“Are we in trouble?” he asked with a sinking heart.
“One has no idea what is going on, nandi.”
Father, and not Uncle Tatiseigi. Uncle and Mother would have just shouted at each other, and everybody would have blown off the heat of their tempers, and that would have been all right—tempers were always better once everyone had yelled at each other.
But with Father here, and telling him keep the door locked, seriousthings could be going on.
“Would you care for tea, Jeri-ji?” Antaro asked him. But he said no.
“All of you may have some,” he said, and walked back over to Boji’s cage, worried, just worried.
Scared.
He really did not know what might happen if his father came in mad from being pulled out of the meeting and ran into his mother when she was mad about Boji. Father could agree with Mother and order him to send Boji back to the market, that was one thing that could happen. But far, far scarier things could happen.
He even thought—he had had nightmares before in this place—about people shooting up the apartment, and how the old staff had been killed in this apartment, right in the sitting room. He had seen far more shooting and dead people than he ever wanted.
He wished he could make a break for it and just go down to mani’s apartment, or next door to nand’ Bren.
“Can you talk to nand’ Bren’s guard?” he asked Lucasi and Veijico. “Are they there?”
“We are no longer permitted to use communications, nandi,” Lucasi said. “Regrettably, we do not have that access.”
“We should have it!” he said, telling himself he was going to talk to his father about that. But he dared not go out there.
He stood there, thinking these things, and aware that his bodyguard could do absolutely nothing to stop anything, not when it came from his father.
He heard the footsteps, his father and his whole aishid, by the sound of it, coming toward him, and he got back from the door, anticipating his father’s bodyguard to knock on it.
But they went right on down the hall, to about, maybe, the security station. And he immediately pressed his ear back to the door.
His father was going to ask security what had happened. That would be first. And with Lucasi and Veijico both here, his father was going to get only what Lucasi had already told him.
He hoped it was enough. He was in trouble. He was in really big trouble. And he tried hard to control his face and to look nonchalant about the situation in front of his bodyguard.
He went back to Boji’s cage, and Boji put his arm through the cage, reaching out with little fingers. He let Boji grasp his index finger, and Boji tried to drag it closer to his face, up against the filigree. That was not a good idea. Boji might still be in a bad mood.
He had no idea why it was so important to him to keep Boji. Except—Boji was his. Boji was alive, and noisy, and without him—this place would be like being locked in the basement in Najida, with no windows, nothing. He was not going to give Boji up. If the way his mother and his father could make peace was at the cost of Boji, he was going to appeal to Great-grandmother to take care of Boji for him. She might do that. Nand’ Bren might do it.
He wanted to be all the way to mad: he was always happier being mad than scared. But he was scared as a little baby. He was ashamed of himself for that, and he kept trying to be mad, but he was not succeeding well at all.
His aishid sat at the table, nobody making a move to fix tea.
And waiting went on, a long, long time. He finally went over to the table and sat down, too, at the head of it.
Then he heard more footsteps, going further away. His father was going to his mother’s suite, and he had his bodyguard with him.
That was not good. That was definitely not good.
Time to dress.
There was absolutely no word from Tatiseigi’s apartment.
“They are shut down over there,” Algini said, while Supani was helping Bren dress. “They are receiving advisements from outside, but they are outputting nothing.”
“Perhaps you should stay here,” Bren said.
“No,” Algini said. “No, Bren-ji. We will be with you. We are determined on that point.”
That was definite enough. His bodyguard was attending him downstairs in full force.
Tano said, quietly: “The guest list downstairs has widened.”
“Indeed,” he said.
“The conservative caucus is seeking an invitation,” Algini said. “There are logistical problems, primarily in chair arrangement. There are other inquiries afoot. There is a request to adjust the venue, and members of the Liberals are requesting a statement from Tabini-aiji, which is not immediately forthcoming. The Liberal Caucus will be hearing that the Conservatives are being admitted, if this is the case. They will be accommodated.”
“Damn,” Bren said. The meeting size had tripled.
“Accordingly,” Tano said, “you will have all of us. Narani and Bindanda will communicate with us.”
“Keep me informed, nadiin-ji,” Bren said. “And inform Lord Geigi. And Tabini-aiji.”
“His aishid is being kept aware of the situation,” Tano said.
Dur had landed. Ajuri was due in, but for the aiji’s apartment, not the event, and with extraordinarily bad timing for events in that household.
He slipped on the vest and held out his arm for Supani to fasten it.
“They are shouting,” Antaro reported, her ear against the door. “One cannot quite hear. One believes they have the sitting room doors all shut.”
Antaro set her back to the door, saying things had quieted. But with what outcome Antaro could not say.
A time passed.
And he was very glad Grandfather had not arrived yet, and he was sure now the signing downstairs must be getting organized, so at least mani would not come bursting into it.
For a long time it was quiet. Then steps, lighter as well as heavier, sounded in the hall, and seemed to go off to the sitting room.
But if his parents had gone to the sitting room, it might be to have tea and to sit for a moment. And talk.
That could be good. Or not.
He decided he should clean up. He had a complete change of clothes, with Jegari to help him, and had his queue redone, smart and smooth and pulled tight, with a new red ribbon, and he had his almost-best coat, to give his best impression if they called him. It was not just of defense of Boji. It was defense of him. Of his whole aishid.
It was court dress to the nth degree; the flash of jewelry on Bren’s person was limited to a single pin, but Geigi turned out with an impressive flash of jewelry, most of it diamonds, which had traveled with him, brought down to the world for any chance state occasion.
It was the paidhi’s business to be in the reception hall before Lord Machigi, and Machigi before the dowager—the same order of things as at any formal dinner.
Getting there, however, was not without obstacles. The whole main hall was filled with onlookers—lords with their own bodyguards, other Guild officials, even Bujavid staff. Bujavid security kept the hall where the lifts were located completely controlled, and at the turn to the left, toward the great doors and the display cases, they had established a line along the wall and displays, keeping spectators back. News cameras were there, a knot of them, and another nearer the reception doorway.
“The paidhi-aiji!” the shout went up, and “Lord Geigi,” the rumor went through the crowd; the years spent in space had made Geigi less recognized among lords, and a rare sight for the Bujavid. There were Bujavid staff in the crowd, lesser officials, and just the general public and tourists, who tended to show up for the spectacle when there was anything afoot on the hill; if one was in town, and there was some pageantry accessible to the public (and the lower hall of the Bujavid was,) the public came, dressed in their best, and partaking of whatever commemorative cards and ribbons the Bujavid might be passing out for the occasion.