outside appeared: “Barb-daja would like to go shopping. Kindly take Barb-daja to the market. Just let her buy what she wants on the estate account. Walk with her, speak for her, and keep her safe and out of difficulty, Ika-ji. Take two of the men with you.”

The maid—Ikaro was her name—looked both diffident and cheerful at the prospect—bowed to Barb, and stood immediately waiting.

“Get a wrap,” Bren said. “It’s nippy. People will be curious about you. Just smile, buy what you like or what you might need for the boat. Provisions. I’d meant to send those with you, as was. Pick up some of the local jellies—Ikaro will make sure you get the right ones. —Ika-ji, she may buy foods: no alkaloids.”

“Yes, nandi.”

“Toby?” Barb asked.

“Is it safe?” Toby asked. “You always say—”

“The village is only over the hill and very safe. The men are just to carry packages, in case,” he added with a grin at Barb, “you decide to bring back sacks of flour. Just enjoy yourself. Buy something nice for yourself. You’re on the estate budget. Get something for Toby, too, if you spot something.” He went near and said, into Barb’s ear: “There’s a very good little tackle shop.”

Barb was honestly delighted. She disappeared into the bedroom, with the disconcerted maid in pursuit, and came back with a padded jacket and gloves—and Ikaro.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Toby said, getting to his feet.

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” she said, and proceeded to mortally embarrass the maid by kissing Toby on the mouth, not briefly either, and with a lingering touch on Toby’s cheek. “You be good while I’m gone.”

“I have no choice,” Toby said with a laugh, and the little party got out the door—which shut, and left a small silence behind.

“You’re sure she’ll be all right,” Toby said.

“My staff would die before they let harm come to her,” he said, and sat down and poured a little warmup into his teacup. He had a sip, as Toby settled. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you, not really. We’ve been in rapid motion—certainly were, the last time we met. It’s been a little chaotic, this time.”

Toby wasn’t stupid. Far from it. He gave an assessing kind of look, beyond a doubt knowing that he’d just maneuvered Barb out the door. “Something serious?”

“Just family business. Not much of it. Nothing I could have done but what I did, but I am lastingly sorry, Toby, for leaving you when I did. I don’t know what more to say. But I am sorry. I had two years out and back to think about that.”

“Hey, you have your job.”

“I am what I am. I don’t regret much, except I know what you went through. I say I know. I intellectually know. I wasn’t there, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“I read the journal you gave me,” Toby said. “I read every word of it.”

Bren gave an uneasy laugh. “The five-hundred page epic?” It was, in fact, hundreds of pages, uncondensed, but deeply edited—compared to what Tabini had gotten: the whole account of his two years in deep space, hauling back unwilling human colonists from where they had run into serious trouble, trying to prevent a culture clash—the one that might eventually land on their doorstep.