“I have told you all you need know.”
“You have not heard, however all you will find of mutual benefit for us to discuss, discreetly, nandi. One gathers that you have confidence in your aishid. I do, in mine. My principal suggests that the attacks near Najida were aimed more at you than at us. She suggests that destabilization of the Marid, while temporarily beneficial to us, would not be beneficial, in the long view, and she is prepared to take the long view.”
“Who is your principal?” Second asking of that question.
“So far as I am aware, nandi, onlythe aiji-dowager at this point. The Guild with me, outside, are Tabini-aiji’s, but attached to his grandmother in this instance, and under her orders.”
“You are fast-moving, paidhi. This morning in Najida. This afternoon in Targai. This evening meddling in the Marid.”
“Circumstances have been changing rapidly. It is far from my principal’s intent to contribute to instability in this region. If that were her intent, she need only sit back and let appearances carry the debate forward in the Guild.”
“Perhaps she intends to tempt me to an incident here and now.”
“I am not lightly sacrificed, nandi.”
The gun clicked. Dropped to Machigi’s side. “You have nerve, paidhi.”
Now the pulse rate skipped. One could not afford the least expression. This was not the point to waver, not in the smallest point of decorum—never mind that Machigi was tall, and he was inevitably looking up. “The things I hear of you, nandi, encourage me to believe the same of you. Clearly, with my principal, you have accomplished things in the Marid that have suggested a reconsideration of associations.”
“Your principal has no power to negotiate.”
“Shejidan has said nothing to prevent her current action. This is, in my own experience of this lifelong association, more than significant.”
A moment of silence followed that statement. Machigi’s hand lifted. He snapped his fingers. His guard, round about, opened side doors. Bren stood his ground. So did his bodyguard.
“Tea,” Machigi said, and with the left hand, without the gun, made an elegant gesture toward a grouping of chairs.
Bren gave a slight nod and went, as directed, to stand by the chairs; his bodyguard moved with him, perfectly in order, as did four of Machigi’s. Machigi sat down, he sat down, and servants appeared from the side doors, bearing a beautiful antique tea service, of the regional style.
There was, by courtesy, no discussion of the issues. Which somewhat limited one to the weather.
And necessitated Machigi, as host, defining the topic.
“So how have you found the region, nand’ paidhi?”
One had to avoid politics. “One enjoys the sea air, nandi,” he said. “And the uplands are quite scenic.”
“You are alleged, paidhi-aiji, to have voyaged to very strange places.”
“I have, nandi,” he said.
“One is naturally curious,” Machigi said. “Were there placesout there?”
“Where we were, nandi, was a place much like the space station.”
“A metal place.”
“Very much so. Indistinguishable from the ship itself, except in scale.”
“And do you take pleasure in such places?”
He thought a moment, over a sip of tea. “Mountaintops, nandi, are similar in some respect: one may be uncomfortable in some regards getting there, but the view from the top is astonishing.”
“And what did you see from that vantage, nand’ paidhi?”
“Farther worlds, farther suns, nandi, people more different from both of us than we are from each other—but people with whom we have found some understanding.”
“What use are they?”
“As much as we are to them—occupying a place in a very large darkness. As Tanaja sits at the edge of a very large sea, with all its benefits. Space does have shores, in a sense, and people do live there.”
“The world has had enough foreignness.”
“There will be no second Landing. The space station will see to that.”
“How?”
“Because outside visitors will be limited to that contact, as much as we find beneficial, and no further, nandi. But we are verging on business, now, one of those matters in which one would very much like to see the Marid have its share.”
“Why should you think so? And why should your principal think so?”
“Because the opportunity is that wide. There is no point to hoarding it. If the Marid prospers, it is no grief at all to the world at large. It will notdisturb the trade of the south coast. The unique items which the Marid produces and in which it trades are notduplicated by manufacturing or found in space.”
Machigi emptied his teacup and held it up to be refilled. “Another round, nand’ paidhi.”
That was good. Bren held up his own cup, and they settled back to discussion of more polite nature.
“An extraordinarily beautiful service, nandi,” Bren said.
“Three hundred years old,” Machigi said, “one of the treasures of the aijinate of Tanaja. The island which produced it was devastated by a sea wave. This service happened to be on a ship which survived, being at sea at the time.”
“Extraordinary,” Bren said.
“There are a few other items surviving of that isle. But increasingly few. They have suffered somewhat in the centuries since. We have attempted to discover the source of the glaze, but the isle is gone, submerged. We suspect it came from a plant which may now be extinct.”
“A loss. A great loss, nandi. The blue is quite deep, quite a remarkable color.”
“Greatly valued, to be sure.”
“One is honored even to see it.”
Machigi made a wry salute with his cup. “And you a human. You are the second human I have ever seen.”
Thump went the heart. “The second, nandi.”
“There is a woman,” Machigi said. “A member of your household, so I understand.”
“Barb-daja.” Thattook no far leap. But it called into question the dowager’s theory, on which they had come here, and the safety of themselves and everyone on that bus. “You have indeed seen her, nandi?”
“Indeed.” Machigi said.
“Is she well, nandi?”
Machigi shrugged, and this time set his cup down. “Who is this lady, nand’ paidhi?”
“The lady is my brother-of-the-same-parents’ wife, to put the situation simply, nandi, a naive woman of no political connections.”
Machigi smiled, and took up the cup for a final sip, then set it down. “Let us get down to business, nand’ paidhi.”
Bren nodded and did the same, schooling his face to absolute calm. His chest hurt. Breaths hurt, but he kept them regular. He had managed not a tremor in setting his cup down, and diverted his thoughts from Barb and Toby, from Najida and those at risk there, even from his bodyguard standing behind him. And quietly smiled back. “One is very glad to do so, nandi. Shall I give you the dowager’s message exactly as it came to me?”
“Do you have it?”
He reached carefully inside his coat pocketc the one that did not involve a loaded pistolc and handed the folded paper across.
Machigi took it in a scarred hand and read it. He had a young face, lean, hard, that scar on the chin a streak on his dark skin that ran quite far under the chin as well, as if someone had once tried to cut his throat. An interesting wound, that.
Machigi read, folded it in the agile fingers of one hand and handed it back, laying it on the small service table between them.
“The dowager does not have a reputation for such easy trust.”
“The dowager, nandi, sees what I see: a situation in which your associated subordinates cannot profit while you exist. You exert an authority they must surely view as dominating theirs, as your interests take precedence over theirs. This is not, in the dowager’s view, a bad situation—keeping the Marid from wasteful wars.”