Peacemaker

It was going to be as gruesome as he had thought. Worse. His father had invited all the people he wanted and he had no say at all in it.

That made him mad. It made him very mad. But there was not a thing he could do about it. He had no way to arrange anything. Eisi and Liedi could get things from the kitchen. They could get a platter of teacakes. And they could all dress up and pretend they were having a festivity on the day after, maybe. But he would know it was not official. And his guests would find themselves left out of his real official festivity, and he was supposed to ignore them all evening?

There was a list of names attached, a long one. There must be a hundred of them.

He sank down on the couch and looked at it in despair. Boji, loose, on the chain the staff had found, and with Gene holding it, bounded over and sat on the arm of the couch.

The speech—was not that bad. It was about five lines. He could remember that. But—

“Is it bad news, Jeri-ji?” Artur asked.

What did he say? “My father. One expected something like it.” He looked through the pages again, and there was nothing good to say. “I have to be with them all day. In the evening—a big public party.”

“Then good news!” Irene said.

“Not so good,” he said, holding up the paper with the list. “I have to talk to legislators, hundreds of them. All court dress, all formal court, all evening. You will have to stay with Jase-aiji and nand’ Bren, and I have to stand by my parents and bow to stupid people all evening and smile.” He put on his best court smile, mild, neither happy nor unhappy, just a motion. “I have to smile all evening. And we all have to be proper. All evening. One greatly regrets, nadiin-ji.”

“Well, we can do that,” Gene said. “With Jase-aiji and nand’ Bren, we’re fine, no problem.”

“I shall not let stupid people talk to you,” he said. “If anyone is stupid I will find it out and I shall throw them out of the hall.”

“Are there going to be stupid people?” Irene asked.

He looked at the list, looking for certain names, but he particularly found some pleasant ones. Dur, for one. Young Dur, and his father. “Nobody from Ajuri or Kadagidi,” he said, reassured by what he did see. “Calrunaidi will be there—my cousin on Great-grandmother’s side. I can deal with him. Dur is good. The new lord of the Maschi is good. Lord Machigi’s representative is good—I suppose.” He kept reading, looking for problems. “Nobody really stupid.”

“So we can do it,” Gene said. “We stay with nand’ Bren and stay out of trouble. Is there cake?”

“Cakes?” he asked.

“Birthday cake,” Irene said. “It’s a custom.”

He did remember, from the ship. It was what humans did. Birthday cakes sounded good. “Like teacakes?”

“Big cake,” Artur said, showing him with his hands. “In layers, with sweet stuff between. Fruit drink. We didn’t ever have that at Reunion, not since I was little. But we do, on the station.”

At the Festivity his father would give a speech. Probably the kabiuteri would give a speech. They had things to say on every formal occasion.

And he would give his speech. And stand and bow and probably sign cards.

A big cake sounded like a good idea. It would put everybody in a good mood.

Memorizing the list of guests was going to go faster than he first feared, too, because he already knew a lot of the people who were coming. He could just trust what he knew about them and study the handful he had never met.

Cake with sweet layers between, Artur said. Madam Saidin was handling things, with Great-uncle and Great-grandmother both being busy with the Lord Aseida problem, and nand’ Bren had been involved with the really serious stuff going on with the Guild.

Icing with that delicate tangy-sweet flavor in the best teacakes. His favorite.

Great-uncle’s cook could figure that out, he was sure.

He could ask. He should get some good things on his birthday.

And his guests were being very polite, the way they had been polite and good all the way through the visit, never taking things badly, never sulking—maybe somebody had told them not to. He had had hints they were under orders. But he knew he could not be that good that long if he was bored.

So maybe he had at least kept them from boredom. And maybe they would like seeing all the colors and the Audience Hall. There certainly would be plenty of fancy things and glitter. There was a museum tour beforehand. They would like that. And everything they saw down there would be new to them.

So maybe they would enjoy things more than he thought.

He would be talking to people and bowing and bowing and bowing until his neck ached, smiling just the right way for every rank—while they, he hoped, would be walking around with nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji, looking at things that were new to them. The Audience Hall was fancier than most anything.

He only wished they were all back at Tirnamardi, and that they could go riding again, so they could all have a good time. That would make everything perfect.

Boji climbed up on his shoulder, reached down and tried to grab the papers from his hand. “No,” he said. “Pest.”

Boji climbed down his arm, and when he moved it, took a flying leap for the couch arm, and then back to his shoulder, with a screech that hurt his ear. He reached up and tugged the chain, shortening it considerably. Artur let it go, and he let it run to the end, still holding it, so Boji, who thought he was going to reach the desk, ran along the back of the couch in frustration, and made a dive for the bowl of fruit.

Which he did not reach. “Come here,” Cajeiri said, and gave a series of clicks, mimicking Boji.

Boji came, approaching carefully on all fours, then sat up and stood up, and moved onto Cajeiri’s knee.

“Look at that!” Irene exclaimed.

“He understands you,” Gene said. “What did you say to him?”

“I have no idea,” Cajeiri said, and laughed and scratched Boji on the side of his cheek, which he liked. Boji then climbed up his arm in a vaulting move and ended up on the couch back behind him.

Parid’ji could become attached—not man’chi, so Jegari had said, but something like it. They were sociable among themselves, and with only atevi for a choice, some attached and learned to do clever things like retrieve a ball.

But they also stole things, Jegari had said. And it was true. Boji had made off with his treasured penknife and a brand new hair ribbon, which he had bitten through, freeing his little hands for a jump.

“Artur,” Cajeiri said, and tossed him the end of Boji’s chain. Boji went with it, clever creature, leaping for Artur, and grabbing at the chain in mid-air.

Artur was cleverer than that, and got the chain anyway. Boji had to be content with climbing up to Artur’s shoulder and chittering at him—especially as Artur took him toward the cage. Artur clipped the chain to the grillwork, which gave Boji the freedom of the inside or the outside.

Boji was rather like them, Cajeiri thought, a short chain and a walk from this guarded place to that guarded place.

But they were all right, at least, and there would be a museum tour. His guests were safe. They said they were having a good time. They played with Boji—Boji liked it. They played cards, and he let them win at least half the time.

He sighed, which drew immediate stares from his guests, who were not stupid, so he could not even do that much—let alone throw a tantrum about it all. Being infelicitous eight had been hard. But right now it seemed safe and known. Nine was supposed to be a very felicitous year . . . but Nine was unexplored territory, and he almost wished he could stay just eight.

Being nine, he had to stand there and look important and grown up, but having not one single thing he wanted, for three whole hours.