Thank God, Bren thought. “Tell him I shall hope for his company this afternoon,” he said to Jeladi, “and that I do apologize for my neglect this morning.”
He ordered a pot of tea and simply sat in his office, in the more comfortable chair, listening, after a time, to the mild disturbance of Lord Geigi and his bodyguard exiting the front door on their way to the dowager’s apartment. Geigi, he trusted, well knew that business in the house, and particularly this one, had to be done regardless of guests: an unscheduled breakfast meeting with the aiji was not a matter of choice. In fact, Geigi was heading off on his own little conversation with another power, to be filled in on other things Bren hoped to find out, regarding, probably, Baiji and the situation in the East.
And her plans for the signing.
And maybe the behind-the-scenes situation with Lord Tatiseigi. There were so damned many fronts in this matter.
Quiet resumed in the apartment, Bren staring at the opposite wall for a time, feeling at once overextended and extraordinarily isolated, the possessor of very many details that could re-shape the aishidi’tat and of a personal communication from Tabini that could not bode well for its peace. Contract marriages came and went; most had written into the language a termination after a birth, with custody prearranged by the contract, man’chi of the child being determined by nature and instinct, usually according to which parent brought him or her up.
There were a few unions that lasted longer—couples who went for the ritual of lifelong marriage.
Damiri herself had been born of what was forecast to be a lasting marriage. She was born Atageini, but her mother had died in a riding accident, and Atageini clan had kept her until she was four, finally ceding her back to Ajuri after considerable fuss and furor; and then she had gone back and forth more than once. He had learned that much from the dowager.
A few unions began as contract marriages and worked out as lifelong partnerships. Tabini had only looked for a wise clan attachment, a good political match, to produce an heir. But he and Damiri had had a deep meeting of minds. And that relationship had been one of the constants in the political heavens, so well-known it had created a small boom in long-term marriage agreements. They’d worked together. Endured exile together. Suffered the loss of one child taken away by circumstances and only lately restored to themcand everyone had thought Cajeiri’s return would bring happiness to the aiji’s household.
Now clan loyalties were getting in the way—Ajuri ambition and the fact that Tatiseigi had never in his long life felt the need for tact or concealment of his opinionsc
One always knew where one stood with the old man, that was certain. It was a virtue with strict limits. He’d sent Damiri to be brought up Ajuri. He’d remained at arms’ length all her lifecbecause he detested Ajuri. Now, when her Ajuri clan connections were causing problems, she had no choice but to resort to alliance with Tatiseigi, and one could not blame her for not considering that a real choice.
There was not a damned thing he could do to mend what Tatiseigi’s attitudes had done. He’d succeeded with the old curmudgeon on the association issue simply because the political reality had changed, and he’d offered the old man a route to what he wanted—importance with the dowager and close relationship with Tabini and places of power.
Cajeiri’s contribution to alienating his own mother—he was a child. He had his own justified grievances with fate. But Cajeiri’s “my great-grandmother says” hadn’t helped.
The dowager, who had a very good network, surely had to know what was going on between Tabini and Damiri.
And if she’d tried to keep it somewhat quiet and had not told the paidhi-aiji, that was one thing—but if hehad information, he had to be sure she knew; and he was sure Tabini, whatever his cautions about keeping it quiet, had to route a warning in Ilisidi’s direction. The dowager could not operate in the dark about the stress in the aiji’s household.
The question was how long a very bright youngster like Cajeiri, living under the same roof, could avoid figuring it out—if he wasn’t consciously exacerbating it—and how it would affect him if Damiri did leave. Cajeiri had never attached to his mother. He had not greatly invested, that one could detect, in the prospect of a sib.
And one had to remember, as much as Cajeiri had been affected by human society, much as he liked—no, lovedthe kid, there were triggers in Cajeiri’s psychology that were not human and did not turn in human directions.
Could Cajeiri deliberately set off the problems between his parents?
Yes. If his temper were set off, he might.
A distraction, Tabini had said. Bringing human kids down from the stationcassuming the kids’ parents would permit it, and no doubt Tabini would apply pressure to make it happen—right in the middle of this mess. Distract the boy. Keep his mind on that, while all hell broke loose?
God. That problem, of getting permission from the human parents, was going to land on Geigi’s desk.
And was he then to limit what Geigi should know, when Geigi was going to have to assure a handful of human parents that the situation would be safe for their kids?
He called Jeladi.
“Tell Narani I need security around the office. And tell Banichi I need to see all of them.”
There were chairs enough in his little office. And Narani and Jeladi would see to security outside, no stray junior servant wandering near enough to hear too much.
He had to tell them. He had to get an atevi opinion. That was paramount.
15
It was well into morning. Nobody had been allowed out into the halls, which Cajeiri first took as a security alert in disguise when the permitted servant, Eisi, woke him, apologizing that he was late, but they had to keep the doors shut and not stir about the halls.
“Why, nadiin-ji?” he asked.
“Your father the aiji has had visitors.”
“Who was here?” he asked, and the senior servant said, “We are not to discuss it anywhere, young gentleman. May one assist you to dress?”
“Who was here?” he asked Eisi.
“One is truly instructed not to say, young gentleman. There is breakfast. Just now. One has set it on the—”
“ Whois it you serve, nadi?”
It was, deliberately, because he was angry, mani’s sort of tone. The servant looked at him, wide-eyed, and said: “The paidhi-aiji, nandi. He visited. We were not to move. So everything is late this morning. One fears—one fears breakfast is cold.”
Nand’ Bren. Nand’ Bren had been here on business, and he had been ordered to stay in his room.
That was crazy. And Eisi stood there looking upset.
“You are not to tell anyone I asked the reason,” Cajeiri said grimly, and he got out of bed. “Help me dress. Is my aishid awake?”
“Yes,” Eisi said, and hurried to the closet.
He dressed. He heard his aishid stirring about, and Jegari came in, dressed as far as shirtsleeves.
“Everything is late, nandi. We all overslept.”
“My father surely had official business this morning. With the paidhi.”
“There is all that business with your great-grandmother going on.”
“I was part of that,” he said peevishly.
“You were, nandi,” Jegari said, “but your father may have had other business with nand’ Bren.”
“One supposes.” He still did not like being left out. He slipped on the light day-coat Eisi offered him, and they went out, picking up Lucasi and Veijico and Antaro on the way to the sitting room. Eisi had set out breakfast on the modest table that served sometimes as a dining table—it was a disgusting breakfast, since the eggs were cold, there was only mild red sauce with the eggs, none of the green, so someone had made a mistake. The toast was cold.