“He would tell mani,” Cajeiri said. “No. No, Taro-ji. It is almost too late as is. They have opened all the doors. Likely we will be going to the Audience Hall almost any moment.”
“One regrets, nandi, one greatly regrets this!”
“By no means,” he said. “I am the one who left the paper. I remember enough of it. I have almost all the pieces. My father will hardly notice. Certainly no one else will. It is by no means your fault.”
“One is very certain,” Antaro said, still breathing hard, “one is very certain it was composed to be felicitous. Be careful of numbers, nandi. Think through the numbers. Your father will have been very careful of that.”
“I shall. I can. It will be all right, Taro-ji. No one will notice it at all.”
“One earnestly hopes,” Antaro said. She had never seemed to be that distressed, even when people were shooting at them.
“It is stupid anyway,” he said, “that they do not recognize us. It is certainly not your fault. And I have it memorized. I just need to recall it.”
He did remember a lot of the speech. There was one line in the first statement he was not sure of, but he could get it back, if only people would let him alone for just a few moments, and if his aishid could protect him from more people wanting to congratulate him on his birthday. There was no way to get off in a corner for quiet. His father insisted he stand nearby, and most of the people who congratulated him he was sure just wanted an excuse to talk to his father.
He gained a few moments of quiet, however. He stood and tried to think of the missing words. He tried—
Then his father called him to meet an elderly lady from the northern coast, up where the world froze, and she asked him questions, and all the while the minutes were ticking down toward their shift to the Audience Hall.
· · ·
A nine-year-old’s birthday party, Bren thought. And the majority of attendees were over sixty. The three young guests flitted fairly sedately under Jase’s control, in quest of interesting things in the cases and trying very properly to keep their hands off the glass. The honoree of the day, meanwhile, remained bravely proper, still meeting and talking with elder guests, while his parents and great-grandmother did the same, while his great-uncle sat signing ribboned cards and likely discussing pottery glazes.
There were all these wonderful things to explore and Cajeiri could not even come near his own three guests, who did not rank high enough to stand by him, nor even see the exhibit. He’d become one, along with the rest of his family.
Poor kid.
“And these guests,” one elderly lady asked of Bren. “What will they report in the heavens? What will the ship-aiji say, with all these terrible goings-on at Tirnamardi?”
“Jase-aiji is a strong ally of the aiji, and he and his bodyguards have reassured the children—not forgetting at all that these children are very strongly loyal to the young gentleman.”
“To the young gentleman himself, more than the ship-aiji?” another lady objected.
“To the ship-aiji, yes, they are obedient; but the young gentleman has their loyalty.”
“Yet humans do not, do they,” an old man objected, “truly have man’chi. How can they feel?”
“Yet I feel, nandi,” Bren said patiently, finding himself back in an old, old role. “And one hopes my loyalty to the aiji is not in doubt.”
“By no means, nand’ paidhi. One hardly meant—but they are so young!”
“Indeed, nandi, one takes no offense at alclass="underline" you are right to question. For us, a childhood association is not a trifle. These children are part of a population rescued from great danger, taken from their home and moved to the station above us. On that voyage, they met the young gentleman. He was their only comfort in a strange and harsh existence, and they attached to him in the strongest possible way. His generosity, his curiosity, and his kindness attached them to him, clearly in a way a year’s absence has not dimmed, and though they are all, despite their size, older than he is, he leads. He always has. Do accept my assurance that these three have, just as atevi youngsters do, many caretakers, atevi and human, all of whom have the strongest possible concern for their good character.”
“Wise,” an old lord said, nodding. “Wise proceedings.”
Flattery? Politics? The old man had six grandchildren. There was a warmth about his expression.
“They seem interested in the exhibits,” a woman said.
“Nandi, they are. The color, the images, the representations are all very exciting to them.”
“Commendable,” the old man said. The conversation dwindled to courtesies, and the old gentleman meandered off among the lighted displays, talking to his bodyguard.
“Well done,” young Dur said, who had turned up by his elbow.
“One hopes so,” he said. Adrenaline was absolutely on the ebb. He had put out too many fires this evening, already, in what was supposed to be a relaxed social event, and had three hours of a far more important court function yet to go.
Two of the Liberal Caucus lay in wait near a red figured vase, with questions about the tribal bill. “Your vote will secure the west,” Bren assured them, “and prevent another dispute with the Marid. That will remove the need for a strong naval presence, and direct the funding toward merchant shipping.”
“It will work,” he assured another such inquirer, at the next turn. “The Southern Ocean is not impassable. We have vastly improved weather reports, vastly improved technology, vastly improved navigation and stabilization in heavy weather. I have a report upcoming in the Transportation Committee this session, on the ship technology.”
“Assistance from the ship humans. What, nandi, can ships in the great ether understand of ships at sea?”
“Ah. It is not the ship technology we are borrowing, nandi, but their vantage point. They can see the storms coming. They can declare a safe route.”
“Even through the Southern Ocean?”
“They have an excellent view, nandi, and are learning from us, as well. They can steer ships around hazards. But first the tribal bill. The tribal bill is key to everything.”
Another lord, a Conservative, approached and asked: “One has heard a rumor, nand’ paidhi. What is the truth on the upheaval in the Guild? And why this damnable malfunction in Guild equipment tonight?”
He was intensely conscious of Banichi and Jago, right at his shoulders, and of the lord’s own aishid, considerably lower in Guild rank, right behind him.
“It is a technical matter,” he said, “about which one has very little information. But the Guild has promised extensive reform of the system, which has created confusion, especially in recent weeks. The aiji is extremely optimistic.”
“Indeed, nand’ paidhi?”
“Very much so. He entirely supports this change, and I do not doubt he will say so in coming days.”
“You are still backing the tribal bill, one hears.”
“Definitely, nandi, with complete enthusiasm.”
He escaped, half a step, when another accosted him with: “Nand’ paidhi. You are backing the bill.”