Conspirator

Jago added the briefcase to her own heavy load as they boarded the lift. The briefcase held several reams of paper notes, correspondence, a little formal stationery and a tightly-capped inkpot, wax, his seal, and his personal message cylinder. He still carried the computer.

And there was one other obligatory stop downstairs, an advisement of his departure and a temporary farewell to his secretarial office, another set of bows and compliments.

And another set of papers which his apologetic office manager said needed his urgent attention.

“I shall see to them,” he assured that worthy man. Daisibi was his name—actually one of Tano’s remote relatives. “And have no hesitation about phoning me. I shall be conducting business in my office on the estate at least once a day, and the staff there is entirely my own. Trust them with any message, and never hesitate if you have a question. I shall be back five days before the session. Rely on it.”

“Have an excellent and restful trip, nandi,” Daisibi said, “and fortune attend throughout.”

“Baji-naji,” he said cheerfully—that was to say, fate and fortune, the fixed and the random things of the universe. And so saying, and back in the hallway headed back to the lift, he felt suddenly a sense of freedom from the Bujavid, even before leaving its halls.

He had a hundred and more staff seeing to things in this officec he had them sifting the real crises from the odder elements of his correspondence.

And more to the point, he could notbe hailed into minor court crises quite as readily from this moment on.

The Farai were no longer, at the moment, his problem. Uncle Tatiseigi was not.

And as much as he adored the aiji-dowager, Ilisidi, crisis would inevitably follow when she was living with an Atageini lord a few doors down from her own apartment—which was now and until Tabini’s move to his own apartment—under the management of her grandson Tabini’s staff.

Things within the apartment would not be to Ilisidi’s liking. They were bound not to be. The management of her grandson would become a daily crisis.

Uncle Tatiseigi would voice his own opinions on the boy’s upbringing.

And hewould be on his boat with his brother, fishingc for at least a few hours a day.

He almostfelt guilty for the thought.

He almostfelt grateful to the Farai, considering the incoming storm he was about to miss.

Not quite guilty, or grateful, on either account.

The train moved out, slowly and powerfully, and the click of the wheels achieved that modest tempo the train observed while it rolled within the curving tu

Bren had a drink of more than fruit juice as he settled back against the red velvet seats, beside the velvet-draped window that provided nothing but armor plate to the observation of the outside world: Banichi and Jago still contented themselves with juice, but at least sat down and eased back. Tano and Algini had taken up a comfortable post in the baggage car that accompanied the aiji’s personal coach. Bren had offered them the chance to ride with them in greater comfort, but, no, the two insisted on taking that post, despite the recent peace.

“This is no time to let down one’s guard, nandi,” was Tano’s word on the subject, so that was that.

So they made small talk, he and Banichi and Jago, on the prospect for a quiet trip, on the prospect for Lord Tatiseigi’s participation in a full legislative session for the first time in twenty-one felicitous yearsc and on the offerings they found in the traveling cold-box, which were very fine, indeed. Those came from the aiji’s own cook, with the aiji’s seal on them, so they could know they were safe—as if the aiji’s own guards hadn’t been watching the car until they took possession of it. Even his bodyguard could relax for a few hours.

It was all much more tranquil than other departures in this car. The coast wasn’t that far, as train rides went, and the aiji had done them one other kindness—he had lent an engine as well, so the red car was not attached to, say, outbound freight. It was a Special, and their very small train would go directly through the intervening stations with very little pause. They might even make Najida by sundown, and they could contemplate their own staff preparing fine beds under a roof he actually owned for the first time since they had come back from space.

A little snack, a little napc Bren let himself go to the click-clack of the wheels and the luxury of safety, and dreamtc

Dreamt of a steel world and dropping through space-time.

Dreamt of tea and cakes with a massive alien. Cajeiri was in this particular dream, as he had been in actual fact. Prakuyo an Tep loomed quite vivid in Bren’s mind, so much so that, in this dream, the language flowed with much less hesitancy than it did in his weekly study of it. He dreamed so vividly that he found himself engaged in a philosophical conversation with that huge gentleman, with Cajeiri, with the aiji-dowager, and with peace and war hanging in the balance.

He promised Prakuyo an Tep that indeed this was the son and grandmother of the great ruler of the atevi planet (a mild exaggeration) and a partner with humans (true, mostly) in their dealings with the cosmos. He had done that, in fact.

Humans having greatly offended the kyo, he had collected the whole stationful of them that had so offended, and delivered them back to the star they shared with atevi.

Humans having so greatly offended the kyo, he had persuaded the kyo that atevi were a very great authority who would make firm policy and guarantee humans’ good behavior in future.

Most of all, he had shown the kyo, who had never seen another intelligent species prior to their exiting their own solar system, and who had somehow gotten into space with noconcept or history of negotiation—one shuddered to think how— that two powerful species could get along with each other andwith the kyo—a thunderbolt of a concept the paidhi had no illusions would meet universal acceptance among the kyo.

Prakuyo an Tep, over a massive plate of teacakes, miraculously and suddenly resupplied in this dream, vowed to come to the atevi world and document this miracle for his people, a visit which would persuade them to conclude agreements with this powerful atevi ruler and his grandmother and son—agreements which would of course bind all humans—and together they would find a way to deal with the troublesome neighbors on the kyo’s otherperimeter: God knew whether that species had a concept of negotiation, either.

But the paidhi, the official translator, whose job entailed maintenance of the human-atevi interface, and the regulation of mandated human gifts of technology tothe atevi—according to the treaty which had ended the War of the Landing—had apparently another use in the universe. He was supposed to teach the kyo themselves the techniques of negotiation.

And simultaneously, back on the planet, he had to make sure Tabini’s regime was secure and peaceful.

And make sure Tabini’s grandmother was in good humor.

And make sure Tabini’s son didn’t kill himself in some juvenile venture, anddidn’t take so enthusiastically to things human that he ended up creating disaster for his own people on the day he did take over leadership of the aishidi’tat.

He really had hated to say no to the boy, who had harder things to do than most boys. He hadpromised him a boat trip.

And he sat there having tea with the kyo and telling himself he was firmly in charge of all these things. He had lied a lot, lately. He really didn’t like being in that position, lying to the boy, lying to the kyo, lying to—

Just about everybody he dealt with, exceptBanichi and Jago, and Tano and Algini. They knew him. They forgave him. They helped him remember what he had told everybody.