Conspirator

Geigi’s major domo had gone with him to space. This man would have been on staff at his last visit—but in some minor post. Other things, however, were much as he remembered. The potted plants in the tiled hall were a bit taller, and when they came into the solar and took their seats, the chairs were a few years more wornc the house was not much using this room. There was a trace of dust in the grooves of the chair arm—Ramaso would never tolerate such a thing—but he was not here to criticize.

It was still a pleasant venue. The room had a frieze of sailing ships. Many-paned windows gave a view of a small winter garden. A small rug covered the seating area of the tiled floor, deadening sound.

The solar, Bren thought, had another advantage—being near the front doors. A quick session, and an early out if things turned awkward—if there was, for instance, any business about the debt to Najida merchants, which he truly did notwant to discuss today, because he would have to say things that would not be auspicious.

So they sat, himself, and Cajeiri, and Baiji, while their respective bodyguards stood in attendance on opposite sides of the room.

Tea was ready with no delay at all: staff must have spotted them coming up the drive, and hastened now to bring forth the service. That provided a decent period of quiet and mental collection.

So they sipped their tea, Cajeiri in very commendable silence, until Baiji asked his young guest how he found the district.

“Very beautiful, nandi. Thank you.”

Commendable brevity. And offering the suggestion, on Bai-ji’s side, that Cajeiri was not quitec as advertisedc local.

Hell, Geigi would have asked the facts at the front door. Baiji just insinuated bits and pieces of what he knew.

So it was, Bren decided, on him to explain matters decently. That had been a diffident probe, at least, perhaps the man’s attempt at genteel inquiry. He took a sip of tea—his sips were scarcely enough to wet his lips, cautiousc alkaloids were always a risk, in unknown hospitality. Then he said: “One must apologize, nandi, for the slight deception on the radio last night. You have clearly guessed by now that my young companion is not from Najida village. Let me introduce, nandi, nand’ Cajeiri, the son of Tabini-aiji, and his young staff.”

“Nandi.” Their host immediately set aside his teacup and rose. Cajeiri, a properly schooled youngster, also rose, and there was a brief exchange of bows between Cajeiri and Baiji, then a resumption of seats.

“One is extremely honored, young gentleman, and delighted to have rendered service.”

Remarkable. Astonishing. Having already spent his allotted two sentences, Cajeiri merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, and said not a thing, asked not a single question—the perfect model of a young gentleman.

“One should add,” Bren said, “that the grandmother referenced last night is the young lord’s great-grandmother, who is a guest at my estate.”

“One is completely astonished by the honor paid this house.” Baiji had broken out in a sudden sweat, and actually reached for a pocket handkerchief to mop his cheek. “One is very gratified at your visit, nandiin.”

“Security is tight,” Bren said with a calm nod. “We wish no attention to my guests. Nor should it be mentioned beyond staff until my guests have left the region. But as my neighbor, it is useful that you know.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

“Please,” Bren said, accepting another dose of tea into his cup, the servant late to provide it. “Please take my visit as gratitude for your assistance last night. As to your question, nandi, how we find the districtc it is, of course, as I left it—except the roads.”

“Ah! Nandi, one so deeply apologizes—one—”

“If Kajiminda would accept a more substantive token of my gratitude for last night, Najida might mow the road from Najida up to the turnoff, so heavier traffic might be more convenient between our estates.” And I would like my people’s bills to be paid, he thought, but simply had a sip of tea.

“One would be extremely gratified by that favor, nandi,” Baiji said. “We have been short-handed in the estate, and last fall, we let that matter slide far more than we should.”

“Short-handed,” Bren echoed him.

Another pass of the handkerchief. “During the Troubles, certain staff found the need to be closer to their families. And most regrettably, nandi, they have not yet returned.”

“Ah,” Bren said. Not returned to their jobs, and it had been months since the restoration of Tabini’s regime. Odd. He declined, however, to say so, just letting his bodyguard sum things up.

But he was not as easy now. Something unpleasant in the tea? One could become just a little anxious in their host’s continued nervousness, but there was a reason a lord’s bodyguard stood while the lords sat at tea—stood armed to the teeth, and did not drink or eat. It was his job not to drink much of the tea, and to find out what he needed to learn.

And he could wish he had not brought the boy on this trip.

“Do you, nandi, hear often from your esteemed uncle?”

“Not often at all, to my regret, nand’ Bren. One hopes for his continued good health. One has been concerned.”

“One has heard nothing at all distressing regarding his health. We dealt with him briefly on the station, and we have been in contact with him intermittently for months.”

“Then one is glad to know so, nandi.”

“Indeed. He frequently keeps a hectic schedule. I shall be sure to remember you kindly to him.” Banichi meanwhile, in the tail of his vision, had stepped outside the room to have a word, perhaps, with the major domo, maybe to pose his own questions of staff. One of Baiji’s men had likewise left the room. That would not be at all unusual, in two staffs establishing contact. And it was the lord’s job to smooth things over. But it was approaching time to cut the visit short, the gesture made, and the outcome offering more questions than answers. “One has little time in the schedule today, to let us pay a long visit, nandi, but later, should you wish, one might have that road mowed, and your reciprocal visit to Najida might meet no serious obstacles.”

Baiji had looked a little askance at Banichi’s departure, his eyes flicking to that doorway.

“So we must,” Bren said, “with greatest thanks, be on our way back to Najida, to attend to my other guests. Shall we see you in Najida?” Not while the dowager was there, for certain. But he could deliver her message. “Or perhaps in court, when the session opens?”

“One hopes,” Baiji said fervently, “one hopes so. Please convey my earnest good will to the aiji-dowager, and, young gentleman, to your esteemed father.”

Profoundly sweating.

Not right, Bren thought. It was time to go. And Banichi had not come back in, but Jago had begun to move toward the door. So, with her, and looking just a little on edge, the Taibeni youngsters moved. Cajeiri might or might not have noticed that action. He was sitting at Bren’s right, and his expression was not readable—one hoped he was not fidgeting anxious glances toward the doorway, where Banichi was, perhaps using his old contacts in the house, Geigi’s Edi contacts, to ask some pointed questions.

But it was his job to read the signals and get them out of here. He stood up.

“One will be most anxious,” Baiji said, rising as Cajeiri rose. “Please convey our most fervent wishes for the aiji-dowager’s good will. We had sickness in the house this winter. Please assure the dowager missing the session had nothing to do with political opinion. We feared to bring a contagion to that august assemblyc”

“Certainly one will convey that information,” Bren said, laying a hand on Cajeiri’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. He put a little pressure on it, just a brief warning signal, trusting the lad not to flinch. “We shall, shall we not, young lord?”