Giving the Marid more advanced tech, however—that was a scary proposition. In point of fact, the scholarly traditionalists of the north had nothingon the grassroots conservatives of the South, when it came to the fishermen, the craftsmen, the tradesmen and armed merchantmen who, point of fact, had not greatly changed their ways or their world view since beforethe first humans had landed on the earth.
What else did he know?
That there was no educational system in the Marid, per se. The whole Marid worked by apprenticeship and family appointment. The classes of the population that needed to read and write, did; the classes and occupations that could get by with the traditional sliding counters and chalk ticks on tablets— did.
Taxes were whatever the aiji’s men said you owed.
Justice was whatever the aiji or his representatives or the local magistrates said was just.
It wasn’tShejidan. Not by a long shot.
And the Marid as a whole hadn’t been interested in having literacy spread aboutc certainly not by the importation of teachers from the north; and there was no way the local educated classes were anxious to teach their skills to the sons and daughters of fishermenc any more than most of the sons and daughters of fishermen were inclined to press the issue and leave their elders unsupported while they did it. Especially considering custom would keep them from using that education, and oppose their intrusion into other classes.
A medieval system with a medieval economy that was linked by rail and sea lanes to the far more modern economy of the north. The Marid had always been capable of sustaining itself, if it was cut off. It didn’t buy high-level technology. There probably was no television in Tanaja. There was radio. There certainly was armament, some of it fairly technical, imported by one class that wastechnologically educated: there were from time to time fugitives from the northern Guilds, who, rather than face Guild discipline, had offered their services in the South, and lived well. Lately there had been a fair number in that category, fugitives from the return of Tabini-aiji to power. There would be various Guilds in the court of Machigi and his predecessors, and elsewhere across the Marid—Guildsmen, who did the unthinkable, and trained others outside their Guild without sanction of the Guilds in Shejidan. In every period of trouble, there had been the fugitives who had taken formal hire with the various Marid aristocrats. There had been Assassins to make forays against lords of the aishidi’tat.
Or each other.
Always ferment. Always some military action brewing, or threatened, or possible.
It was a long, long history: the Marid exited its district to create mayhem in some district of the aishidi’tat. The aishidi’tat retaliated, occasionally sent in a surgical operation to eliminate a Marid lord, to adjust politics at least in a quieter direction.
Nobody, however, had ever “adjusted” the Marid out of the notion of taking the West Coast.
He couldn’t think about failure. He hurt like hell. Breathing hurt if he moved wrong. He could be scared if he let himself, and that was guaranteed failure. He was likely to be tested. He was likely to be threatened. And he was feeling fragile. He had to rid himself of that.
Was Machigi a good lord or a bad one?
A bad one, in the sense of corrupt and self-interested, might actually be easier to negotiate with. A good one, in the sense of looking toward the benefit of his own people, would be harder to compass, in terms of figuring out what his assumptions were and what his concerns were.
A bad man would have a far simpler endgame, one that might be satisfied by personal gain. And quite honestly, nobody had ever wholly discerned Machigi’s personal character.
Was Machigi truly as brilliant a young man as rumor said or in some degree a lucky one?
Was he, if brilliant, a tactician or a strategist? Brilliant in near-term results—or in long-range planning?
Was Machigi that rare young man with the nerves for long-term suspense, or would he act precipitately?
Was he traditionalist? Rational Determinist, like Geigi? Or a thorough cynic and pragmatist?
He did wish he could pull down what Shejidan might have.
Banichi and Jago came back to their seats, opposite him.
“Were you possibly able to read the household in that call, nadiin-ji?” he asked.
“One found them well-ordered, and run from the top,” Banichi said.
That was a point.
“How much initiative within his staff?” he asked.
“Communication went fairly directly to his aishid, and from his aishid to him.”
An admirable thing, correctly sifting out an important communication and speed in their lord knowing it. A lord with his hands on all the buttons, it seemed. Nobody had presumed to stall the communication. Therefore a lack of handlers. That might be in their favor.
He said, somberly, “One apologizes in advance, nadiin-ji, for bringing you into this kind of hazard. And no one could be more essential to any hope of success. I do not expect you infallibly to get me out alive and I know you understand in what sense I mean it. I do expect that if the worst happens, as many of you as possible will get out and report where it counts. Other than that, I give no orders.”
“We know our value,” Banichi said. “And we cannot give an impression of being willing to tolerate provocations, Bren-ji.”
“One trusts absolutely in your judgment,” he said. “But take no action that you can avoid. In this, and with greatest apology, if something untoward happens, let me attempt to deal with it first. If I am threatened, I shall take your abstinence as a sign that a reasonably intelligent human shouldbe able deal with it.”
Banichi actually laughed. So did Jago.
“We are in agreement,” Banichi said. And then said soberly: “You will do your best, Bren-ji.”
“Yes,” he said, with a very hollow feeling in his stomach. “Yes, I shall.”
21
« ^ »
Nand’ Toby had waked. So Antaro said. And Cajeiri went to his bedside to see, and to sit for a moment. Things upstairs were justc scary.
Very scary. And he was going to have to lie as well as he had ever lied in his life.
“Nand’ Cajeiri,” Toby said to him when he sat down there, spoke very faintly, but then cleared his throat a little and lifted his head.
“Quiet, nandi,” Cajeiri said. “Nand’ Bren said you stay in bed. Sleep.”
“Tired of sleeping,” nand’ Toby said, but his head sank back to the pillow. “Where’s Bren? Has he learned anything?”
Words. Words that never had come up between him and Gene and Artur on the ship. He understood the question. That, at least.
“He went to Targai. He follows Barb-daja. He looks for her, nandi.”
“No word from him?”
He shook his head, human fashion. “He’s busy.”
“Damn, I want out of this bed. I think they gave me something.”
“You sleep, you eat, you sleep. Antaro, did the kitchen send anything?”
“One can go get something, nandi.”
“Yes,” he said, and Antaro slipped out the door and shut it.
“It’s been quiet for a while,” Toby said. “I heard something blow up.”
“Long way.” The ship had never had words for long distances inside. Just fore and aft. Deck levels. “Out—” He waved a hand toward the road, generally. “Far.”