On the left, the Lesser Hall doors stood open, and the guards there, armed, let them and their bodyguards into a more organized sort of crowd, glittering lords and ladies in their household colors, all milling about in the pre-event social, a rainbow interspersed with the black and silver of bodyguards in great evidence. Chairs were at some remove, near the walls. There were three tables set up at the head of the hall, for the signing, and at the side of the hall long tables with offerings of flowers and piles of refreshments.
One of course toured the floral arrangements, parsing them for origin and meaning, and they were always set out, with the exception of sponsoring parties, in order of receipt, so being first mattered. The arrangements all looked thoughtful and fortunate, and one trusted they wereproperly fortunate: that was the province of the kabiu masters.
One read Prosperity frequently and prominently in the flower choice. One read Peace. That was good. One read Welcome, and one brave Offense Forgiven on the part of the Oturi, south of Sheijidan; the kabiu masters of the Bujavid had let that one in, but anything of greater controversy would not have made it. The next one read New Things. And Good Fortune and Auspicious Skies.
One refused a cup of fruit drink. One wanted no accidents, either of spills or of poisoning. The occasion was, for the paidhi and all his staff, pure business.
But not without pleasure. “Nandi!” he heard near him. Adigan, elder lord of Dur was there, and the new lord of the Maschi, with their respective bodyguards; and young Dur was there as well, grinning with complete delight—they had not parted that long ago, but now their meeting meant success.
“Lord Machigi is on his way to the train station, nandi,” Banichi advised him.
Immediately after there were polite greetings for them both from the legislators of the Commerce Committee, who were very glad to have a word with Lord Geigi, in his capacity as representing space industry, and the members of the Library and Records division offered polite felicitations. Behind them, a traveling backdrop, were the official secretaries of that department and their assistants; and there was a very discreet television presence—one did not miss that. The event was not going out live, but it would be out with a half-hour time delay and be done before the west of the continent went to bed this evening, and sent to the East by radio.
One sat, in one’s almost-best coat; one even attempted to do one’s homework—anything to make the time pass—but one had no concentration on it, however one tried, with ears pricked for any sound at all from the rest of the house, the coming and going of servants, the heavier tread of bodyguards, the opening and closing of doors.
Boji, exhausted, had had his egg and curled into a furry knot on his perch. Boji was the only one who had had supper.
And Cajeiri was hungry, but he had no appetite. He supposed everybody was in the same state. His bodyguard were all sitting at the little table, Antaro and Jegari playing chess and Lucasi and Veijico giving advice to them. But he was sure they were all listening for what they could learn.
It grew quiet. It stayed quiet for a while. He looked at the clock on the shelf, and he was sure mani and nand’ Bren and everybody had gone down to the signing by now, so he was really all alone up here, whatever happened.
And it still was not good, outside. He was sure it was not. Hardly anybody was stirring, just occasionally a servant going past on some errand, but very, very seldom. When staff got quiet, things were bad.
Once he had heard his mother’s voice. And not since. At least he had not heard his father shouting.
All the rules could change. He could be sent here or there, or forbidden this and that, because everybody in the world had a theory on how he ought to be brought up.
At least Grandfather had not shown up in the middle of everything, and that was good. He told himself he just had to be quiet while his father settled things, if they could be settled, and if he had a punishment, he could hope it was just a talk, and maybe a sort of an apology to his mother. He could do that. He was sorry to have upset her, and he was sorry about the baby things.
He was thinking that when Lucasi said, suddenly, pressing a finger to his ear: “Nandi, we are back in link again. Your mother’s staff is dismissed from the Bujavid. They are being sent back to Ajuri. Tonight. This instant. They will leave from the servants’ quarters. They are not being allowed back on this floor.”
His heart began to beat very fast. He hardly knew what to think.
“And my mother?”
“There is no word, nandi.”
He nodded and sat there a moment, not knowing what to do with himself, or what he had touched off, or what he even felt, if it turned out his mother was moving out.
Maybe his father had ordered her to go home, with the new baby about to be born and all. He was not sure what he thought about his sister being born in Ajuri. He was not sure he wanted that.
But it would mean Ajuri would have a Ragi in their midst, and not the other way around.
He had not wanted a sister.
But now that there was a strong likelihood of never seeing what she turned out to be for years and years, and having her grow up Ajuri instead of Ragi, he was more than a little upset about that.
And he decided he was upset about his mother going away, if that was what was going to happen. He wished he could make everything be all right, just not with Grandfather. But he began to think maybe even his father could not do that.
“We have a second communication from security,” Lucasi said. “Your mother and your father are in the sitting room. They request you come there.”
He had no choice. Whatever would happen—he was not in control of it.
“I shall go,” he said. “All of youcstay here.” That was ordinary, for them not to witness when his father was reprimanding him—and he thought that was probably to the good.
19
The room acquired a few more committee heads, Ilisidi’s frequent allies, and an uncommon smattering of the Conservative Caucus—among the first of whom was Lord Tatiseigi, resplendent in the white and pale green of the Atageini, with an impressive emerald pin nestled amid a very great quantity of lace, and with emeralds and tourmaline in every shade on his black fingers—it was an amazing show.
He made an impression with his entry; and he went from person to person of the Conservative Caucus, doing his political best.
He came then to stand where the principals were gathering, near the tables where staff set out pens and inkstands, and waxjacks, gleaming brass, were ready to be lit. A writing stand was set up with lesser seals, pens and inkstands, a vast stack of special cards for the attendees, and ribbons of the requisite colors.
Light conversation went on. And Algini said, quietly, at Bren’s elbow,
“Nandi, Machigi has arrived at the Bujavid train station.”
Not that much longer, then.
Father’s bodyguard was present. Mother’s was not. They were both calm and formal, at opposite ends of the couch. Cajeiri sat on a small decorative chair sipping his tea. There had been teacakes offered but he had accepted none, nor did they. He was starved to the point of shakiness, and yet he had no appetite, which was an unusual and upsetting feeling.
“Have you had supper, young gentleman?” his father asked. Meaning, perhaps, had he stored food in his room, which he was not supposed to do.
“No, honored Father. None of us have had.”
His father had a muscle tight in his jaw; it was not quite jumping, as it would do from time to time when he was extremely angry, but it was tight. His mother did not quite look up, and Cajeiri did not, either, not wanting to be glared at by either of them.