And why did he think of such things? When his mind went into involuntary fugue, there was, damn it all, something bubbling down in the depths of his consciousness that was trying to surface, something that might be urgent, something that had been bothering him ever since breakfast, and he had sent that letter out, to what fate he now had no way of dictating.
For one thing, that landscape out there drew his mind down to planetary scale, down to the distances riders and trucks and trains could cover in a day, and reminded him how ordinary folk thought, and why they thought that way.
That view reminded him of the resources Tabini had had when, leaving here, one supposed he had headed for deeper cover, taking his Atageini wife with him.
But without an airplane or extraordinary determination with the cross-continental train, he could not have gotten much beyond those hills—nor would he have had much motive to exit the west, where he had some allies. In the east, yes, as the grandson of the lady of Malguri, he did have some cachet—but feuds predominated in that district and no outsider could exert any authority. No. Tabini would not lean to Ilisidi’s side of the family. Tabini—
Tabini was waiting. Tabini expected the ship to come back. Tabini, once he heard of their presence on the planet, would not sit idly by and wait…
Not Tabini. No. It wasn’t in his character.
A little stir near the door drew his attention. Algini had come to sit near it, just waiting, perhaps resting, in those odd moments that his staff caught rest.
Or watching him. Wondering why the paidhi stood staring out the window.
Everything became part of the fugue. Even the least talkative member of his bodyguard. Even a room in which they still dared not speak too much truth.
“Tell me,” he said, to Algini’s golden, impassive gaze. “If the aiji were to hear of our presence and come in unexpectedly, could he arrive safely in this house, ‘Gini-ji? And would there be prearranged signals between him and the staff that we also should learn—if they exist?”
Algini was as rare with his smiles as with his words, and this smile was rarer still, a gentle one. “Your staff has indeed asked this question of the household,” Algini said, managing not to make the paidhi feel too much the fool. “This staff will not confide to us any such signals, if they exist. They ask us to allow them to deal with any untoward event.”
So much for complete trust.
“Does Damiri-daja know them, and is there a possibility she knows them and has not told Tabini-aiji?”
“One can by no means say,” Algini said. “But we have considered that possibility, too.”
A small look at the ceiling, at the peripheries, thinking of bugs, and a sober look back at Algini. “And the message, ‘Gini-ji? Have you a clue how the dowager has heard it?”
“We have given the paidhi’s message to Cenedi, and it may by now have passed into Lord Tatiseigi’s hands, possibly further, into the hands of his staff. The rest depends on whether the messengers will go, and whether they will go by rail, which will bring them to Shejidan very quickly, or whether they will go in stealth, nandi. We cannot say.” It was Algini’s habit to answer only the immediate question. But he added: “Cenedi has confidence in this household’s skill, if not in their equipment being up to date.”
The dowager had more credit with Tatiseigi than he did. That was for very certain.
But it was worth remembering that Cenedi himself would have visited this house when Ilisidi had been, for extended periods, a guest, perhaps a lover, of the Atageini lord… possibly even while her husband was alive, if certain nefarious whispers were true, in the days after the birth of her son and during the dark days when the whole nation had tottered in uncertainty and suspicion, as to whether the eastern consort, namely Ilisidi, would steal away the heir and go to her own stronghold in Malguri to attempt to raise a rival power. In those days, the legislature in Shejidan had seen it as, yes, extremely possible that Ilisidi herself had come to the Atageini, gathering support among the more conservative central lords to seize power in Shejidan.
Instead, her son Valasi had grown up as a Ragi lord, had ruled with a hard hand. Valasi had died, not as an old man—some blamed Ilisidi herself, or Tabini—and the legislature had pointedly skipped over Ilisidi’s suggestion that her election as aiji of the aishidi’tat might ‘stabilize’ the association. The legislature had appointed Tabini as aiji at a very young age, to the frustration of certain conservative lords—notably Tatiseigi, notably the Kadigidi.
By all he had heard, it had been a battle royal in the legislature. Tabini had been young, full of ideas, combative with Wilson-paidhi, who had resigned in distress. So Tabini had gotten a new paidhi-aiji. Him. A paidhi considered too young for his job, too. They’d had that in common from the start.
They’d taken too much to each other, perhaps.
They’d gotten too much done too fast, debatably so, in the opinion of very many people these days. Lucky or not—they’d been able to respond when humans arrived in space and reopened the abandoned space station. If they hadn’t been ready, having pushed their technology past airplanes, to the brink of a space program—another loop of the fugue—they’d have watched the space station and possibly Mospheira itself run by a very problematic human authority. Those were the facts, but they weren’t facts with which the conservatives could be at peace. Ever.
They certainly weren’t facts the legislature loved, when the old men of the hasdrawad, the house of lords, got together to bemoan the younger generation.
Now, failing response from Tabini, with a Kadigidi upstart calling himself aiji, but not highly regarded in the central regions, in the very heart of his power, the Guild, which had sat paralyzed, might well move to install Ilisidi as regent for Cajeiri—and some few easterners might even hope to lose Cajeiri in some convenient accident. A move to install Ilisidi as a strong regent might gain support from Tabini’s followers as well as from old-line conservatives like Tatiseigi. Various factions, united in their dislike of a Kadigidi aiji, might logically reconsider their support of the usurper and line up temporarily behind Ilisidi.
But politics—politics—politics. It would be bloody.
“ ‘Gini-ji?” A sudden thought. “Does one suppose this house might already have sent some secret message to Tabini?”
“Again, we have inquired, and gotten no answer. But we all think it far more likely Taiben has, nandi.”
Of course. Taiben certainly would have contacted Tabini, if that district knew where to reach him. By mechieti, or even by phone—granted a phone line was still uncut or untapped in the district of Taiben, most notably the phone lines that followed the railroad… they might have just phoned him and said, The dowager is back.
While the Atageini staff kept refusing questions. Interesting. Disturbing.
And Algini sat watch, when he was in the apartment, and there was really no need. Reality came crashing in.
“Why are you standing guard, ‘Gini-ji? Is something afoot?”
Algini shrugged. “The Atageini staff has gone on alert, nandi. One believes, in dispute between the Atageini and the Kadigidi, the staff foresees action. Possibly tonight. Possibly earlier. They have resources of information we do not.”
“So will a message go to the Guild, ‘Gini-ji?”
“Uncertain. One has no idea.” Algini only cast a warning look at the ceiling. Not another word, that look said. God knew why.
Disturbing. A move underway, likely tentative, perhaps some forewarning. He envisioned the dowager, perhaps, being better able to politic without him. He could leave his files with her. He could withdraw to a more remote place, out of range. She had witnessed everything that needed swearing to, out in remote space. She and Cajeiri could tell everything that he could tell.