Conspirator

“Sounds like a good plan.” Toby sounded cheerful: work on the boat did that for him. “If I get any phone calls, you’ll tell me.”

“Certainly I will. I imagine the kid’s fine by now. They bounce, at that age. But I’ll call you at whatever hour if there’s any emergency.”

“You take care up there tonight. You think there’s any chance those guys are coming back for another try?”

“Never can tell. But we’ve gotten everything fixed that has to be and we’re fine with that.” He didn’t mention to Toby about going down to the village. It was a phone, it wasn’t that secure, and he didn’t want to advertise his movements in any degree. “Things are settling. I just want to be sure you and Barb are comfortable.”

“Couldn’t be better. We’re all over glue and paint. Happy as we can be.”

He gri

“Deal,” Toby said, and signed off.

On any other day, he’d figure he’d had a day at that point, and take to his study—which was occupied at the moment— and sip tea and do his correspondence.

On this particular day he hadn’t even started his day’s work, which entailed kitting up in something suitable and—

“Are we taking the truck to the village, Tano-ji?”

“The bus is beyond repair, nandi.”

“One would prefer a healthful walk,” he said with a sigh, “but probably the truck is the better idea.”

“We shall insist on it,” Tano said.

He was quite sure they would. And considering the dowager’s state of exhaustion—it was an even better idea.

“Get some rest yourselves,” he said. “All of you. I shall take Koharu and Supani and figure out my wardrobe for the evening—we shall have supper as we can, and then we shall be needing the truck, Tano-ji. I leave it to you.”

“It will be there,” Tano said, not objecting to his leaving in search of Koharu and Supani—no, Tano went withhim to the hall, and, once he had passed orders for the pair he wanted, to his suite. Tano stood by, pleasant and affable, while he and his dressers took account of the wardrobe; and while those two consulted with Ramaso, and Ramaso himself came to fuss over the problem.

Simple beige coat, little lace, but enough to be respectful: a country gentleman, with the paidhi-aiji’s white ribbon for his queue, not the grandiose black with stars.

And when he turned out for di

And she was, Bren was glad to see, energetic and bright-eyed, perfectly herself, plying her cane as she entered the dining room with Cenedi, taking her place at one end of the table, while Bren with Tano and Algini in attendance—Banichi and Jago were taking their ease at the console in quarters, and doubtless doing a little touchup on the evening’s arrangements—took the other end of the table, and settled with minimal flourish and fuss.

A small di

The young gentleman settled in, with his entourage attending, the two newcomers quite stiff and proper.

And: “The paidhi may have noticed the addition to my great-grandson’s company,” the dowager said. “Do you approve, paidhi-aiji?”

“My approval is neither here nor there, aiji-ma.”

“Ha!” Ilisidi said, and picked up her water glass. “My interfering grandson.”

“He has, however, assured that your staff will be protecting you, aiji-ma, which pleases all of us who—”

“Shameless,” the dowager said. “We shall watch this carefully,” she added with a sharp look toward the nearer of the pair in question, who affected not to have heard a thing. “And we starve ourselves this evening, one trusts, with the promise of a small offering before we retire.”

“If the dowager is in appetite for a sweet and a cup of tea when we return, one is very certain the kitchen will be delighted.”

“Oh, give us an argument, nand’ paidhi. Everyone is agreeing and dodging. Probably these two are a politic choice and we shall have some of those cream pastries, shall we?”

“Granted a felicitous outcome tonight, aiji-ma, one will be extremely delighted to argue with you over pastries.”

Di

And by then it was toward dark, and they had only time to gather up essentials and to go out to the portico, where the village truck had pulled up to take them down to the village.

But not just the village truck. Someone had wired substantial iron sheets to the wooden sides. It was the cab that was the more exposed to fire; and consequently their security proposed to put their principals on a small bench roped in place within the truck bed, and to have Nawari drive, with Cenedi and Banichi up front, and the rest all behind, under cover.

“This is ridiculous!” was the dowager’s protest. “We shall be bruised from head to foot.”

“We shall sit by you, mani,” Cajeiri said. “We shall not let you fall.”

“Impudent youngster! We do not fall off a mecheita going cross-country. We hardly plan to fall off a bench on a graded road!”

Cenedi had climbed aboard, and, standing over the small iron ladder that was welded to the back bumper, offered his hands. Ilisidi climbed gamely up, pulled aboard, and, cane in hand, stalked over to take her seat on the wooden bench, while Cajeiri scrambled up, with a shove from Jegari from below.

“Just wait until your bones carry a certain number of years, great-grandson! You will appreciate the discomfort of a bare bench and truck springs!”

“One is certain, mani. But one is certain Nawari will be careful.”

Bren climbed up, just behind Jago, who reached down to haul him aboard. He took the end of the bench, where, indeed, he could assist the dowager if they did hit a pothole.

Cenedi climbed back down, and the rest of the dowager’s men and Cajeiri’s young contingent climbed up. They settled in, most of the company sitting on the truck bed, the engine started up, and they moved fairly sedately around the arc of the cobbled drive and onto the unpaved country road.

It didn’t stay a sedate pace. Security concerns, Bren was certain, had them picking up speed. But the road, though winding a bit downhill and alongside a small and ominous woods, was well-maintained, and lacking potholesc that, or Nawari was to credit for missing them.

It was with a sigh of relief that they entered the central (and only major) street of Najida village. Twilight showed very few lights at all, the habit of mainland country folk: nobody burned lights to keep away crime, since there was none to speak ofc just the occasional rowdy youngster. There were no police, just the local constable, who was in charge of talking people out of quarrels, and officiating at the occasional marriage, supervising the village clerk, and the village—Mosphei’ had no exact word for it except commissioner, but there was no commission, just a woman and three aides who scheduled the bus and the truck, and oversaw the procurement of some supplies held in common, such as the village nurse’s needs, the grading equipment, the school, and public sewers and sanitation.

And all such persons had their offices in the village hall, along with the unelected but empowered council of elders, the heads of families, who met when they decided to meet, and once a month met to review the doings of the regular officials.