“Take care,” Bren wished him.
“Take care,” Jase said, too, and added, pointedly, counting the aiji-dowager down on five-deck, full of justifiable questions of her own: “Good luck.”
Chapter 3
There was no extended comment from Banichi and Jago, even in the lift: there, the ship’s eavesdropping was a given. There was no comment, at first, as they crossed toward the closed door of their own section, through that foyer they shared with Kroger’s corridor.
But for the first time it was moderately safe to talk, in Ragi. “You followed most of it,” Bren said, “nadiin-ji.”
“Certainly important points, nadi-ji,” Banichi said. “But not enough to be confident of understanding Sabin-aiji.” Banichi let them through the closed section door and into the long corridor that was their own domain. The dowager’s staff stood guard, as always, and passed them on without a word.
“No one understands Sabin-aiji,” Bren muttered. “She deliberately obscures her actions.”
“One perceives,” Jago said as they walked, “that there may have been a falsified television image when last the ship visited this station. That more secret records may be at issue.”
“True in both instances.” He gathered his breath for an explanation. Didn’t even know where to start, about Ramirez’s actions and Jase’s suspicions, that ran back for decades.
A missile from out of the galley hit the corridor wall.
Ricocheted to the floor.
And skidded toward them on the tiles.
A red-fletched, blunt arrow.
With a whisper of leather and a light jingling of silver weapon-attachments, Jago bent down and gathered it from their feet.
A young atevi face peered from the dowager’s galley, down the corridor. Gold eyes went very wide.
“No, we are not the indulgent side of staff,” Jago said ominously. “I am Assassins’ Guild on duty, young aiji, escorting the aiji of the heavens to his apartments in dignity fit for his office, young aiji. I react quickly to threat. Fortunately for you, young aiji, I react as quickly in restraint, a lesson which in future might prove more beneficial than archery. Do you know what your father would say if he saw this arrow at Bren-aiji’s feet?”
The future aiji exited the door, bow in hand, and stood contrite… as tall as a grown human; but far shorter than adult atevi. “Jago-ji, I put another lamina on the bow.”
“Evidently.” Jago strode to the point of impact, which bore a slight dent. Young muscles as solid as an adult human’s had put a fair draw on a bow that had grown thicker on this voyage—a bow with added strength, since the boy had tinkered with it. “You have damaged the ship.”
“It’s only a dent, Jago-ji.”
Oh, we are getting bold, Bren thought, wondering what his staff was going to do with this burgeoning personality, if they all lived so long. That sullen look was his father’s. Or—one dreaded to think—his grandfather’s.
“Dare you say so?” Jago was not daunted. And towered over the boy. “ Dare you say so? Did you build this ship? Did you place those panels? Do you command those who can?”
Clearly the answer was no. Cajeiri didn’t command anything about the ship.
“So?” Jago said. “Do you fancy going to Sabin-aiji and asking someone to repair it?”
Set of the jaw. “I would go to Sabin-aiji.”
“That would hardly be as wise as an aiji needs to be,” Bani-chi said in his deep voice. “Do you know why?”
Clearly that answer was no, too. But the boy was not a complete fool, and lowered the level of aggression.
“I was seeing how hard it would hit,” Cajeiri said.
“And did not intend to dent the ship?”
“I beg pardon, nadiin.”
“Wrap the points,” Jago said shortly, “aiji-ma. Be wiser.”
“Yes, Jago-nadi.” The young wretch set the offending instrument of war butt-down on the deck, its heel in his instep, and unstrung it. He took the arrow from Jago. And bowed to authority, attempting charm. “Good morning, Bren-nandi. Is Jase-aiji coming down?”
“Little pitchers with big ears,” Bren translated the human proverb, which Cajeiri understood and thought funny. “I have had my meeting with Jase. It was very nice, thank you.”
“Grandmother wants you to come to breakfast,” Cajeiri said. “But the hour is past breakfast.”
One could imagine she wanted to hear from him.
“She has not yet invited me, nadi.”
“I told Narani. I brought the message.”
“Staff does these things quite efficiently on their own,” Banichi said dryly. “If you can shoot at lord Bren, you can manage beyond the children’s language, am I correct?”
“No,” Cajeiri said defensively. He was only seven. Consequently he spoke Ragi without the architecture of courtesies and rank and elaborate numerology of his seniors. He had liberties appropriate to his age—and was bored beyond bearing, being the only seven-year-old aboard. Ship’s crew had left their minor children, considering it was not a safe voyage.
But the aiji in Shejidan had sent his son on a voyage that should teach him more than bad behavior and dangerous familiarity.
“I shall see the aiji-dowager,” Bren said. “Go beg Narani-nadi to arrange some graceful hanging on this wall, to save the servants asking each other who could have damaged our residence.”
“Yes, Bren-aiji.”
“And regard security’s advice. Aijiin do not defend themselves with bows and arrows—”
“With guns, Bren-nadi!”
“Not even with guns, Cajeiri-nadi. Their staffs defend them. The very humblest servant who locks a bedroom window at night defends them. Not to mention the Assassins’ Guild, who do carry guns, and whose reactions are very quick, and not to be trifled with. Please live to grow up, young aiji. Your father and mother would be very disappointed otherwise. So even would your great-grandmother.”
Cajeiri’s eyes… they looked at one another eye to eye… grew very large.
“And by no means forget,” Bren said, ”that I am several times your age. So your father would remind you.”
“Yes, Bren-aiji.”
He liked the boy. And like was for salads. Love was for flavors of fruit drink. It wasn’t an emotion one could even translate for a species that operated by hierarchies and grouping and emotionally charged associations.
“You are within my man’chi,” was as close as he could come. “No matter you behave like this. But be careful. The ship is going to move soon. We’re going into a place of considerable danger.”
“Are we?” Eagerness. The boy was seven. “Is it the lost station?”
“It may be. Meanwhile—wrap the arrowheads. Don’t shoot my staff. And see me later. I’m sure we can find some new videos for the trip.”
“Some human ones!”
“Some human ones, too.” They had a store of them. A large store. In consideration where they were going and the risks they ran, they’d dumped a great deal of the human Archive from the ship, entrusting it to the planet and the station of their origin. But they’d kept a few useful bits. “Now apologize, and then off with you to tell Narani.”