Peacemaker

“One has not heard, nandi, but one would expect so, yes.”

“One might drop that word in Madam Saidin’s ear. The guests have not come prepared for such a major event. If I can assist, I shall.”

“One is very sorry not to have mentioned the change earlier.”

“By no means, Rani-ji. The aiji himself neglected to mention it last night. In retrospect, one believes he was preparing to mention it, when the consort arrived in the room—but let us not assume the aiji-dowager or Lord Tatiseigi knows this, either. Send Jeladi down the hall to advise both households. This may constitute a small emergency.”

“Absolutely, nandi.”

A national Festivity.

It had to be the shortest notice he had yet seen. And absolutely it was the aiji’s response to the assassination of the boy’s grandfather. The other . . . Tabini could not have anticipated the paidhi-aiji, of all people, would launch an attack on the Kadagidi.

But the city would manage. and the city would manage, as most other cities and towns and villages would manage . . . well-oiled procedures that with very little to-do could close down most work for a day, bring out the licensed vendors—most of whom were carts operated by regular restaurants—and declare the city trains free of charge for the day.

Booths would blossom. The Bujavid would ordinarily open the lower floor to visitors and have all the lights on, down the grand stairs that ran down the hill—those stairs had used to be a severe trial of endurance, a test of will to reach the aiji—but nowadays a tram served, and the several landings became only another gauntlet of small colorful stands on festival days. The Bujavid Museum was usually open for such events. The crowds traditionally had access all the way into the lower hall, to gain the prize of official cards and ribbons for the event, whatever it was . . . the lines posing another contest of endurance.

The museum was to be closed, however. Cards would be distributed outside, on a landing.

That was uncommon. People would be disappointed in that.

It might be an ordinary security concern—counting the priceless exhibits—counting that someone had assassinated a clan lord in the last few days.

So if the museum was closed and there were no ribbons and ba

“Go,” he said to Narani, and added: “Advise my aishid, too. Be sure they know about the changes.”

Narani left. Bren sat, rubbed his eyes and tried to figure if there was any other loose end of correspondence he needed to attend or any precautionary contact he ought to make—anything that could, for one thing, do any good for the tribal peoples bill at this point.

There was none that he could think of.

And that was the old mail. One feared to know what today’s letters could bring.

9

A half hour later a little rap came at the door. Jago entered the office and closed the door behind her.

“Bren-ji,” she said, with an I’m-on-business directness.

“News?” he asked, remembering his aishid had been in conference with Cenedi’s lot. He turned his chair, expecting information from that meeting.

She stood in front of him, arms folded. “We have a plan,” she said, “of sorts.”

“One hears.” He stood up, courtesy, where it came to his aishid. And her. “You did receive my message from Narani.”

“Indeed,” she said. “The change does not interfere. In fact—it may be a useful distraction.”

He thought he was relieved to hear so. “What is our situation?”

“We have a twofold problem,” Jago said. “First is safeguarding the aiji and the young gentleman from counter-attack. Securing the service passages—we have done that. But this enemy may be on staff in the Bujavid, or in the Bujavid guard, or maintenance, and more—certainly for a time, and if things go wrong, permanently so—we will not be here to protect this floor.” Jago held up a thumb. “We need to order the Bujavid guard and civilian perso

“The train station.”

Third finger. “At need, Lord Tatiseigi’s bodyguard will seize control of the Transportation Guild office in the Bujavid station long enough to commandeer a train. This is Lord Tatiseigi’s part of the plan, with our modifications: it will not be the Red Train, but a freight. It will have clearance to the spaceport, and it will be defended by the dowager’s own bodyguard. Once inside the spaceport perimeter, Jase-aiji will defend the spaceport, pending the shuttle’s preparation to take them to the space station.”

Evacuate the ruling family? God. The port, given warning, was now a defensible area—especially with Geigi in possession of the other shuttles and no few ground installations which themselves could pick up and move.

But at no time had Jago said where he would be during all this maneuvering. He ached to ask. Disturbing Guild in laying down instructions, however, was not a good idea. He understood the part of the plan he had heard thus far: the port was as secure an onworld position as they could achieve.

And beyond that—with Tabini and his son in orbit, inside Geigi’s protection, and unassailable—their enemies would have no chance of staging another coup, no matter how extensive their plans.

With the spaceport on the continent in the aiji’s control, and with an adequate landing field and service facility at Port Jackson Airport on Mospheira—loyal forces could come and go. They could take key units up to the station and send them back down again for whatever operations they wished to undertake. His aishid had talked about that before now.

Militarily—it was a good idea. The Shadow Guild would not be able to reach them. Politically—it had serious problems. They had discussed that, too.

Were they down to that?

Last finger. “That,” Jago said, “if things go wrong.”

If things go wrong. He was vastly relieved to hear that she was laying down a contingency. And they all knew the problems with it. Doing that, lifting the aiji off the planet, would weaken the aijinate. For him to run, for him to shelter himself with humans, for him to abandon his people in a crisis and shelter behind human weapons—would say things about the world’s situation, and about the relations between atevi and human . . . that they never, ever wanted to have happen.

And to what is this the contingency? he wanted to ask. But he waited.

Jago folded both arms. “The plan.” A deep frown. “All this last year, not knowing what enemy we might face, but knowing there was at least one individual we needed to reach, we—and the dowager’s aishid—have had a list of individuals who are not in good favor with the Guild Council. We are now in contact with individuals in the central district and on the west coast—and this is, for political reasons, the best idea. We should not appear to rely solely on the East.”

The East—being the aiji-dowager’s territory. He clearly understood the politics so far. And he suspected which “list of individuals” Jago meant. The Missing and the Dead . . . who were no longer counted loyal, or reliable.

“Member access to Guild Headquarters has been severely restricted,” Jago said, “since the aiji’s return to office. Ordinary Guild members no longer have routine access beyond the entry hall and the offices there. The Council Chamber is now restricted to those on the Council agenda—and the Council, of course, controls who gets on the agenda. The administrative hall adjacent to the Council Chamber has been declared off limits to anyone except very high ranking Guild on official Guild or state business. All these measures are new, all since the coup. They call it security. It is an inconvenience. Ordinary members have simply worked around it.”