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.
c or in this case, to receive the Lord of Najida and his guests the aiji-dowager and the heir of the aishidi’tat, to which they belonged mostly in name. The doings of the aishidi’tat rarely touched the doings of the village, or rarely did so in any official way; and no member of the aiji’s household, including the paidhi-aiji, had ever darkened the door of the village hall, not in all the time it had stood.
They were here to change that.
People of the village—mostly women, young folk and children—were standing about the entry, and came to watch as they disembarked, an immediate flood of Guild in black leather uniforms, and then, with great solicitude, the dowager, who did not take kindly to being lifted down from the truck bed in the arms of her young men, and wanted to climb down, but that itself was an undignified process, and a very chancy little thin-runged ladder, so down she came, and set her feet on the ground immediately with a solid whack of her cane.
Cajeiri scrambled down on his own, steadied at the last by Jegari and Antaro, his new guards standing by in commendable deference.
And Bren climbed down and met up with Jago at the bottom, Banichi appearing almost immediately and making shift to get them all inside and under at least the cover of a roof.
So in they came, in a surrounding flood of black uniforms and with a distressing lot of firepower, but there was reason for it, and he by no means protested Guild precautions. They walked down a broad hallway, wooden-floored, and into open double doors at the end, where the village dignitaries waited somewhat informally, standing among their orderly tables.
There were bows, not as deep as country folk might ordinarily make in meeting the aiji-dowager or even the paidhi-aiji, but it was not a discourtesy, rather the situation, that they were in the place of their own authority.
“Nand’ dowager.” The speaker was an old woman, a seam-faced and weathered woman wearing her go-to-meeting best, a black shawl with years of service, but it was an excellent garment, no matter the era, beautifully embroidered with vines. A deep bow, then. “Nand’ paidhi. I am Aieso, eldest of Najida village.”
“We have come to listen, Aieso-daja. In all courtesy, I shall speak briefly. But in the main, considering the situation, we believe we should be advised before giving advice. We have come to ask.”
The old woman nodded, bowed again, all around, including to Cajeiri, then walked to the head table and rapped on the wood with her gnarled knuckles.
A silence gradually fell. People sought chairs, and two young men came offering chairs at the head table to the dowager, Cajeiri, and him.
They took those places. It was no polished historic conference table, but it had its own history, evident in the scratches and digs and occasional wounds in the rough-finished surface. The chairs likewise were age-smoothed, neither stained nor polished.
“Nand’ Bren says he and the dowager and the young gentleman have come to listen tonight,” Aieso said. “But he has a few words of his own, nadiin. Listen to him.”
A little final settling, a last couple of people in place. Guild stood about the walls, bristling with weapons. But the assembly they watched were all old men and women, the business owners and tradesmen of the town, people of local substance and excellent reputation—well, as much as went with long politics in a village.
Bren rose in place and looked over the assembly—no brilliant electrics here, just oil lamps that gave a gentle glow to the place, and not that electricity was not available in the village. It just was not here, in this place of local tradition.
“Esteemed neighbors,” he said, with a little bow, “what I have to say is brief, counting that I know less than I should. First, thank you, and the dowager and the young gentleman thank you most earnestly, for the efforts of our neighbors in rescuing the young gentleman from the coast. Had you not helped us, we might have been far slower to take the search out to sea, and the event might have had a very bad outcome. Please make known any damages incurred during the search, and I will gladly bear any expense for repairs. Thank you, personally, for your hospitality toward my brother’s lady, and most of all for your understanding. Thank you for your support during the difficulties at Lord Geigi’s estate, and the attack on my house. The aiji-dowager has spoken to Lord Geigi directly, advising him of the situation, and Lord Geigi has agreed to return very shortly and take possession of his nephew and of the estate, to attempt to set matters right.”
That created a little buzz in the room, words exchanged sotto voce and behind hands, but it seemed to be welcome news.
“Among matters of utmost concern in my own mind,” Bren said, “is the fact that when the young gentleman and I visited that house, we saw no familiar faces, none of the people we would have expected to be there. We are greatly concerned for the welfare of that staff.”